


A Lesson In Pain, Agony, and Suffering (WIP)

by 48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Conditioning, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Don't Post To Another Site, Dysphoria, F/F, F/M, Gaslighting, Gore, Grace Telepathy, Happy Ending, Horror, Hurt/No Comfort, M/M, Other, Possession, S1-S13 Spoilers, Sam Winchester Centric, Sam is Jack's Dad, Squick, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Surrogacy, Trans Sam Winchester, WIP, abandoned but not unfinished technically, bi sam winchester, ending is complete, middle sections have gaps, on hiatus for all spn stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 241
Words: 781,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24506278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue/pseuds/48eyesand32teeth1sharptongue
Summary: Lucifer possesses Jess, things escalate, and Sam could use a magical restraining order.
Relationships: Jack Kline & Sam Winchester, Kelly Kline & Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Past Sam/Brady, side Cas/Dean, side Jody/Donna
Comments: 110
Kudos: 46





	1. A Glimpse Into The Future

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in 2018-2019, I may actually fill in sections I left unfinished, idk, I'm committing to absolutely nothing and I might take it down again. Uploading old chapters up to the end will be sporadic, although I will try to do it all in one go for everyone's sake. Things will be out of order at first, I'm uploading everything and then figuring out what got moved somewhere bizarre.
> 
> To my old readers- I love all of you, and it was great sharing this with you, even if I'm bad at keeping things up. (Ideally, I'll be posting all my other fic I took down after this, too, but we'll see what happens as I am still seeing if I can handle posting SPN stuff.)
> 
> For my new readers: please note that this fic deals with very intense and disturbing content, particularly in regards to abusive relationships. 
> 
> The order basically goes post-S13, back to S13, then to pre-s1 to s13 but mostly focusing on S5 (and some major diversions before it merges back into canon), and then beyond s13 it turns into it's own thing.
> 
> Please note this was created as an out of order WIP, and also some things just remain unfinished and unpolished (and personally I hate some of it looking back after 2 years). However, the ending is done, it's just a matter of me keeping this fic up or not. Also, this is really heavy at times, please be prepared.
> 
> I may overhaul this entire thing because I'm not super sold on the writing in some parts, but that's also a gigantic undertaking and I'm not really feeling that atm. (I also would backdate everything but that would take literally forever so I'm not.)
> 
> Anything marked DRAFT should be vaguely in the order it should be along with everything else unless I screwed up, but tbh you can skip the draft stuff since I'm still figuring out if I want them around.

_Sammy, don’t do this._ Lucifer’s voice is echoing and all-consuming, and Sam can barely hold himself together from the strain of it.

Sam shudders. This was it. The big moment. He feeds the warding to the spell, hands shaking, half-dead, half-blitzed out on whatever suffocating, burning feeling of the spell and Lucifer and all the screaming, he can’t stop screaming it never _stops-_

Lucifer cranes forward from his chains, all fire and claws and wings and teeth, not a lick of mercy in a quantum bone in his body and Sam can feel him stretching over his soul like a tumor, reaching out, suspended. Sam can almost feel himself drowning again, flayed alive in the burning, ecstatic tendrils of the archangel, the King of Lies. It almost devours everything else, but Sam holds true, keeps the tiny locked away part of his soul still beating.

_Sam, I can be good. Let me fix this. Let me fix you._

Sam doesn’t stop, can’t stop, can feel the feeling of the Devil receding, can feel the hum in his bones and the ache in his skull and the burning in his veins, the feeling of too-fullness drawing back as the spell keeps working. He doesn’t listen to the words, he can barely comprehend them.

_Sam don’t do this, don’t turn your back on me, don’t you DARE-_

It works and keeps working and he could almost pass out from the sheer strain and disbelief.

_SAM!_

Sam pauses, meets the Devil’s eyes, and then the spell goes off and there’s light and it’s brighter and Brighter and BRIGHTER and then the cold recedes and

Silence.

“Sam?” Jack’s voice is tentative, a small echo on the other side of the door to the bunker.  
Sam’s legs give out and he half-collapses, and then he’s crawling backwards on his hands and knees, mouth dry and mind still strung out in half-disbelief.

“I’m here. I’m okay.” Sam says, voice scratchy against his throat from screaming. His eyes never leave the Devil in his new cage, hoping this time it sticks, that it doesn’t get undone. Arms reach up until his hands clasp the doorknob. Sam drags himself back to his feet, the tendons still twitching, fingertips cold against the metal, but not too cold, not the same cold.

Sam opens the door, slams it shut, and then Jack is hugging him, gentle, half-crying, head cradled in his chest. Sam leans on Jack’s shoulder as they stumble down the hallway, victorious, their shoulder’s lighter from the fear not pressing down so much now.

“We’re free.” Sam breathes. They turn off the lights down the hall, and keep walking away.

They can feel the heat of the kitchen, of the fire, of their family crowding around them. Sam let’s himself be hopeful and almost believes it, hugging Dean and Cas and Mom and Claire and Bobby and Jo and Charlie and Rowena and everyone.

“We’re free.”

Sam tries to ignore the draft, and the cold sheen of ice frosting over the windowpane...

“Oh, Sam. So nice to see you still dream of me.” His voice, Nick’s voice, drifts through Sam’s ears like a twisting knife, and the cold pall of awareness swiftly blurs through, the hairs standing up on the back of Sam’s neck.

And at once Sam is downed in the cold ice bucket of awakening, and lurches upright, only to be held back by a heavier pressure that could almost be human, almost. And they are in the Bunker and in his bed and the Devil is curled around his torso, stubble prickling against his cheek. The cold chill ebbs slightly, although Lucifer's hands are still freezing, and Sam looks anywhere but next to him. The clock reads 2:03 am. He’s safe until daybreak hits, for the most part. Whatever perversion of safe you can be when constantly trapped with your worst nightmare.

Lucifer smiles at him, all faux-kindness, eyes flat and glittering with amusement. Sam doesn’t need to look at him, he can feel it in the sharp curl of the Devil’s smile as he kisses him, grip tightening around his wrists until it hurts _and Sam is falling into the pit all over again, falling, falling-_

"Let’s see if I can give you better dreams, hmm?”


	2. The Past, But Not That Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S13E21 and then we rewind in sections before we go Pre-S1. (For old readers, this is chapter 2-4 I believe.)
> 
> also I am not checking for formatting yet so for all i know all the italics are butchered so we'll see how that goes...

When Sam first woke from death, he almost thought he was hallucinating again. He wished it, considering it was better than the alternative. But no, this was real, all real, and he could feel the extra grace swirling around him like an icy shroud, smothering and omnipresent and singing against his skin. Lucifer must have drained so many angels dry, to be this full.

“Oh, you’re going? Here, it’s dark out there.” Lucifer speaks as if he’s commenting on the weather, but Sam is wary. This was too easy, too… spacious. Lucifer never started to make a deal with distance and the alarm bells are ringing along with the grace sloshing out of the Devil like a floodgate. Lucifer has even let his annoyance show through, so the fact has hasn’t pounced yet makes it worse. Sam knows the signs, and he has no intention of playing whatever game this is.

Lucifer starts to lay his cards on the table anyway.

Sam refuses the flashlight. He would refuse anything from Lucifer on principle, although he’s surprised Lucifer doesn’t force the contact. He shoulders the bag and hopes his fear isn’t bleeding through, although he knows it is. Lucifer can read him like an open book; has been able to for centuries. Sam hopes he can read him back, because for all of Lucifer's opaque masks, in one way, he has always been transparent, ill-disguised to hide the want glinting in red eyes. It's always there, always submerged under every false face when Lucifer pretends at distance, pretends at casual, as if he hasn't been trying to engineer Sam's every decision from before the very beginning.

Sam turns. And the answer to his unasked question is right there, slavering and growling, full of a death too close, but not far enough.

The blood caked on his neck begins to itch. Sam only half-registers the Devil's monologue as he resists the urge to run screaming into the vampires anyway.

“…until after we finished our convo.”

Suddenly all that is left besides fear is the blind, burning rage that Sam thought he had on lockdown for so long. And buried deeper, more fear. Anger wasn’t safe, but nowhere was safe anymore. Safety was an illusion he almost conned himself into believing.

“What do you WANT?” Sam demands. He thinks he knows. He would be right. Sam’s fear is well founded from years of overuse and he hates himself all the more for it.

Lucifer sees the catch in his throat, savors it. He knows he has Sam wriggling on the hook, and the dark, unknowable glint of what lies behind his eyes is all predator, all howling archangel ready to take what it sees as his.

“I want what you already have,” Lucifer says, comfortable, supremely confident in knowing he is going to get what he asks for in a way he hasn’t since before Sam threw them into captivity, “A relationship with my son.”

 _Our son._ The grace rings in Sam’s ears, implications clear as day. Sam already knows what Lucifer believes, what remains unsaid. _I already have a right to him. You may have him but I will have him, and you, and there will be no getting away. Never again._

And then the fear climbs deeper into Sam, crammed down his throat until he can’t breathe, worst fears all singing like a live wire again. _Not Jack._ Sam almost prays. _Not this._

Too bad Lucifer would be the only one to hear it. Too much grace could do that, could drown out the rest of the angels.

“Ok, there was a time when I would just grab him,” Lucifer admits, picking up on the train of thought Sam is trying to keep from careening out of control, “but, I’ve grown.”

A hysterical laugh dies in Sam’s throat. He settles for sarcasm. “Yeah, sure you have.” Thanks his unlucky stars his voice didn’t break.

Lucifer’s smug face mocks him right back, almost laughing, but then the seriousness returns, and that is worse, so much worse.

“I want my son.” Lucifer threatens. _And I want you,_ his grace whispers. “And you are gonna help me.”

_Or else._

“How?” Sam forces the words out too quickly, sensing the shifting, dangerous territory he had just fallen into.

“Well, I don’t feel like he’ll give me a chance unless I come bearing gifts. Yep,” Lucifer says, and then he lunges and he’s touching Sam who only flinches at the sudden movement, “Boop, that’s you.”

_Happy Birthday, Sam._

There are other threats floating to the surface now that the Devil isn't keeping the bubble of space around them, and every nerve in Sam's body is crowning with that pervasive, all-encompassing dread.

“Look, Sammy, I’m not asking you to like it,” And Lucifer reels closer, closer, too close, and cups his face, “to like me.”

 **One lie already,** Sam catalogs, holding his breath, and then he meets the Devil’s eyes and the hand withdraws.

“All I’m asking is that you acknowledge the truth,” Only now two arms circle around, and two hands are pressing against Sam’s back, pushing him up against Lucifer in ways he wishes he wouldn’t. “That I was the one who brought you back to life. That I was the one who lifted you from the darkness,” Lucifer trills as his eyes narrow, “And into the light. Okay?”

Sam doesn’t answer, but the Devil never took silence as no since the beginning. Lucifer kisses him, and Sam wants to die all over again. Anything, anything would be better than reliving this. Sam looks away first. He wants to cry, and he doesn’t try to stop it. He knows his limits.

_Gotcha._

The Devil pulls back and smiles, face only inches from his own, and Sam can feel the handprint from where the Devil raised him burn.

And then Lucifer keeps going, still talking, and Sam doesn’t want to hear it. It’s just a shitty rerun of his entire life, one bad thing leading to another all drawn back from the spidery fingers of the apocalypse come to swallow him whole.

But the Devil demands an audience, and before he can touch Sam again, Sam forces himself to listen to words that he hoped would never be true. “You need me.”

 **You need me. You always need me**. Sam wants to parrot back. He doesn’t.

Sam can feel everything slipping away and he has nothing to hold on to except what he knows he can control. Himself, even though that’s fuzzy at the best of times. Everything else was the Devil’s playground. Sam’s still reeling from the unfairness of it all, taut with fear and loathing and shame. Of course this is where they end up. He can’t hide from the fear of what Lucifer will do to Jack, to Dean, to Cas, to Mom…

He knows Lucifer best, and does not want to leave them alone. Not with him. Even if the vampires looked like a better option.

Still.

“And what if I say no?” Sam is done. He’s caught, and Sam promised himself he’d never say yes to the Devil again.

Rage flares on Lucifer’s face, the same rage that leapt at Sam in the cage, calculating in a way that prepared new ways to get you when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, that promised pain one way or another. Resigned and bitter and intimately familiar.

Lucifer lays out his threats, as usual. Sam lets the words wash over him. His heart constricts at Jack’s name, at the heavy promises in Lucifer’s words.

And Sam knows, knows that for whatever the Devil might say, he’s not leaving him on the floor in a cave of another dimension. Lucifer is dragging Sam after him one way or another, part from possessive vanity and part from the sheer need for control. And one part: _Sammy, your ass was mine the moment you threw us in the cage. Your life was mine the moment you were made for me._

Sam thinks, and breathes, and Lucifer seems hopeful, as if thinking, maybe, this time will be different. Maybe this time, Sam will blink, will consider taking the easy way out, or the safest. Neither of them hold their breath.

Sam leaps into the sea of the vampire’s glistening, waiting, open mouths, was torn apart all over again. Pain like this was nothing. He know what the Devil had in store and he was not going to play nice.

He knew there wasn’t really a choice the moment Lucifer brought him back. There was never a choice.

_Whatever you do, Sam, we will always end up here._

A snap! And Sam is back on the ground, torn apart limbs whole as if nothing happened.

“Hello again, Sammy. See, you aren’t really getting that this isn’t something you can just weasel out of. So. I can do this all day, and the more time you waste, well, the more chance that everyone, you, me, Jack, Dean, the whole Addams Family gets trapped in this sorry excuse for a dimension.”

Sam gives himself over to the anger, anything to not feel this endless fear anymore, and argues, “Which you would have caused, given the chance.”

Lucifer waves him off and sneers, “Unlikely." _We would have done it better, done it right_ , "But that doesn’t matter now, Sam. Give me what I want… and I’ll make this, well, easy for you. How’s that sound?”

Sam dives into the vampires again.

It could have been hours, minutes, Sam doesn’t know how many lifetimes. Lucifer’s level of grace shows no sign of depleting, and Sam can feel it rooting around just fine. The last time Lucifer makes his offer, he’s closer again, and Sam wants to hide in the farthest of the universe where the Devil can’t find him (except he always can, because he can feel the remnant of his grace lighting him up from the inside out, leading a great burning trail back to the Devil’s waiting arms).

“You are wasting our time, Sammy." And the Devil grabs him by the roots of his hair, pushing him inches from the vampires, one hand perched on the waistband of Sam’s jeans. “And we can’t afford to waste it topside, now can we?”

Sam knows when he can’t lose a losing battle anymore, and decides to beat the Devil on a better day.

\--

As the duo started to make their way out of the tunnel's dark and crowded walls, Sam wasn’t sure what counted as the beginning of his exhaustion, anymore.

Was it when Azazel made the deal with Mary and made Sam into an abomination?  
Was it when he broke the last seal?  
Was it when Lucifer got out of the cage again, wearing Castiel’s skin?  
Was it when God told him he did not have to be afraid, then left him to pick up the pieces?

He wasn’t sure it mattered. Sam remembers half those moments like they were yesterday, and he would prefer not to.

Somewhere along the line, Sam thinks, he fell off whatever cosmic scale kept things real, and now he’s just living in a nightmare where he tricks himself things will be better.

Some nights, after talking with Jack, Sam couldn’t stop the guilt from welling back up, either. Kelly was just one person in a long line of persons targeted by Lucifer because it was convenient, because it tied him to Sam. She died because he had failed to keep the Devil in his Cage like he promised, and now everyone had to worry about him.

Sam tries not to think about it, but walking with the Devil at your back in a world where the Apocalypse happened when you didn’t exist anyway didn’t leave a lot of room for not ruminating about what went wrong. He had been holding it together for so long, and he’d need to hold it together when they caught up to Jack and Dean and Cas. This was the only time he had to break down, and it’s not like the Devil hadn’t seen it all before, although Sam knew was laughing about it.

At least Rowena was alive. That was something.

At the same time, as much as Sam hated it, it felt like the Devil was an evil keeping something worse out, if this is what Michael would do when he won. (If Sam let the traitorous thought grow, he supposed his victory meant something after all, but he was scared to acknowledge that along with everything else, because then… then, the Devil would pick him apart until clean, pick him apart until his pride wove them together and he couldn’t feel where he ended and the Devil began and Sam would not allow it, he wouldn’t!)

No, Sam would not focus on that, and he would not focus on the Devil staring at his back, ready to tear him apart if he so much as tried to run. He’d keep his eyes peeled, sure. But he couldn’t deal with failure so soon after dying, not right now.

It was too close to the Cage. Too close to endless resurrections with no reprieve.

Sam supposed the real problems first started after Lilith, if he really thinks about it. In his dreams, Sam knew something was wrong with Jess. He just didn’t want to pay attention to it. There had been too much going on, too much to fear… And then the Devil would crawl into his head, into his dreams, every night when he was lost and lonely and used, the only person who didn’t care that he might be a monster.

Sam had let him in and let him out, yes. But he would not let him win.

_You keep telling yourself that, Sam._

Sam stops out of habit, a deer in headlights, and the Devil winks at him before pushing him forward again.

Sam knew he’d regret loving the Devil for the rest of his life, even if he couldn’t keep the fear and hate down, too. They were long past all that, and Lucifer had made his bed long ago.

Sam wouldn’t settle for this. And he wouldn’t let Lucifer hurt Jack, either.

And before end of the tunnel slowly rose into view, Sam let himself drift a moment before he had to fight this fight all over again.

\--

**Two Days After The Devil Raised Sam from His Grave, Roughly 8 years and even more hours Since Sam's Escape**

One of the problems with the Devil is that he is so good at lying that he thinks he’s telling you the truth. Sam knows this, knows the difference between sympathy and intimidation, but Lucifer has this way of twisting it around until you don’t know up from down. It doesn’t help that he almost believes himself behind the façade, because the Devil will do whatever he needs to reel you in. Lucifer needs to wind you up and see you go, like a badly made toy formed out of half-assumptions. He lives off it like a human breathes.

If Sam hadn’t won the first time, with all its consequences thereafter, he thinks he would have fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. Not because he wanted to, but because sometimes, it seemed, he had no other choice. The devil may not outright trick you, but he knows how to throw you off balance, and it’s enough.

Hell, Sam might already be infected with the lies, even though he knows better, now.

If only Sam knew just what he was up against…

But in the time before, Sam was one step behind the whole time. He couldn’t have known what would happen, because he was not designed to. There were too many chess games designed to keep him out of the loop.

Sam isn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

Before the light hits and stillness settles, Sam falters, then re-assesses, ready to deploy any weapon in the arsenal of his mind. He might not want to, but desperate times are only getting more desperate, and at the end of the line, something’s has to give.

Or it will break apart anyway, one piece at a time.

This time, Sam doesn’t hold back as he lets himself think about the time before.

Whatever it takes, Sam will use. Sam only hopes the Devil won’t use it better, like he always seems to.

\--

**End of Season 4**

After the last seal was broken, Ruby stabbed, and Lucifer freed, Sam remembers being numb with the unfeeling shock, then afraid. Then doused by the crushing realization that everything he tried to prevent came to pass because he had tried to stop it. Wasn’t that a kick in the gut, a reminder of the fate trying to drag him down like a hellhound stalks its prey?

But Sam could also feel the storm brewing, could feel the prickling certainty edging closer and closer, like a knife gleaming on a dark night, or a creeping, sucking fungus rotting out an abandoned building.

He could feel the cold fire burning, far away. The tendrils of Lucifer’s grace reaching out to find him. (Sam was always burning to compensate, could never fully erase the chill from his bones).

But it did not stop there, no. He knew this feeling even though it had never been this strong before. Sam had felt this familiarity long ago, and not so long ago. He did not want to feel it then, and he did not want to feel it now.

Sam didn’t know if it would drive him mad, but he was grateful for Cas finding a way to shield them. Even if it was clear that it obviously did not work. Because the Devil was right there, in his mind, smiling as if he had been given the world on a platter. (In a way, it had.)

That was not when everything started going wrong, though. It had started long before.

\--

**Lucifer and Sam, 5 Years Before The Cage**

When Sam first met Jess, he didn’t even think to hope that anything would come of it. But Jess was bright and alive and so genuinely moved by Sam that it almost felt like it was meant to happen, that Jess found parts of himself and kept them safe. Which was ironic, considering how it all fell apart so quickly afterwards, how half of everything they had was half a lie.

But Jess made him laugh and helped with the distance, the ache of the rejection from your family. Almost seemed to understand it without saying a word. Jess encouraged him, saw him for what he was before the transition, saw him fully in ways Sam never thought he’d be seen. And Jess never looked down on what he wanted to do, never pressed too hard on whatever shadows Sam had hidden inside his past.

Now, Lucifer, trapped in the Cage as he was, could not escape. But as the years went by, and Hell cracked slowly apart, there were flaws, (because for all its infallibility God’s creation was not perfect, especially so far from home, and Lucifer took that imperfection and unleashed it wherever he could). Not enough for anything substantial, only ways to sneak ideas and feelings out, wisps of half-formed impressions. Lucifer may be cut off from the outside, but he could speak to some of his children.

And he could always feel Sam. Lucifer did not know where he was exactly, of course, but he felt him all the same. Could feel the trajectory so carefully orchestrated pulling them together, as it was always meant to.

Little did Sam know, that young Jess had demons of her own, from long before she met him. Yellow eyes just set his schedule on a timer, to cook at the most convenient time for Lucifer’s rise. It was all planned, all choreographed, setting Sam on the trail that would lead him to his destiny.

And by the time Sam met Jess, something else was peering out into the world and had three-quarters taken her place. It was not possession, not exactly, too crude of an instrument, too detached, but Lucifer could feel, and glutted with that feeling, he fed Jess’s thoughts and emotions and commands, and Jess obeyed, automatic, three-quarters dispossessed and drifting.

Lucifer looked out of Jess’s eyes, felt Sam with her hands, kissed him with her teeth. It wasn’t ideal, wasn’t perfect by any means, but they were happy enough. Lucifer could give his vessel that, those moments, those carefree times, that feeling of belonging before he would be housed inside that feeling forever.

They were together in almost all the ways that mattered, and they had their rituals. Sam always insisted on watching one of his strange movies. Lucifer could almost appreciate Star Wars and its lessons, even if it was a half-baked a human creation, solely for what happiness it brought his one true vessel. And there was some merit in the act of watching, if Sam could find something of value in it.

After all, they were meant to be. And Sam would need the reprieve, after all, with what they’d put him through before the end.  
Lucifer could shield him from the worst of it, maybe. He wanted to, wanted to honor the one thing his Father had left for him, in some capacity. But it was more than that.

The human race was a contemptible, repugnant slug sliding on the wheels of creation.

But Sam was perfect, because he was his. And when the end days came, and Michael fell, and the world quaked and was cleansed of the abscess that needed to be drained, Lucifer and Sam would stand triumphant, together, inseparable and crowned in the glory of their own creation.

And Lucifer wanted Sam to know. Even if one day, he would need that anger, that pain… and Sam already had so much of it simmering beneath the surface. All it needed was a powderkeg, a pump to draw the long well of pushed down anger and exhaustion and fear into action, into power, and the levee would break apart to mold the world anew.

Yes, he could give Sam these moments. He would make him happy now, and happy in the end. It was all a matter of time.

But once Dean stumbled forth, all crass and blustering and foolish, Lucifer knew their time grew short. Lucifer did not mourn the loss of the pseudo-vessel or the boring distance of everyday life, but he would miss Sam, would miss being near him anyway he could.

But the Devil knew that the loss was only temporary. After all, he’d see Sam very soon.


	3. Mouth of the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Mother, Mother
> 
> also one of my less disorganized backups has 100 chapters all one after the other so there might be typos or repeat chapter moments, I'll iron that out if I catch it after I repost this monster

Even when small, Sam always knew he was different. Always felt too hot under the collar, like he could never get enough air. Incomplete.

Not because he wasn’t a girl, no. That had nothing to do with it, even though that was true, too.

And Sam would spit fire, would rear up and punch if need called for it. Liked solving things with words, with kindness, with understanding, but when words don’t work, then you go to bat for what is right. That wasn’t tied to anything except who Sam was.

But deep down, Sam could feel the difference inside him. Could feel the difference setting him apart beyond just everyday abnormalities.

Sam wanted to take things, to take everything, to try and make up for the wanting, for the itch not yet scratched sitting, unsettling, always squirming beneath his skin. Sam gave things back too, maybe thinking that might help, in some roundabout fashion. And because giving things made others happy, because it was kind, was something Sam could achieve...

Nothing helped.

And Sam knew, there was always something bigger and stronger waiting to be let out, something built up beneath his bones and marrow even if he didn’t know the words for those yet.

Something that would tower above everything and help Sam see beyond it all. Something that had answers and actions and didn’t flinch from what needed to be done.

Burning.

Starving.

Waiting.

Something like the feeling in the dreams he can’t quite remember.

Like a puzzle piece Sam couldn’t quite fit those parts of himself anywhere.

Not yet.

Sam remembers wings, and blood, and light.

Feels a tundra, full of so much ice, ready to suck all the humidity and fire from setting Sam’s soul aflame.

In the dream, the ice wants freedom.

Sam wants freedom, too.

\--

In Ilchester, Azazel makes his offering.

“I’m here, my son.” Lucifer whispers through the dead nun’s mouth, a doorway of blood and flesh and death both a harbinger of his coming and a trail he’d leave in his wake.

“It’s so good to hear your voice, Padre. I have been searching for you for so long. You have no idea.” Azazel starts. Kneeling, his proper place.

_You have no idea what I know, my child._

“The others have lost faith. Dickless heathens. But not me.”

Always one for praise, that Azazel.

Whatever brings Lucifer what he needs, he will take. Besides, he has been loyal. Useful.

“You’ve done well.” Lucifer speaks. The nun's body never stops twitching, the fingertips never still.

“So, uh, how do I bust you out?” Azazel is not one to be left without direction.

“Lilith.” Lucifer hisses, adamant.

“Lilith?” Azazel finds trepidation comes easily when it stems from the right source. “Father, she’s trapped neck-deep in the pit. It won’t be easy.”

“Lilith.” Lucifer repeats. The Archangel does not like having to repeat itself. “Lilith can break the seals.”

_Are you implying my faith in you is misplaced? When I made you to serve, to be the instrument I know you to be?_

Azazel holds up a hand.

“Yeah, okay.” Azazel accepts the commands given, and keeps wringing his bloody hands. “But what do I do?”

“You must find me a child. A very special child.” Lucifer answers, because this was the main event, the crux of the matter all hinging on the one the Devil had been waiting for.

It has been too long already.

“What do you mean?” Azazel’s eyes flash yellow. “What child?”

“Sam Winchester.” Lucifer hisses. “Sam is mine.”

_And when you find him, make him ready for me. Otherwise, he is to be kept safe, because he’s mine. All mine. But in the meantime…_

Lucifer explains what must be done. The preparations that must take place.

Can’t have Michael following the trail to his True Vessel too early. They’ll need decoys.

And more than that…

“Find me a willing, disposable host. I will take care of it from there.”

“How?” Azazel asks, breathless, because Lucifer is still locked up, will be until the allotted moment.

“Do you doubt me?”

“Never, Father.” Azazel is penitent for a demon.

_As you should._

“Mix Sam's blood with another who will be pledged to me. Bound in blood and soul and contract, they will be a fitting puppet to house me. Find me a body that will let me in. Make them meet my True Vessel in a way that their blood mixes. Convince them to say 'yes.' Then enact the spell.”

Azazel can’t help but be curious about this, now. He’s been waiting for Lucifer to guide him again for ages, millennia, so many eons and eons of waiting.

“How will you control her-”

“While unable to steer a vessel? While I am still bound in my chains?” Lucifer indulges his willing servant. “You know the human soul is a powerful tool, my child. It can be remade, reshaped. And it can be burned through. Perfect fuel.”

_As long as burns, the spell keeps going. And this door won’t close between their eyes and mine. You've already propped it open wide enough._

“I will not fail you.” Azazel promises.

“I know.”

Lucifer fades out, prison call ended. The nun stops twitching in her young, dead bones.

Azazel carries out the tasks demanded of him.

\--

Summer. August 1989. 7:04 pm. No breeze. Few clouds.

One small figure is a smudge on the tarmac against the horizon-line.

Sam Winchester runs.

John had started day-drinking early. Sam can still hear him, yelling for Sam to come back. Only Sam knows not to listen.

And Dean wasn't fast enough to catch Sam sneaking out, like Sam wasn’t supposed to.

So Sam kept running, shoelaces untied, six and a quarter years old, and too small, but fast.

Only to run. Smack! Into a blonde girl, both of them two tottering blurs.

They both trip, their heads colliding, and tumble to the ground. Sam feels a burn from the momentum, finds that both of their knees got skinned.

“Sorry!” Sam gasps. He tastes blood dripping from his nose.

The girl, maybe a year younger than Sam, shook her head. “S’fine.”

A Band-Aid had been stuck unevenly over her cheek, bright in the sun. Her blonde hair, shoulder-length, was ratty and tangled and she had a bruise on a face the color of a rotted plum.

She really didn’t look good.

Then Sam heard yelling that wasn’t John, because it was female and coming from the other direction. It sounded angry, maybe more angry than John (John usually mellowed after he drank enough, but he hadn’t gotten that far yet).

The girl pales.

“Come on.” Sam decides, then grabs her hand and runs to his original destination, towing her along. “I know a place to hide.”

They meet Brady in the abandoned building Sam and Brady made a meeting place.

Sam knew Dean and John would be leaving town soon and taking Sam with them, and needed a place to hide letters and means of staying in touch. Then Brady came up with this place. Perfect for hiding and for pen pals and for staying unnoticed.

That, and no one could see them or look for them in here.

The girl doesn’t say anything or introduce herself.

“Who is she?”

Sam looks at her.

“I’m dangerous.” The girl answers and juts out her chin.

Sam adds, “She’s like us. She’s a friend.”

Brady knows what that means.

In silent collective agreement, they all affirm that they are safe, that they are united, hiding in the dark shadows and the wood rafters in this half-a-shack off the side of the road.

They play some games.

Eventually, Brady has the idea to put their mark on this place. Brings out a pocket knife.

Sam agrees. Dean and Sam did as much with the Impala. And writing something down makes it real.

Means your friendship isn’t erased.

They shake on it first, each cutting their hands.

“It’s a blood pact.” Brady adds seriously. “Bonds of friendship you can’t break.”

“We should write something with it.” Sam says, eyes wide.

The girl blinks owlishly. “Like a signpost this is our place?”

“Exactly.”

She furrows her brow in thought.

“I know!”

Brady hands her the pocket-knife.

The girl carves out shaky, capital letters.

BIG 3 OF NEVERLAND.

“Adults can’t find us in Neverland.” She clarifies, matter-of-fact.

Brady nods.

Sam thinks this is what it must be like to have friends who keep each other’s secrets.

They wait out the rain that rolls in after nightfall. Brady and Sam have stored chips and snacks in the crevices of the mismatched tables and floors. There’s three sleeping bags Brady dragged in.

They hide in them together.

Then they all leave after three days long after the rain breaks.

Sam doesn’t know what happens to the blonde girl. She says she can handle herself.

Brady sneaks back to his place. Sam keeps his slip of paper with his address in his pocket.

Dean finds Sam halfway down the road on his way back, ten years old and crying.

Sam hugs him and walks back. Says he got lost.

It’s 12 in the morning when they are in the house again.

John is scared to death.

Sam doesn’t get out much after that for a while.

\--

Jess hides in her room, listening.

“I want to destroy them.” She says to the figure, the man in the shadows who said it worked for an angel. “So they can never hurt me.”

Jess had been praying for an angel for a long time.

Angels protected you from all the bad things. She knows so.

And so far, everything the yellow-eyed man said had been true. She had found a friend on the road today. Two friends. Jess hasn’t had friends before, she hasn’t been outside much until the man helped her out the window.

“And my angel will give you that power, girl,” Azazel croons. “You already have the power you need. All that’s left is for us to keep you safe when you let it out.”

Jess picks up the knife offered to her. It is heavy and large in her hands.

“So what do you say? Do you want them to help you? Do you want to let the angel in?”

Jess nods. Answers.

“Yes.”

\--

It’s not possession, not yet.

Lucifer can feel and see through her eyes, just a passenger. He’s not anything more than a whisper in the back of her head, healing her if skin is broken, filling her with slight curiosity and encouragement. Gives her physical strength as Jess finds her targets.

She hacks away.

The line hums between them, keeping the hairline fissure to the Cage open, Jess’s soul lit and burning as it keeps the door cracked, stops it from slamming.

Lucifer tests his boundaries and tries to see if he can move anything.

Jess licks a drop of blood from her lips.

The body is small, but it fits well.

\--

The next morning, there’s three bloody bodies with multiple stab wounds found in the bathroom and the kitchen and one bedroom of their suburban ranch.

A regular dime a dozen family. Older brother, mother, father.

Only turns out, on further investigation, that they are anything but innocent. The news lights up with scandals and whispered words Sam doesn’t understand but knows means bad things adults don’t talk about happened. That kids got hurt.

The youngest daughter is listed as missing.

Sam sees the girl’s face pasted all over the news. Knows her face.

The house burns down a week later.

Brady sends Sam a message in the meantime.

Says she’s safe. That she got away from the bad things. That whoever killed them wasn’t coming for her.

Sam is grateful.

\--

Jess hops from place to place. Hitchhikes.

Azazel finds her a new family.

Jess still controls her own body. Doesn’t mind that she sold her soul. Can’t feel it drifting yet. It’s like a slight itch, barely there.

Her favorite princess is Aurora, who, from her childish retellings, Lucifer learns is cursed to fall into a deep sleep at 16. This is not much different, in Jess’s mind.

She always expected to die young, even as a child. Never had a life to look forward to.

Lucifer gave her that life. Let's her assume she’d go to Heaven when she did burn out.

And Lucifer compliments her for giving him this body.

When she asks why an angel needs it, he tells her the truth.

“I am trying to protect someone. You know them. They were your first friend.”

“Like a guardian angel?” Jess asks.

“More than that.” Lucifer assures, grace keening with promise.

Jess smiles, burden lifted.

Lucifer watches as she goes through grade school. Midway through, Jess starts to realize she’s not always there. She hops from home to home every once in a while, unexplained tragedies befalling her caretakers. Freak accidents. Unanswerable situations.

By middle school, Lucifer feels Jess start to drift further and his own being gaining purchase. He can taste now, can smell, when before he can only see and hear and feel.

All through middle school, Jess joins the swim team. By now, she’s started to realize the gravity of the situation, but she can’t do anything about it. Vacillates between accepting her fate and how she’s special, and researching ways to try and see what has been done to her.

She doesn’t find any answers. Lucifer tries to be reassuring.

Jess likes power. Hurts people she thinks deserve it. Doesn’t really know the meaning of overkill, since she can just leave and find a new home with Azazel’s help.

Lucifer doesn’t curb that. He is more eager than her, and always happy to give tips and some extra punch if she needs it.

There’s a lot of unexplained disappearances across a string of disconnected states and schools. Ghost stories told in the woods of the playground.

More often than not, Jess doesn’t want things to change, because she and the angel have an agreement, and the angel has done nothing to hurt her. It’s more that Jess wants to find a way to vacate her body so Lucifer can use hers, and she can have another. She gets very invested in cloning research.

Lucifer sometimes adds extra commentary.

By high school, she’s valedictorian and interested in ecology and politics and biology. Jess isn't sure how much of that is her own interest or Lucifer's. That tends to blur together.

She still swims on the varsity team. Swimming clears her head. Makes her feel less like she’s burning up.

Lucifer’s presence sometimes freezes the water temperature so that people have to vacate the pool.

By sophomore year, she’s mostly gone. Can still see behind Lucifer’s eyes, like Lucifer used to do through hers. Most of the time she’s catatonic, sleeping, soul numbed into unawareness.

By senior year, Lucifer has taken over entirely. Jess’s soul, burnt halfway through as it keeps floating outside her body. The spell keeps her anchored even as the parricide stops her soul from settling inside her skin again, now that’s it’s been kicked out properly.

It floats, almost like a ghost does, but still tethered and tamped down, stretched like a path back to the Cage.

A month before graduation, Lucifer is the only one walking around inside her skin, Jess’s presence thick as saran wrap in comparison to the fraction of the burning icy star that is Lucifer’s being.

He takes everything in. Jess’s body is almost a vessel, still a puppet, but obedient.

He doesn’t leave town, yet. Sam’s been sighted nearby.

\--

Sam finds them again by accident. He passes their high school on another case while in town.

Lucifer has been waiting so long just to catch a glimpse. He can’t stop staring.

Someone has bruised Sam’s face.

And Sam needs help, so Lucifer patches Sam up. Offer him to get some food.

“Who are you?” Sam asks, taken in as he takes the proffered sandwich. “You seem familiar.”

Lucifer can feel his soul singing out for him even from here.

Lucifer winks. “I’m the Devil.” Then blows Sam a kiss.

Sam laughs. Adds, “No, but really. I know I know you-”

“I’m dangerous,” Lucifer smiles as he whispers, “And Neverland isn’t exactly a crowded place.”

Recognition dawns. They spend the rest of day together catching up.

Midway through, Lucifer takes Sam back to Jess’s place. They watch a movie.

Then they move to the back porch.

By the end of the night, Lucifer and Sam have kissed each other, not sure who started in first. They get to a bit more than kissing, not expecting this to last.

Sam is softer than expected. Lucifer wonders what it will be like Lucifer gives Sam the body Sam prays for.

Too soon, John and Dean have caught up, have found Sam’s vicinity, and Sam has to make his retreat.

In all the excitement, Sam never catches a name.

\--

In the meantime, Brady helps them pass messages between them while Sam moves around.

They give each other their first names, not their last. Although, Lucifer convinces them to use nicknames they pick for each other in their letters, like a code.

Lucifer gets Venus. He finds it fitting Sam already knows him so well already, both iterations quite apt.

Sam gets Kiddo, courtesy of Kill Bill, because that’s the movie they watched.

\--

When Sam runs, tries to make a break for Stanford, Lucifer finds him en route. Hitchhiking.

Cleans up the battered parts of Sam’s body, because the world has never been much of a safe place, for some more than others.

Being also bound for Stanford, Lucifer helps Sam settle in to his apartment, then the dorms.

Brady reconnects with them there. Finally gives them proper, official introductions, full names, not cut off ones, in college.

Sam and Jess don’t date at first. They want to take things slow, not ruin what they have already. And Jess is just his best friend, quizzing him on who he likes and what they should do today and what food they should eat. They play pool. Watch movies. Dance. Go to the beach.

Sam dates a few people. Dates Brady. They break up by mutual agreement. Jess doesn’t show any signs of jealousy. But all the way through, Sam can’t ignore the way Jess makes him feel.

Sam asks her out a month into freshman year. Jess starts kissing him senseless immediately.

By Halloween, Jess inherits a fortune from a distant deceased relative. (Azazel helps Lucifer set it up.)

Lucifer helps Sam find the best means to transition. Sam doesn’t care now that it’s a spell and surgery and witch that’s involved. He’s out of the life. And he can’t believe someone would do this for him.

He’s himself. He’s free. His body is everything he has needed it to be for forever.

And he has Jess.

They move in together a week after.

Sam’s the happiest he’s been in his entire life.

Lucifer is, too. Although he knows there are even better things to look forward to.

\--

Before Jess burns on the ceiling, before Sam leaves, she manages to wake up. Breaks through for a second.

By now, she knows the thing tethered to her isn’t all it pretends to be.

She tries to warn Sam, tries to hop inside her skin one last time-

“Be careful, Sam. Don't trust me.” Jess manages to cry as she wakes Sam up in the middle of the night. Her expression fearful and wide and so different from what Sam is used to.

And then she is silenced. Lucifer is surprised she even managed to muster the strength before she fades out back into unconscious drifting.

Sam tries to comfort her. Lucifer plays it off like a nightmare.

It is, really. He’s going to have to leave him soon. Waiting for Sam to set him free is going to be torture now that he knows what he’s missing.

Jess is burnt through, almost entirely shot by now. Lucifer is surprised her body has held him this long on its own, that it hasn't started falling apart when her souls now barely a sliver left. He got a year more out of it than expected.

When her soul burns out completely, Brady burns her on the ceiling.

Can’t have Michael finding out what’s been done. And Sam needs something to fight for, to bring Lucifer back to him, even if he doesn't know it.

Jess’s soul dissipates. Doesn’t go to Heaven or Hell.

Is scattered, molecule by molecule.

Like the burnt out remnants of a star.

Such are the ways of combustion. Matter and energy transformed.

No trace left for Michael or angels or anyone in case they catch on.

And Lucifer is once again trapped in solitary with no telephone line out. Always waiting in the Cage.


	4. Buzzcut Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Lorde
> 
> also i will never not kinda dislike this chapter but whatever

Dean remembers when Sam was first brought home. He had such a big head for a baby.

But that's not what Dean remembered most. Not the way Sam squalled in John's arms, or how he always looked away from Mary around the room, or how hot Sam's forehead and tiny fingers ran when Dean ran his hands over his little brother's face. Sam couldn't speak for himself then, so he was a sister, then, although Dean learned triple-quick not to slip up.

Doesn't change what was said though, when Mary held Sam out in the hospital room, and John held Dean's small hand, and Mary had asked, so soft and warm, forehead still sweaty from conceiving, "Would like you see your sister?"

John had been so tall, even then, as he pulled Dean closer, but Dean was already walking close and wordlessly hopping on the hospital bed, Mary kissing his forehead and rocking Sam against her chest as Dean leaned closer.

Sam was babbling small, huffing noises, eyes watching out the window as the thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. One hand reached out into the open air, opening and closing, so tiny and fragile and puffy.

Sam was still quiet, for a newborn. Aside from the mild screams of Mary giving birth (which wasn't as painful, thanks to the epidural), and the loud cries of Sam coming into the world, there hadn't been much noise.

When it happened, John had smiled, tears in his eyes, and Dean memorized the crinkle of his mouth and the protective look in his eyes, the same one he sometimes gave Dean when he hugged him. Even if he was distant in a kind of fatherly, abstract way Dean would never properly categorize back then, it had been good, and while not soft... It had been kind.

And looking at Sammy, staring up at him with big, wide eyes...

Dean was sure he was giving a look of wonder at the little tiny thing that was alive, so small.

It was odd to think that Dean hadn't liked having the idea of a sibling, at first.

But one look at Sam...

And he felt sure that he would never let anything happen to the tiny ball of joy looking back at him, so quiet and curious and young.

Sam had such vivid eyes that just stared at you, even if he never really looked at anyone head on. His forehead crinkled and mouth was wide open as Dean's hands cradled the blanket, dimples so much like ones Dean saw in his own face in the mirror. Dean had freckles when Sam didn't though. Dean noticed that at once.

He remembers readjusting as Mary let him sit in her lap, arms around his, and the creasing of the ultra-soft blanket, cotton and ever-slightly too warm, as it swaddled around Sam's head and the curve of it over Sam's tiny body as Dean supported Sam's neck.

He remembers cradling Sam, keeping him close to his chest as Mary whispered, "Make sure you support his head- like this. That's it." She encourages, helping Dean's four year old hands keep Sam steady while he sat in Mary's lap.

"Hiya Sammy." Dean had breathed, and Sam blinked up at him and smiled, so wide and toothless, pink gums and pink tongue so bright against rosy cheeks and green-hazel eyes.

"Sam feels calm with you already." Mary added.

John had put a hand on his shoulder and commented, "Looks like you're her new favorite person."

Sam had yawned and his eyelids had fluttered shut and he had so lightly snored, dozing in Dean's arms.

Dean held him all night with Mary, scared that moving him would wake him up.

He had fallen asleep with Sam in his arms, Mary's arms keeping his steady with John right there, ready to catch them both if Mary fell asleep, too.

It had been peaceful.

And when John slept on the chair next to Mary as she stayed overnight to make sure there were no afterbirth complications and too much residual bleeding, even he didn't see the worry lines on Mary's face as she stared at her family, wondering if it would be broken when Samantha...

Only then her face hardened.

She would not let anything come for her child.

She would find a way to protect Sam, and her family.

She had to.

\--

The next night, the storm hadn't let up, and when Mary and John came in from the storm outside, shielding Sam with his coat, all swaddled up, and Dean guarded from the rain by Mary's rainjacket, they kicked off their wet boots and all sat on the sofa.

John made dinner- chicken, because Mary had asked. Then Mary fed Sam, and Dean watched cartoons, although he still looked at Sam, like he was amazed something else alive, so little, was there, and filling up the house with warmth.

They worried Sam was feverish, and the doctors had told them to keep an eye on her, but it looked like Sam just ran hot.

Dean camped out in Sam's room that first week, had snuck from his room and camped out in a sleeping bag on the floor until Mary caught him. Sometimes she moved the crib to Dean's room, and checked on both of them.

Sam was only quiet for a few days, though.

After that, all the colicky crying and gurgling shrieks keep Mary and John up all night, both taking shifts off each others hands, and Dean retreated to the quiet of his own room.

\--

When Sam is quiet, though, Dean sometimes sneaks back in and sleeps next to the crib. Sometimes it feels like a cold breeze floats through the room, making the mobile move of it's own accord, and when that happens, Dean adds an extra blanket around Sam's tiny, fidgeting baby legs and the red onesie that keeps them safe and snug.

Once in a while, Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, feeling like something's watching him...

But when he wakes, and his heart slows, and he turns on the flashlight, nothing is there.

Even if the flashlight flickers...

John always told Dean monsters weren't real, and Dean, loyal and trusting with absolute faith in the man, believed him. His dad could scare anything away, and Dean held on to that, even if his Dad left a lot and had the kind of mythic surety of a figure who isn't always there, but when they are, they always are so certain and so striking Dean couldn't doubt him for a second.

And if Dad didn't fight the monsters and punch them silly, Dean was sure Mom would. She could scare anything when she got protective. There's a reason Dean doesn't avoid listening to the Dean Henry Winchester in that voice she'd get when Dean was doing something he shouldn't...

Dean goes back to sleep and listens to Sam's huffy breathing, Sam smiling from his crib when Dean goes to check on their younger charge with a solemnity so intent it could wake the dead.

When Dean goes back to sleep, he doesn't see yellow eyes peering through the window.

Neither does Mary, when she retrieves Dean from the floor to take him back to his room in the early hours of the morning.

\--

By five months, Sam as started crawling early, always getting into trouble and Dean having to fish Sam's tiny, cowlicked self out of whatever hiding spot Sam found.

Sam likes being near the fridge, and pokes Dean's face when he brings him back to the living room.

"Eee." Sam would laugh, and Dean would smile. Who could be annoyed by anything looking at you like that?

Still, Sam is an escape artist. Not even baby-restricting seats meant to keep babies in one spot keep Sam still.

Sam just finds a way out.

When they read books that imitate animals, Sam's favorite animal to imitate is a snake, and when Mary puts on nature documentaries when she feeds Sam and burps them and rocks them, Sam stays occupied for hours.

Dean falls asleep or throws a ball in the yard, waiting for John to come home.

But Mary always makes it up to him by baking pie or making ham sandwiches with the crusts cut off after Sam has settled. Sometimes she even sneaks some bacon in between, a secret for just her and her eldest son.

\--

When Mary burns, it's the scream that wakes Dean up. The smell doesn't reach him in his room, not like it did John, because by then, all they smell is charcoal and the artificial too-sharp smell of plastic and siding and shag carpet burning their noses.

The first thing Dean does is run to Sam's room, choking on the smoke, which sears Dean's eyelids, but by then John is already there and tucking Sam in Dean's arms, yelling at them to get out, for Dean to take care of Sam, to keep her safe-

And Dean runs as fast as his tiny arms will carry him, Sam tucked tightly in his arms.

The reality that Mary is gone, just like that, hits like a freight truck, pinning his chest too close and his breathing too heavy, but it doesn't hit him until the fireman guide him out of there.

He's four and a half, and his mom is gone.

John checks to make sure Dean is in one piece, and lets Dean keep hold of Sam, and guides them to the car, and tears are streaming down his face, so gaunt and grave in the dying conflagration of their home...

When he cries himself to sleep, John tells him he has to be strong, and pats his shoulder in the car as they drive down the freeway, to somewhere Dean doesn't recognize, away from everything he knows.

\--

At two years old, Sam can speak a few words, and his favorite activity is tottering around the house with Dean chasing after him, Sam's shrieking giggles giving his location away. That, and Sam loves piggybacks on Dean's back, so Dean usually carries them around the yard while Sam points at all the flowers.

They don't get to go outside much, though, unless Bobby or Pastor Jim or their various babysitters find a way around it.

John likes to keep them inside locked doors, safe as he can make them.

Only he doesn't quite know how to keep demons out yet, and the demons know this, and capitalize on the lack of knowledge fairly easily.

\--

By the time Sam is three, Meg sits in as a babysitter, once or twice, thanks to taking the place of a hunter midway through a hunt John's left for. She makes sure Dean is occupied when Brady first makes friends with Sam as he crawls through the hedges, dirt caked on their faces and jumpers, but Dean finds Sam fairly quickly, Brady having crawled off long before.

When he finds Sam, Sam is chasing a small lizard around the side of the house, curls of hair bobbing around Sam's head with every bound.

And if Sam levitates some cookies when Dean isn't looking, Meg might just dote a little bit more on Sam's sheepish figure with an extra cookie, and holds a finger to her lips.

Sam gives the cookie to Dean, and after that, Dean isn't even bitter their babysitter won't let them watch Scooby Doo, because Meg makes sure they feast on as much spaghetti and homemade enchiladas as Dean wants. She's a fairly good cook compared to John, who defaults to microwave meals, more often than not.

Meg would make Dean go hungry if she could help it, but there's a chance he might prove useful, and Sam worships the ground he walks on...

So she plays it safe, for now. Doesn't stop her from letting Dean get too close to an old well, but Dean climbs out.

Nor does that stop her from murdering the neighbors, and soon John is ferrying his children out of there, frantic and more paranoid than ever once he gets back, right as Meg vacates her vessel and breaks her neck.

After that, John soon learns how to protect against demonic intrusions, and it's around then John starts having Dean watch out for Sam more, and doesn't leave them with hunters unless he knows there's layers of security in place.

The security measures don't work as well as he would like, although he's not around to notice, more often than not.

\--

When Sam is five, he's a terror to be a in car with. He pokes Dean's head from the back and kicks the seat and asks to change the music. Dean is more tired of the fighting, though, seeing as Sam doesn't listen to John, and otherwise, he and John don't get along at all, and at age 9, Dean is tired of Sam not listening to him, either.

But he does take Sam's side when he can, helping Sam rip up the skirts John got secondhand (Sam hates them, and says so, insisting on who he is, with John telling Sam he's being silly and then getting angrier and angrier as Sam refuses to listen), and Dean helps Sam learn to sew them into pants, or adjusts his own jeans he doesn't need, on the excuse that if they want to save money, it makes more sense to let Sam have his stuff secondhand.

It's just a good enough excuse that John goes for it, and Sam is beyond grateful.

John can guess Dean's other motivations, though. When he catches Dean kissing a boy (his name had been Leon, and he had been blonde and bubbly and liked kickball) outside of elementary school, he beats Dean with the belt and tells him never to do that again, calling people like all of that all sorts of names, and telling Dean that there's no good end for people like that, like him, and that if he didn't want to end up like the things they hunt, he better damn well be normal.

Dean cried himself to sleep that night and got barred from dinner, but Sam snuck him waffles he'd hidden in the back of the freezer in the middle of the night after John had passed out in an alcohol induced stupor.

Locked doors really didn't keep Sam out.

\--

When Sam is six, he's twiggy and small and his hair curls around his head like a bowlcut, lopsided and uneven where Sam took the scissors to them.

He kisses Brady the way kindergartners do, and they hold hands behind the slide, and no one sees.

Sam remembers it real well, because he crawled off to chase a frog afterwards and Brady had tried to trap it in a sandbox until Sam suggested that would hurt the frog by drying it out, so obviously the only solution was to run into the woods and find some place wet to make the frog's home. Somewhere between here and there, both Brady and Sam fell in rainpuddles and got soaked enough to be sent home.

Dean had laughed at all the dirt coating Sam's face and the rips in Sam's socks and the mud caked over the skirt Sam had been forced to wear. Sam had stuck out his tongue and made a face, but took Dean's handmedowns with a pointed determination (and some grateful pining, seeing as this meant he could have jeans).

That night, Sam got his knees banged up when Dean had fallen asleep, after Sam thought he'd dozed, and in his haste to recover Sam's hands got caught in the stuck metal of the broken windowpane Sam had doctored with a wrench and force from his mind and not his hands, all when John saw him trying to sneak out to catch the last of the fireflies in the night before they all dwindled with the season.

Ten-year old Dean got him ice, and John was so stunned by Sam's audacity he was almost apologetic, but it didn't change how much it hurt when John had dragged Sam from the sill, even if it had been accidental, John not knowing his own strength when compared to Sam's pipsqueak frame. Sam had struggled, too.

Getting caught always meant being cooped up.

Dean let Sam snuggle up next to him that night, half to keep track of Sam, and half to make up for John's eventual yelling and the scratches on Sam's hands, both of them in ill-fitting pajamas, and Dean cradled Sam's hands while Sam stayed up, unable to sleep, while Dean slowly went back to snoring.

\--

When Sam is seven, he begs Dean to buzz his head. Sam likes long hair, so long as he can wear Dean's baggy clothes.

But if this is the only control he'll get over his appearance more often than not, he doesn't want to feel like a girl, and he'll take the haircut. And John can't make Dean give Sam pigtails if there's no hair to prop up.

If Dean's a little too enthusiastic in helping Sam out, Sam doesn't mind.

It feels good to have a little control, when all you are is ferried everywhere you father and brother dictate.

When John comes home and sees what's been done, Dean gets grounded for stealing the razor.

Sam gets glared at. The calm anger scares him more than the yelling for once, because that means Sam won't have as many chances to hide when John gets bad again.

\--

Dean, for what it's worth, runs his hands through Sam's hair before shaving it off. He's never had much of a choice- John had chosen the military cut for him once he started hunting and knew what was out there, because God forbid something snagged your hair on a job.

It doesn't feel like loss, for Dean, though.

Sam's ear to ear smile in the mirror makes it worth it.

And when Sam thanks him, Dean only pulls the chord out of the wall and says, "What kind of older brother would I be if I didn't mess with my little brother's hair?"

And Sam smiles even wider and hugs Dean close.

Dean closes his eyes and thinks it's worth it, no matter what happens later with John and all the comments he might make.

\--

Sam dresses up as Batman for Halloween. Dean helps him duct-tape the costume together.

Dean is superman and pretends he can fly. They've been allowed to trick or treat only because John isn't around, and their last babysitter lost track of them.

The paint of the show is white, and it glows in a ghostly pallor into the night. 

Sam leaps off the shed, the ground spinning below him, because he's batman, and bats rule, and they can fly, and they have echolocation-

Only Sam has none of these things, and breaks his arm, and Dean is hyperventilating, yelling and frantic-

Sam cries, red faced and sniffling, but holds it together pretty well. It's a sharp fracture. Not deep enough to see bone, but enough that everything is askew-

And then Dean's peddling as fast as his legs will allow, the red paint of his bike dark against the streetlamps as his training wheels squeak against the asphalt.

Dean still avoids other houses, though.

He knows Sam will get taken away from him if he gets caught, because that was rule one: Don't let anyone take you away from this family.

It's not safe, and then Dean would be without Sam, and Sam without him-

And Dean won't let that happen.

\--

At eight years old, moving has become more than commonplace. It's like a religion.

Sam hates being trapped in the Impala longer than three hours. Like clockwork, Sam will beg to switch seats with Dean and take shotgun to keep the carsickness at bay.

It's not easy being eight and having no say in where you go, only getting hauled one state to the next with little warning.

Sam would call the Impala home, seeing how they live out of it longer than anything else, but fact is, sometimes staring at the back of a leather seats and freeway gets old after a while.

That, and when you move from motel to motel....

Sam misses playing in the neighbor's yard. Envies Brady for the pictures he sends over of his house in Baltimore, green lawn and picket fence and all.

\--

When Sam is nine, he breaks into John's things to get answers for questions no one has ever answered, and Sam learns monsters are real, and he cries.

And nothing Dean can say will make it better, because then the things Sam sees in his sleep are more likely to be real.

The only comfort is the same dream.

The dream where Sam isn't alone and it's so cold and nothing can touch him, because he's so full, so alive...

Sam writes stories of monster hunters and mails them to Brady, who by now, is more than three states away.

Brady tells Sam about sailing and summer camp and normal things, things that don't reek of the things lurking in the dark that Sam, on some level, can feel watching him, and Dean, and John.

They have to be, if John is hunting them. Sam can only hope John sees them first.

\--

It's the two of them against the world, really. Sam knows that.

He can see how Dean looks after him, in all the things he thinks he's hidden from Sam, all the trials and errors John corrects too harshly because Dean's the oldest, the brother, and Sam's so damn so small and young in comparison, and Sam isn't an unobservant kid. Quite the opposite.

But Sam does what he can to cover for Dean, too, seeing as he knows Dean act with all the girls he hangs with after John's explosions about Sam's presentation and Dean's choices of friends.

If Sam has to be the troublemaker, he can take the heat off Dean, when he has to.

Sometimes it backfires, and Dean takes the rap, but that's what happens when you have to predict John's mood.

It's a gamble.

Sam and Dean learn to pick their battles and their poker faces, although, as times wears on, Dean takes John's side on most things if it means the fighting will stop.

"Just listen to him for once, Sammy, come on," Dean would groan, flicking Sam's shoulder, and Sam would bare his teeth and turn up his nose with a resounding, "No. He's wrong."

Despite the betrayal, the upholding of the status quo, or even hauling Sam off when he tries to stay put, Dean doesn't compromise on the things Sam cares about most.

He always stays quiet or sticks up for Sam whenever he says he's not a girl and when Sam needs an out, Dean gives it.

He knows picking his battles is key-

And Dean thinks it's not really betrayal, all those other fights.

All he's trying to do is keep everyone together and to stop the yelling, one way or another.

And you can't really fight your Dad. He's your Dad. He's bigger and stronger and supposed to be smarter than you, and Dean reckons he is, with things like safety, and practical know-how.

He might be wrong about a lot of other things-

But Dean doesn't feel like paying the price for arguing.


	5. Arsonist's Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by hozier

"Sully, I had the dream again." Sam says quietly as he starts cleaning up the mess he's made of the stove. "What do you think it means?"

The room smells like soot and burnt food and cork-board from where Sam burned the macaroni and the wood paneling of the walls. Normally, he's much more careful, but he's been extra distracted lately.

John would kill him if he found out he accidentally started a fire. They might be isolated in a cabin in the woods, but fire...

Fire was not something people talked about easily in this house.

"I don't know, Sam. Maybe it means we'll get snow?" Sully answers, helping Sam scrub out the pot. Being a Zanna has upsides. Being tall enough to reach things kids can't. Protective magic. Heightened senses to make sure kids aren't drowning in pools or ponds. Teleportation.

Preventing housefires.

You know, that sort of thing.

Not much you can do about a malfunctioning smoke alarm, though. The batteries are up to date and everything. Both Sully and Sam checked, Sam tottering on the ladder and unscrewing it himself before Sully tried to stop him, and Sam maintained he could do it himself.

The clock stops. Sam doesn't notice. He does notice the lights flicker, though.

When they've finished, Sam lies on the bed and looks up at the sun through the window. He wishes the doors and windows weren’t locked.

But Dean’s gone with Dad on a hunt. So they locked him in.

Safety first, right?

Not much safety if the small room burns down, but they do have escape routes for that. John wouldn't leave Sam alone without an escape route.

Sam doesn't use it without cause, though. Last time he did...

Last time he did the consequences weren't worth it.

And if he was gonna run, he'd have to hide for weeks somewhere and never come back.

Sam doesn't have enough food to hide for weeks. And the sleeping bag's been taken in the Impala.

So sitting pretty with some books, old cereal, a TV with an in-and-out signal, and hourly calls from Dean making sure Sam's alive and safe, codewords and all, is the name of the game.

Sam rips up another skirt John found at a dollar store and tries to resew it into something else.

While he does, Sam wishes he was anywhere but here.

Even in the icy tundra of his dream, where the lights darted across the sky and where something whispered that he was destined to do something important. Something beautiful.

Sully can tell when Sam gets distant.

He doesn’t know why, exactly. Sam’s a quiet kid, and not even used to his company.

Lonely. Older than his usual charges.

But Sully can try to make things right for him. One day at a time.

And one day, maybe Sam will find a way out of this life.

“You know, maybe one day I could be a scientist. Maybe that’s what the dream means. That I find something really important out hidden in the artic. Like a new element. Or a meteor with traces of megafauna from another planet. Ice is supposed to keep things preserved really well, like marshes. Anaerobic environments. I read about it the other day.” Sam rambles.

That’s the other thing. With so much time on his hands, and he’d stolen a lot of books from libraries when he got a chance, either when he snuck off next to a food joint or when Dean helped him with the excuse being research. Normally, Sully wouldn’t encourage stealing. But Sam didn’t really get a chance to entertain himself otherwise. There isn’t much in the house.

And it’s not like they live in one place long enough to return the books.

\--

When Sam gets bored enough, he levitates some books with his mind. The trick doesn't always work.

But he likes the book Matilda. So he'll pretend one day he and Dean will go and find someone nice who won't make them move so much.

Sam knows Dean would like that.

But that gets boring fast, too, even if Sam knows he can't practice when Dean or John are around.

They'd flip out. Think he's a witch or something.

In the past, Dean's only ever seen him use it in low light, at night, when he's half asleep, so he usually writes it off as a dream.

John's never seen stuff move, though. Just seen abnormally fast reflexes, or light tricks, or the way Sam sometimes sees strangers following them when no one else notices.

John tends to rush them away and lock the doors a lot, when that happens.

When Sam first slipped up, before he knew about hunting, when he was five and Dean went to pump gas and John made Sam go into the gas station with him...

John locked Sam up for a week.

Sam doesn't know what he was like before the age of four, really. John's seen a lot.

He learns to take denial and shift it into paranoid anger pretty quickly.

It's harder to be angry at kids when they're too little to understand much or are blindly led into situations.

Less so once they get older and stop listening as much.

Sam learned that the hard way, too.

"Sully... Can you get me out of this house?" Sam asks.

Sully considers. "Where do you want to go?"

"I dunno. Swimming in a pond, or rafting, or something. I know you won't let anything happen. And we can take care of ourselves. It's just..."

It's so quiet here. Not even Sully can come up with ideas to stave off boredom.

Sam's too old for some of the usual fare, and they've done most of the things they usually do to try and stay busy already.

The lights flicker again.

Sully looks... nervous, but then his expression turns to one of resolve.

"Sure, Sam. You have a fishing pole and a bathing suit?"

Sam pouts. Loathing isn't a strong enough word for what he feels for the bathing suit Dad made sure Sam got one year after Sam adamantly reminded him he wasn't a girl. Again. It's some dumb orange and green pattern. At least it isn't pink.

But he can wear it under the blue and grey plaid boxers Dean nicked for him from that dollar store when Dad wasn't looking.

So he'll use those.

\--

The day is hot and bright and windy and Sam whoops, alone on the water save for Sully, some grilled cheese, a couple flopping bass he managed to hook, and four eyes watching him from the underbrush on the shore.

Yellow eyes smile beneath the foliage.

The back of Sully's neck prickles, and he keeps an eye out.

He knows they've been being watched for days.

Comes with the territory.

Why stuff singles Sam out, he doesn't know.

But he doesn't like it.

\--

Brady, of all people, happens to be in town. He finds Sam while hiking in the same patch of woods.

Sully doesn't want to discourage Sam from socializing with kids he knows...

Even if he's not sure how Brady finds him when Sam moves around so much.

"How did you get here?" Sam asks, laughing as he splashes Brady with the still pond water. After he's hugged him, of course. He hasn't seen Brady in person for over a year.

Brady shrugs and touches the back of his neck.

"You won't believe it. But after I heard you were moving to Vermont for a few weeks, I entered a contest. And I got a tour of Ben and Jerry's! How crazy is that?"

There's nothing necessarily different about Brady from other kids.

But Sully just...

He feels off and makes his scales prickle beneath his human exterior.

All Zanna have colorful scales and large eyes. They are a subset of shapeshifting spirit, after all, and the scales don't tell you wrong.

But it's not right to judge a kid just 'cause they seem off.

Or look around with a smirk like they can see right through you.

It makes Sully feel... cold.

Like he's an insect under a microscope. Which is stupid. It's not like the kid is ripping wings off of dragonflies or mutilating small animals.

He's swimming and playing dice games and helping Sam fry some fish and making s'mores and exchanging more pen-pal letters to their little circle of distant strangers Sam calls friends.

Why his scales itch so much, Sully doesn't know.

Heavens to Betsy, he kid can't even _see_ him, even if Sam mentions that a friend snuck them the marshmellows packed in his backpack.

It's probably the weather. Or maybe it's a different kind of warning.

Like they should head home soon, before the battery on the cell radio dies and Dean thinks Sam died.

...Or maybe it's a warning that something else is watching.

\--

Eventually, Sam does find a way to introduce Sully to Brady. It's a fact kids are more easily able to see Zanna, considering their purpose, and even if Sully isn't Brady's imaginary friend, some wards Sully helped Sam find when Sam begged him to join in.

Brady gives a fake bow and a sharp grin.

"Pleasure, Mr. Sully." He greets, all with an affected accent.

Sully waves and smiles nervously and makes them pizza while trying to be as upbeat as possible.

It doesn't change the fact that being around Brady still makes him feel like he's breaking out in a cold sweat.

Sam and Brady roughhouse and make schematics for their ultimate fort they've been planning on making in Nevada.

Brady promises one day he'll get Sam to join him on vacation for a week where they can make their base for real, and check out some observatory Sam's wanted to visit for a while.

When Brady takes the pizza Sully offers, he rips it apart with his teeth, each bite like a shark.

But when he looks at Sam, all the violence ebbs to rapt kindness and respect.

\--

Sam has Brady camp with him in the shack for a few days before Dean and John get back.

Not like Brady's folks will miss him, and the uncle Brady stays with pretty much let's Brady go wherever he wants.

It makes Sam a bit jealous.

The demon inside Brady feels warmer from the feeling.

Sam telegraphs everything, even when he tries not to.

And Sam needs to nurse that resentment.

Outwardly, Brady adjusts the reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and keeps reading segments of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in a silly voice until Sam cracks up.

They read Lord of the Flies next and act out parts with sticks.

\--

Inverse to their loud laughter and yelling earlier, Brady is as silent as a mouse when Dean calls in. He knows Sam's not supposed to have company.

That, and if this abduction plan of Azazel's works, he doesn't want them knowing he's around.

He gives a thumbs up out the window when Sully's distracted by Sam and an accidentally exploding dishwasher with the wrong soap inside it.

Brady made sure he overfilled the lid.

He apologizes, extra contrite when they realize his mistake, scuffing some of the hidden warding lines he's broken through in the meantime.

Sam snorts, and promises it isn't a big deal. They mop up the mess.

Outside, the salt lines hidden in the walls start to eat away.

Salt usually is a good deterrent. But if you have enough time...

Erosion is a beautiful thing.

\--

Sully buries his misgivings under the sentiment that maybe Brady feels off because of what his folks are like. Sam's told him son things, about how Brady got taken away by the courts.

That's all it is, probably. He's rough around the edges. Seen some crazy things kids shouldn't see.

Nothing to worry about.

There's a thunderstorm lighting up the sky by the time seven rolls around. It breaks the satellite on the roof, which means they can't keep watching movies in the living room.

Brady tells ghost stories instead, and then they camp out on Sam's bed.

That's when Sam huffs in a breath and looks at Brady very intently, flashlight clutched in one hand.

"Brady. Do you believe monsters are real?"

"You really gonna ask me that, Sam? You know-"

"I don't mean monsters like your folks. I mean, like... Not human monsters?"

Brady gets quiet, then his voice is a bit too sure.

"Yeah, Sam. I do. Why?"

Sam shivers.

"Well... If I tell you a secret, you promise you won't tell anyone else?" He pleads.

Brady holds his hand.

"Sam. We're blood brothers. Your secrets are my secrets. You know that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this chapter cuts off
> 
> what was supposed to happen was a foiled Azazel plot with more Dean and John focus and Brady being shady to explain more of that dynamic and a potential point of Sam keeping stuff close to his chest even with Sully (which I may expand on later if I ever get the inclination), and maybe some covert Meg stuff, but I ran out of steam when I wrote this the first time so just assume John got pissed and Brady had to improvise and obviously Azazel and Brady's plan did not go through, also there was gonna be some psychic powers Sam in here but *shrugs*


	6. Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Panic! At the Disco
> 
> Brady centric stuff that also didn't totally materialize into the full scope of what I wanted but I wanted to show Brady as part of Sam's support network despite Brady being shifty as heck

Sam knows he probably isn't supposed to run away. The thing is, he doesn't care. He's sick of this life. Sick of his family. Sick of the car, of hunting, of being dragged place to place-

And in his letters, Brady always makes everything sound so damn easy. Like Sam can just walk out. Like Sam should've walked out, back when he thought Sully was real, even though who knows what would've happened, with Sam running off alone and things he sees out of the corner of his eye following him- like they think he doesn't notice.

But Sam can trust Brady with this. He always been reliable, even when notoriously unreliable, in the way Brady always has been.

He never takes anything too seriously, and always knows how to make things seem less life or death than they are.

Like Sam can take a break and breathe, even if he's going to have to go back eventually.

But he can cherish the freedom he has right now.

He doesn't know when he's gonna get it, again.

Besides, in Flagstaff, Sam has a dog.

And Bones is a hell of a good dog. Practically the poster child for golden retrievers everywhere.


	7. Amelia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Skott
> 
> also this was a frankenstein chapter of two chapters that didn't totally mesh right but it is what it is
> 
> the things that went before this section that I took out but i'm putting back in possibly, tw major transphobia:
> 
> "You'll never be a real man. You don't count."  
> "You can't be straight, you'll still be queer."  
> "You can't go on hormones, the health effects aren't worth it."  
> "I don't see you as a man. You've always seemed like a woman to me."  
> "I'm not going to call you my son, or he or him."  
> "I am supporting you- but I'm not going to help you change your body."

Sam has heard a lot of horrible things from his father's mouth. He has grown used to ignoring his opinion, anyway, and he's more scared of violence that never fully lands except for the rare times it does, or the many mutable threats, or of being trapped in a room for days without any recourse or way out. That's why he started running away, one more reason among many, and packed a bag early, and hid the fact he was leaving until the very last minute.

Sam doesn't even know why he bothered to tell him he was going to Stanford.

Maybe, some part of him held out to hope that the part of John that did love him would trump the part of him stuck in his ways, unable to see Sam as anything else other than what he thought he should be. But he's usually wrong, and falling down from the bitter hope, well, Sam's grown far too used to that to keep hoping.

It's more a defense mechanism while he's stuck there, trying to pretend he could smooth things over and things could be good if he didn't look close enough at what has always shattered him, over and over.

But that, on top of everything else, just hastened what was to the end.

And if John said, "You walk out that door, you don't come back," it wasn't a goddamn order that Sam was following.

That door had closed long before, had long since locked Sam out because they didn't want Sam, they wanted someone else to be what they wanted and not what they got.

No. Sam was never coming back, no matter how much he might miss what was familiar, even if he's not sure he'll make it out all alone, because all going back would do would keep him in a cage, keep him trapped in a life he would not settle for or forgive, and that would be worse.

If Sam didn't dig his way out with his own two hands, he wouldn't know who he is anymore.

This time, Sam is keeping the door shut for himself.

Even if he doesn't know how Dean is going to take the one decision Sam can't compromise on anymore.

\--

Dean had shut the door in Sam's face after John went upstairs.

Sam had stared at it for two seconds. Breathless. Heedless of the wetness of his eyes and the tightness of his throat that burns with rage and hurt and loss because of all the things he expected-

He thought Dean wouldn't do this to him, at least.

He'd thought Dean wouldn't see this as abandonment. That he was just going out to live his life.

But he did.

And that was that.

The air is cold on his face, and crickets keep chirping under the dilapidated floorboards of the porch.

Sam shoulders his bag (the one he'd been planning for for weeks, in case they found out, in case this went bad-) and stumbles down the steps and walks down the road and keeps walking. It winds around corners, and Sam follows the tarmac, hugs his chest as the cold air seeps in.

Somewhere, between walking, something else had sparked within him.

He is free, now, one way or another.

It hurts like a bitch, and his head is still spinning, but beneath it all was something bubbling up, new and unknown and like something he'd been grasping for but hadn't known, not properly-

Something tastes like truth under his tongue, and Sam finds it is the taste of freedom, something he can hold on to, just freedom and himself, as he walks and finds a car.

He doesn't want to steal.

But it seems like a small price to pay, in this little town with no public transport, and the whole empty world yawning out before Sam's two feet. 

Normally Sam would be able to contact Brady, or Bobby, but Brady's last number got smudged so Sam hasn't been able to reach him except by snail mail, and even if he could, Brady's out at sea for some research project, has been for two months, while Bobby's been off the grid every time Sam has tried to call him, although at this point, Sam's starting to wonder if John sabotaged his contact list again. John and Bobby hadn't ended on good terms- not to mention Dean's still got the phone charger, and there's no signal for miles out here. Sam doesn't know when it'll come back, and isn't sure if his phone will be dead before he reaches actual civilization.

Best to forge a path for himself- and no need to worry Bobby, if he can figure out why the line is dead.

Sam can do this.

Sam needs to prove this to himself, really. That he can keep going without anyone leading the way.

Freedom still tastes like fire, and Sam clings to it like a lifeboat, awash in the new, lonely trappings of the woods and the roads and nothing else.

He's used to being alone.

He just wishes he didn't feel so insignificant out here, where anything could happen between getting out and getting on the road.

Sam still feels the fire burning in his chest.

That's something that can't be taken from him, even if grief and hurt are still making his head ache.

He can survive this.

He's survived worse.

And Dean-

Something pangs in Sam's ribs, then, but he pushes it down.

Just because his brother can't see the truth doesn't mean he's done anything wrong.

He doesn't need to justify this.

This is his life.

He can say no. He has a right to say no, and make his own choices, and build a life for himself, without anyone's blessings.

And Sam vows he is out of the life, starting now.

And with every step- no matter how faltering or tired he gets trying to find the nearest house, with all the marshland and empty ponds and grass for miles around- the truth remains.

Nothing is going to rip his freedom from him, no matter how hard the world might try.

Sam is going to college. Going to start something new, going to build something for himself.

This is just one more hurdle to get to the finish line.


	8. This Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by the Mountain Goats

Sam staggers down the road, injured from the last scrape, the last hitchhiking attempt gone wrong. Sam's car got stolen after he left, after John kicked him out, leaving Sam without many options, only because he almost got caught hotwiring a car at the rest stop and had to flee, and now he's too far away from everything to grab something else.

Headlights blind Sam for a moment as one red 2001 Dodge Ram drives off the shoulder of the highway, only to slow down and park right next to him. Sam doesn't have the energy to hide, doesn't know if this will end bad again, but Sam can take this, he can-

"Sam?" A voice that Sam knows, that Sam missed, that fills Sam with relief, calls out as Jess exits her car. She helps Sam up and grabs him off the side of the road, Sam beaten and bloody, "Sam, I've got you, you're okay, you're safe now-"

"Jess-" Sam gasps as Jess helps him up from the asphalt, Sam's bloody and torn shirt staining Jessica's yellow sundress as she cradles Sam against her chest and helps him into her car.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Jess asks as Sam leans into her, Jess taller and leaner and all muscle, and Sam shakes his head.

"No, no hospital, I'll be fine-" Sam manages to gasp as Jess sits them both in the back seat of her car. Sam laughs choking laughter. "You should see the other guy."

Jess washes and bandages Sam's various small cuts and buries and more serious injuries with her first aid kit. Sam rests his head on her shoulder, too much blood loss keeping Sam dizzy and out of it.

Jessica's manicured fingers stroke Sam's hair as Sam tries not to pass out.

Her hands are always cold, but it feels nice against Sam's skin.

After enough time, Jess raises a bottled water to Sam's lips, helping him chug it down slowly at Sam's request.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jess asks softly when he stops, head still leaning on her shoulder. Sam smells apples and ice and citrus and ozone and smoke.

"I've had worse. Really. Thank you, Jess. Thank you." And Sam's eyes fill with tears as he hugs her, and she holds him closer, warm and inviting and careful. Her long, wavy hair is soft and sticky against's Sam's damp cheekbones.

"What are you even doing out here, Sam?" Jess asks, the concern bleeding through like a wildfire. "I haven't heard from you in weeks."

Sam shakes his head as his trembling voice answers, "I was trying to get to Stanford. I got in. Full ride. Was stuck too far out in the country to catch a bus, and my car got stolen halfway through, and then I got jumped. I got away, and gave them a run for their money, I can defend myself, but there were just so many of them, and I should've expected it, I look like a girl wandering out there alone, and I got targeted more than once..."

"What were you doing out here alone? How long have you been out there?" Jess asks, quieter but with an intensity that made Sam want to nestle closer. Jess always welcomed Sam closer. She never made the first move, just let Sam set the pace. He wishes he could kiss her again, but he's not sure she's still as drawn to Sam as Sam is to her. Sam's too scared to ask, too tired, and Jess is likely too good for him, anyway.

"A few days now, I think?" Sam slurs, a little too delirious from blood loss not to hide the truth, and blurts out despite himself, "My Dad kicked me out, and Dean... Dean... It doesn't matter. I left. I got out. I can live my life now." And then Sam's voice cuts out and he starts crying again despite himself.

Jess holds him tighter.

"Shh, shh. Don't cry, Sam. You don't need them. I've got you. I'll keep you safe. You don't have to be afraid. They can't hurt you." Jess says quietly, and Sam lets her comfort him, lets her words wash over him, measured and calm as she keeps hold of Sam, not letting go, every part of her soft and gentle and soothing. "It's a good thing I found you. And you know what? You have an angel looking out for you. I know it. Because guess what," Jess adds, voice growing warmer and more excited. "You won't believe it, but I'm going there, too. I got in, same as you. So we can go together. I can take you up there before the semester starts."

"What are the odds?" Sam wheezes, "Although this is you we're talking about, Venus, the one who brings all who see her to their knees, so I'm not surprised." Sam jokes as he tries to regain his composure, limbs still trembling as Jess keeps rubbing Sam's shoulders. Sam been walking on the roadside for days. "But really that's... That's great, Jess. You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

Jess kisses Sam's forehead, and then pulls back. Sam still feels the echo of them, soft and smooth and tacky with lip balm.

"I do, Sam. I really do. And I'm so glad I found you, kiddo. It's been too long." Jess adds as she hugs Sam again.

Sam hugs back, breathing still shaky.

"Do you want shotgun, or to lay back here?" Jess finally asks when Sam finally pulls away. Brown eyes stare into green as cold breaths puff out between them.

"Shotgun." Sam answers, and Jess helps Sam walk to the other door and sit inside.

"You mind if we head to my apartment?" Jess asks after Sam settles in and buckles, Jess still leaning down with one hand on Sam's shoulder and her lips puckered in concern.

"Not at all... I... I have nowhere else to go." Sam manages to say, very quietly, as he doesn't meet her gaze. "I'm sorry, I don't mean-"

"Sam, I really don't mind. You can stay with me as long as you want, Sam. I mean it. Take however much time you need." Jess answers, then shuts the door and walks back around to the other side of the car, settling back into the driver's seat as she finishes, "What are friends for?

Sam is overcome with a feeling in his chest, bright and sharp and wanting as grateful love and pure pangs of friendship keep him from feeling the loss of everything else he's known.

"Sorry about your dress." Sam manages to add shyly as he looks back over sees the full extent of Jess's ruined outfit, then looks down at his own bloody jeans and jacket with a tired, shameful acceptance. Getting new clothes would be a hassle.

Jess waves Sam off and winks. "Nothing I can't wash off. Besides, I've had worse, believe me."

"I have a hard time believing that," Sam counters as he leans his head against the seat-belt, eyes closing as Jess starts up her car.

"Trust me, you don't even want to know." Jess laughs. "Which reminds me, if you need a change of clothes, I have some in the back, although I don't know if they're your size-"

"It's alright, I can wait." Sam assures, not wanting to be a burden.

They keep talking, Sam lets her ask questions and listens to her talk about her life and asks questions of his own before Sam is lulled by the sound and the forward motion of the car and falls asleep, out cold.

\--

Lucifer smiles at Sam's peaceful dozing face and hums as he keeps on driving on.

Jessica's thumbs slide over the steering wheel with an easygoing surety.


	9. Don't Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by halsey
> 
> i'm also thinking of cutting some smut scenes because i can and i still don't fully like this chapter but whatever

Sam isn't sure why he even tries to hide the stripping he's doing on the side, not at first. He doesn't want Jess to think badly of him, even though they don't have any real secrets between them, just things they choose not to talk about by mutual silence. Like family. Jess doesn't take about her past, or her brothers, although Sam knows she's had some after she found her new folks.

And when Jess finds out the second time Sam goes out, she's not judgmental. Sam knows she can guess his reasoning, his need to earn for hormones and everything else. It's almost a relief that he doesn't have to hide it anymore. She just watches him in the lights of the club, eyes only for Sam, encouraging, kind, attraction and appreciation in her eyes also clear as day when she sees Sam move and keeps her eyes glued on him. Sam can't really feel scared for the consequences of her finding out right then, not when she's smiling at him, watching, the one thing keeping him grounded in the present when he would otherwise let his mind wander from the crowd.

What he isn't expecting is for her to ask to join him afterwards on the stage when Sam gets out. She meets him in the dressing room, hugging Sam close, breathing him in after he's gotten his baggier, less feminine clothes back on.

Sam still shifts uneasily as he answers her, "Jess, just because I'm doing this, it doesn't mean... You don't have to-"

She just stares at him with that same patient, waiting resolve.

"I don't want you to have to do this for my sake." Sam finally settles on, eyes downcast and one arms crossed, the other hand rubbing his elbow absent in a frantic effort to self-soothe. He can't stop her, but she shouldn't have to make more sacrifices for him-

Jess lifts Sam's chin slightly so he has to meet her gaze, her expression adamant, and her tone gentle but unyielding and sure, all the same.

"But I want to, Sam. I want to support you, and you shouldn't have to go through this alone. Besides, we can save up more if we both rake in the fast cash. And the faster we do that," Jess says as a smile breaks over her face, and she bops him on the nose and then snuggles her head closer, "The faster you get to be who you are and to feel comfortable in your own body. And I want you to be happy, Sam. I've always wanted that for you. And it's my choice."

Then Jess kisses him, and Sam wonders how he lucked out to get such an angel in his life.

\--

Lucifer nabs Brady outside in the side-alley when Sam is finishing up getting ready.

"Fix this." The Archangel hisses, clarifying. He'd sacrifice everything for Sam, dignity, poise, you name it. And if he had to threaten or bribe the nearest witch doing humanitarian work, he'd do that, too.

But he'd be damned all over again if he let Sam continue to be appreciated by anyone else under his watch, or for Sam to have to rent out his body, the body that was both his and Lucifer's, just because Sam had to struggle by in this human world the human way to get by. He didn't have to resort to those measures any more, not with Lucifer taking care of him.

And it was high time Sam got his prayers answers.

Brady listens and handles it.

\--

When they get to the club the next night, Jess is directed to watch Sam as a sort of way of gauging the crowd, and while 'Jess' isn't complaining at the view, she exudes this aura around her that discourages anyone from getting too close. All her eyes are on Sam.

Then Jess is allowed to work with Sam, Sam doesn't know how she convinced the manager, but she did, and they tag team the dance, working together. Sam tries not to get distracted by Jess herself.

That, and stripping with Jess is altogether different from stripping alone. If he's being honest, Sam's never been fully comfortable with it. Sam just pretends his body isn't his, drifts when it all gets too real, although he does get absorbed in the dancing, the movement, keeping busy. With Jess right there...

He's not alone. He's got someone else to focus on, someone else who sees him for who he is, who isn't out to hurt him, to use him, to only appreciate Sam as an object.

She's looking out for him. There for him.

Sam doesn't know what he did to deserve her, but he dances better with her.

Although sometimes, he does get a bit distracted by her ass and her body and her dancing, but Jess manages to catch him before he stumbles, like she sees it coming. They don't over-correct, and keep working in perfect unison.

\--

Outside the club, Jess is as eager to make Sam feel good about himself again, just like she always is.

"Someone could see us." Sam almost protests, but not really convincingly, because if he minded that much he'd just say no.

Jess presses Sam down against the blanket she's laid down, the fabric clean and smelling like too much detergent, completely at odds from the graffiti and grit-covered walls.

"Brady is watching the alley for us. And it's after 3 am, the end of the night. No one's around." Jess assures, eyes bright. "I'll be quick, I promise. But someone has to appreciate you properly. And you can pay me back at the apartment. Now, lay back, Sam. Let me make you feel good, make you feel clean... Do you want me to, Sam?"

"Yes, Jess, I want you, I need you," Sam answers and falls and lets Jess catch him, lets her lower him down, still sweaty and hair still matted from the dancing earlier, Sam only half-dressed before Jess started dragging him outside with a wink.

Then Jess is kissing Sam senseless and stripping off Sam's clothes, unhooking Sam's bra and folding it nicely next to the rest before she starts kissing every digit and Sam's eyelids and Sam's lips and Sam's neck and Sam's chest, and Sam lets her slide the pillow under his ass and fuck his unwanted body in the empty alley, in the dark with only shade-covered windows leeching out dim light and half-lit streetlamps off on the sidestreet illuminating her face, skin and body so soft and her expression burning like Sam is the only one in the world. Her fingers are less gentle, not hurting, but purposeful, and her mouth...

**Jess.**

Sam moans and makes some squeaking noises he otherwise wouldn't, but Jessica's tongue is something else when she goes down on him, when she licks Sam clean of anything that ever made Sam feel ugly inside, and she's not quite gentle when she touches him, or when she whispers in his ear, like a prayer, "Sam, Sam. Nothing is more beautiful than you. Nothing. Even in this imperfect body that isn't yours, you're perfect, Sam. You'll always be perfect. Now, you want to tell me what you are?"

"Beautiful." Sam gasps, just like she always directs him. Sex with Jess was always different, because Jess knew what made small lose himself, made him disconnect, and she only ever made sure Sam felt good, felt comforted, almost felt like he wasn't inhabiting this body but one that made Sam feel right, one that didn't feel like he was trapped inside his own skin...

And she always sees Sam for exactly who he is. Always makes Sam feel good, feel seen, feel wanted, no matter what else happens. Sam isn't used to feeling grounded in sex, isn't used to not feeling like his body feels too small, too vulnerable, too easily invaded- before her, he'd rather not be touched at all: but with Jess, things felt safe in a way they never otherwise did. The physical sensations didn't feel like a betrayal, or that this was what the sex was about at all. The point was just that just made Sam feel good, feeling seen, feeling close, feeling together and not alone, larger than himself, because Jess wanted to take care of him, wanted to be as close as possible in every way, so Sam could feel her naked love uncurling from her heart and finding its way inside, in every single pointed movement as she carefully invades every part Sam allows her to.

Jess smiles and kisses him and touches him, knows every little thing that makes Sam forget to be ashamed or feel the need to hide.

"That's right, Sam. Because you are beautiful. Inside and out. And I love you. Now let yourself feel it."

She goes down on Sam again, falling on top of him, until she raises her head and whispers, "You're mine, all mine, I can do whatever I want, and you'll let me, won't you?"

"Yes." Sam chokes, tears falling, face flushed, as Jess keeps touching him, hands everywhere, Sam's back arching as it all builds, as Jess makes Sam forget everything but the two of them and what she's doing, the electricity and heat lacing through every nerve as Sam shivers, Jessica's hands always cold, always a relief, for the fever Sam falls into.

"That's it. You want it, want me, I know you do, that's it. Let go, Sam. Let me in." 

Then Jess is kissing Sam's neck, Sam's breasts, Sam's stomach, Sam's clit, all over again, her fingers resting on Sam's wrists finally to keep him from bucking too much for her to give him what he needs.

Then she finishes Sam off and helps him up, and Sam helps throw on his clothes, and Brady joins them and gets to ride in the back of Jessica's car, buzzed but not wasted, eating cotton-candy he found somewhere earlier that night. Brady says his goodbyes when they see him off to their apartment, starting to get wasted as nabbed another beer on the way back to the dorm.

Sam takes the lead when he dips her over the counter, treating Jess with the same careful, reckless joy she does him, and they make their way up to their shared room, losing clothes along the way.

Jess lifts Sam up and carries him up the stairs, still taller despite the hormones Sam's finally been able to start taking, his legs wrapped around her, Jessica's laughter ringing in his ears, and Sam wouldn't trade any of this for the world.

They shower first, though. Even with protection and supplies and the blanket, there's no telling what was out there.

Jessica lathers Sam's hair. Sam kisses her neck, reaching on tip-toes, and she washes Sam's legs clean, hands wandering a few other places before Sam pushes her against the wall of the shower and kisses her and fingers her until she is gasping out Sam's name.

"More, I need you. Give me everything. Sam, I love you," And then she gasps and sighs and moans as Sam goes down on her, touches her every small place Sam knows she loves, "Sammy, Sam, please, like that, oh-"

Sam doesn't stop until Jess slides against the wall and taps his shoulder, their signal, and then they are both on the floor of the shower and Jess is on top of Sam again, grinding against him, feeling him up, kissing Sam senseless...

After they both clean themselves off properly and end that, they get out, dry off, and tumble into bed, Sam taking the lead and crawling over Jess with the same single-minded abandon she showed him earlier.

They stop at 6 am, no care for sleep, then get ready for class. Jess makes eggs over easy and they make sandwiches together, Jess throwing in as much roast beef and lettuce in between the sourdough she can manage without over-stuffing the sandwich, then adding extra cucumber to Sam's when he goes to the sink to wash his hands.

Jess presses Sam into the counter for another kiss before they both part for separate classes, (organic chemistry and legal ethics, respectively). She ruffles his hair as she leaves, and blows him a kiss goodbye. Her heels clatter on the steps on the way out, familiar.

Sam's tired but not really, not with all the lightness that floats in his chest that day.

\--

Two weeks later, Jess lands a fortune thanks to some distant Great Aunt Matilda's passing. She immediately tells Sam, who mourns her loss, but Jess shrugs it off and says she was kind but barely knew her, and then Jess applies the money all to one thing, and one thing only.

"We're going to get you everything, Sam. Trust me. I know someone." Jess vows, brown eyes so sure. "You even know them, too."

Sam doesn't know what that means, but come right before Halloween, he finds out just what Jess has been keeping under wraps. He didn't know they could do this so fast.

Sam can honestly say that Halloween sophomore year was the best one, all things considered.

He was leery about how Jess found a witch at first when she first mentioned it, how he had to undergo surgery and magical change. More than just leery: but right up against that was the fact Jessica had never done anything to hurt him, and how desperate Sam remains: he doesn't want his body like this. He just wants all those parts of himself he hates to disappear, and even with magic, Sam isn't sure how anything will ever be enough to fix it, because some things you can't remove, and Sam will replace the parts of himself that leave him vulnerable, if it means he can be freed from the battleground that is his body. Sam wants to be taller and stronger and not riddled with a body that doesn't reflect who he is: but he doesn't know how he'll ever get over the feeling of not having anything be enough.

It helps that Jess talked him through every step and took him to the location and promised she had a way of making sure this went right, and begged Sam to trust her, because she never did him wrong, and she would never hurt him, and she knew Selene, and knew she wouldn't screw Sam over. Day by day, Sam slowly gets convinced, mostly because Jess can see he wants to resort to any measure at all, but also doesn't want to be seen as weak, for wanting to cave so easily, and that makes Sam dig his heels in the beginning, aside from the fact Sam isn't sure how he'll respond to still having organs that solve some of his fears, but don't erase the remainder of what he wishes he could change about himself. But after a few weeks, Sam had checked everything out, and he knew Selene from one of his ethics classes, too, even if he didn't know this was her other extracurricular activity. She was a kind person, a good person, a friend and a light witch who only used her spells to help people, heal them, ran a small clinic outside in town. And she was part of the community, had a girlfriend of her own, Tamika, that she promised went through the same procedure, although her's was the other way around. Sam knew Tamika, too, they ran the same circles on campus, and had to admit the work was flawless after he saw the before and after change earlier that year. They do some charity work together after that, and every once in a while they'll join Sam and Jess and Brady and their other friends, Ryan and Kit and Carrie and some others that are less close.

Some witches weren't out to screw people, it seemed. The only reason the whole deal costs so much is because of spell ingredients, surgical equipment, to get access to hormones to give people, and security to keep their operation under wraps, otherwise they would do it for free for anyone who needs it. Even with that, Selene did her best to put them at ease, clapped Sam on the back and a warm hello before she got him ready in a nice cot with clean sheets, surrounded by symbols he didn't know but almost recognized. The whole place was spotless, seeing as Selene was a neat freak and ridiculously clean and organized. It was colorful, too, even if the main room was a light green. Tamika had painted the outside walls purple and put up her photography work outside the operating room.

More than that, Sam did trust Jess. He did, more than anything. More than himself.

"I'll see you on the other side." Jess whispers as she kisses Sam, her yellow shirt sticking to her skin, one strap falling to the side as she leans over him. Spell ingredients hiss inside some bowl, and it smells like lavender. Selene chanted her litany of spells, Tamika the anesthesiology (she worked in a lab for it, and both of them were pre-med).

Sam finally goes under from the anesthesia, Jess holding his hand the whole time.

As he drifts, he thinks he almost hears a whisper in a voice he knows, but doesn't, not quite.

_Soon, Sam. Everything will be at your feet. I promise you that, because I love you. I love you._

\--

When Sam wakes up, he's looking in the mirror, seeing just how his small feminine body isn't anymore, how it's all toned muscle and the first unconscious thought to filter through in his brain is that he can go shirtless in public now, even if there's the slight, subtle scarring he let remain, because he won't let that stop him, and he can't feel the fear anymore, and he doesn't have to feel like he's burning up more than he already has been all the time. He doesn't have to worry that the transformation is instantaneous, either. Selene's spellwork makes everyone think the transition happened gradually, and they sometimes wards off aggressive thoughts or attention from bigots Sam would otherwise have to avoid.

Jess compliments him, kisses him, hands him clothes they picked out earlier for when this day would come. Sam gets dressed and stretches and keeps looking at himself in wonder and joy and finally feels peace.

They both revel in Sam's new body for the whole night, not bothering to go out for Halloween because Sam just wants to get used to the closest thing to a body he's been praying for since he was a child. It's his chest that affects him the most: not having that reminder of everything he wasn't just makes Sam stand tall. Makes him exhale, like there's finally something not dragging him down every day. He feels cleaner: more present, more himself. And while the other surgery he's undergone does help with lessening the feeling like he could be trapped and held down, made to hold life he doesn't want to hold, it's still something he has to get used to, and it still makes Sam feel vulnerable, because that part of himself he doesn't entirely want is still there, even though knowing Jess won't use him, can make Sam forget what hurts him so he only feels good, lessens the fear. Maybe he can get rid of that discomfort, too, eventually. With Jess, Sam thinks maybe he can learn to get used to it. Maybe all the new changes are just hard to swallow at once, and will heal with time. After all, Sam never thought he'd have a relationship where sex didn't feel off, but then Jess proved him wrong. Maybe this would be like that. Maybe Sam could reclaim himself in a way he never expected, and Sam never thought he'd ever get this far... So maybe it was just part of getting used to things, and growing into who he wants to be. Maybe it's one more step along the way. And the change isn't entirely alienating: Sam knows what he likes emotionally when he's with Jess, and being able to be inside her, being able to feel her, maybe that will make this feel right.

Which is why Sam is open to trying things out, seeing as Jess always knows how to make him feel more comfortable. They only have to wait an hour to make sure nothing is wrong, Tamika and Selene triple-checking his vitals and his reflexes and advising that Sam can do most things since most of the magic and anesthesia is out of his system, although not to do heavy-lifting or other more strenuous activities until he's waited another hour.

Jess and Sam wait outside on the patio, watching the few stars they can see thanks to light pollution, and Jess leans against Sam's shoulder and Sam hugs her close as she flicks a lighter open and closed, always needing to keep moving. Sam smells her shampoo and her usual scent along with honeysuckle and roses and lilies from the gardens on the roof of Tamika and Selene's apartment, watching the water under the bridge twinkle and keep running on and on, boats bobbing on the water, and they just watch the cars white and red lights whiz over the bridge and the overpass in silence, just happy to be together and content to sit like this.

Sam feels more free than he's ever felt before. The wind is cold on his face, and it curls through his hair like cold fingertips brushing it out of the way. 

When it's been long enough, Sam stands and does some jumping jacks just to see how it feels, and then Jess pokes at Sam's bicep until he's flexing both arms and she's laughing at him and then they hold each other's hands and wander down the road back home.

When they head back, they see Brady passing on the sidewalk, dressed like a circus ringmaster, top-hat and cane and whip and all. He high-fives Sam, and says, "I knew you'd look smokin' hot with a new bod. Sorry, Jess, that outta line? No? Good, because you got yourself one helluva catch. You are gonna have to guard Sam like a... I don't know, a rabid swan or something."

"Thanks, I think?" Sam looks at Jess and her upturned eyebrows and hands on her hips.

"Eyes off my man, you degenerate." Jess jokes and becomes all movement as she whacks the cigarette out of Brady's mouth, catching it and wagging it in his face. "And careful. Too many of those and you'll burn up. Gotta look out for my people."

"Already been to Hell and back, so I think I'm just fine." Brady jokes, but Jess has stopped listening and is just looking Sam up and down before she's leaping into his arms, hugging him, and Jess kisses Sam slowly with a lot of tongue. Sam can't help but reciprocate with just as much fervor. Usually, Sam would tone down the PDA, but Brady's seen them all in worse states, and he doesn't mind third-wheeling. Probably likes it, since he's always been more open to hooking up with strangers and watching others than Sam ever would be in his entire life.

"I think I've already staked quite a claim." Jess boasts as she pulls away. 

Sam laughs and spins her around. "Yeah, half the campus won't come near you for fear of your forked, silver tongue lashing them to pieces. All fear Venus and her holy wrath."

"Hey. If you got it, flaunt it." Jess sings back, wiggling her hips, then licks her lips as Sam lets her down. They start making out against their apartment door, and Jess barely struggles with the key as she unlocks it backwards with one hand, both of them half-falling and righting themselves as the door caves inwards.

Brady laughs and whoops and jokes back at them before the door clicks, "You two lovebirds don't stay up too late. We've got a party to hit tomorrow."

Jess and Sam both decide jointly that they'd pass in the second they take to close the door again, except Brady has been a bit crazier than usual and might need babysitting. Sam has been starting to worry Brady has an actual alcohol problem, although he'd always liked parties. He'd been going for them more, though, and Sam wonders if pre-med was getting to him or if something happened with his folks.

Sam puts that on back-burner though, too preoccupied to worry about that now.

He's too into Jess and the feel of Jessica's soft, wavy hair as Sam cradles the back of her head, or the flutter of her eyelashes against his face and they breath each other in, Jess still always smelling like apples and smoke and ice, Sam smelling like the plants he's been watering in their apartment and sweat and books. Sam can only register how soft her lips feel pressing into his own, or how her tongue is pressed inside his mouth, or the cold chill of her hands on Sam's chest, and how Sam's fingers hold tightly on to her wider hips because Jess wants Sam to take her with wild abandon and not hold back, wants to feel Sam holding her like he'll never let go.

Sam's heart fills to the brim, and he can feel his own heart hammering in his chest, one of Jessica's hands splayed under his shirt and over his ribcage to feel it beating.

When they take a breath to stop kissing, Jess half drags Sam upstairs by the belt loops of his jeans, which get discarded real fast the moment they reach the door to their room. They were prepared for this, too, lube and condoms and Jessica's strap-on already out on the bedside table. Sex was thankfully considered safe even after the surgery, and Sam would admit, he and Jess were not exactly shy about going for it so early, seeing as they've been fucking for over a year now and know everything the other likes- and Sam wants to feel comfortable, to feel safe, to feel like things will get better and that this is enough, that this will be what sets him free, because he's closer to what he wants even if it all doesn't feel like enough for him. Maybe this will make those fears go away, or maybe Jess will just keep Sam at her mercy and make everything else fade, so all Sam can think of is her and him and both of them trying their hardest to keep the other one close, to keep them happy and loved, and maybe enough of that will make something shift for him, so that nothing else that will ever make him feel broken. Sam is willing to try, because Jess always fixed things he thought were unfixable; and Sam trusts Jess, and even if this doesn't make him feel complete yet- he wants to make her happy, to give her everything she can have from him, and Sam can make that sacrifice if it means he'll be able to feel just how much she loves him and needs him and won't ever let him go.

They tear each other's clothes off so fast it's probably a record, and they already agreed to this before they even left Selene's, so there wasn't much to wonder about.

Sam almost feels as beautiful and handsome and perfect as Jess always says he is, and Jess doesn't hesitate to remind him as they prep each other.

"Sam, you're perfect, you know that?" Jess whispers in his ear, arms wrapped around him as she straddles his lap.

Sam nods, speechless.

He's not sure why he's so shy, all of a sudden.

Jess notes how quiet Sam's gotten and gives him an assessing glance.

"You okay, Baby?" She asks. Sam just holds her.

"I... You mean so much to me, Jess. And I just... I'm a little overwhelmed. And to finally have things actually be different... It's..."

"New." Jess answers.

Sam smiles at her and rubs the nape of his neck. "Yeah." Then Sam looks back up at her. "And I mean... We did it!" Sam laughs, so giddy he might just fall on his back on the bed and sigh, but he doesn't.

Jess kisses him, holding him tighter. Sees the things Sam is afraid to ask.

"You don't have to worried about anything changing between us, Sam. You're mine. I'm not going anywhere. I know you've been waiting for this for so long... And we can take this however slow you need. All I want is you, Sam. Just you."

Sam swallows, overcome with relief as he just stares into Jessica's eyes, not sure of how he got here or what might happening but knowing, beyond all doubt, that he isn't afraid, because she loves him, and he loves her, and that would conquer anything in their way.

Sam finally swallows and finds his voice, and he murmurs, "I'm not sure I want to go slow."

It might be jarring, might be new, but Jess has always made something Sam was scared of so beyond anything he's ever felt, all the fear just got replaced by feeling her, and feeling full, and nothing else. And he wants to give this to her. Wants to give her everything.

And Jessica's smile lights up wide and sharp, and she runs a thumb over Sam's lips before it slides down his chin to his navel, nipping as she leans in to kiss the edge of Sam's lip.

"I can work with that." Jess says softly, the words curling close to Sam's mouth, like he'd swallow them. Then she leans back, hands settling back around Sam's waist. "And you don't have to be shy. I'm happy for you, Sam, and now the whole world can see you in all your glory. And," Jess adds, eyes twinkling. "We're gonna make this good for the both of us. I promise."

And then Sam can't think straight anymore, because they dive right in, and Jess is kissing every inch of him and Sam is feeling her up where she likes it most on her chest and her back and on her arms and on her waist, then his hands dip down to feel inside her until Jess gasps and Sam's fingers are slick and they kiss with more teeth until Sam is being peppered with hickies down his chest. "I couldn't have done this without you, I love you, Jess, I'm so blessed to have you in my life, so grateful, I don't know what I ever did to deserve you-"

And Sam can't say anything else because he gasps as Jessica's hands slide over him, twisting and stroking and fondling newer parts of him until Sam can't quite think about anything but her, and she whispers, "Oh, shush." Her lips ghosting over his but not quite touching.

Then she's pushing Sam down against the bed, both hands wrenching Sam's legs apart slightly so his knees are bent, keeping hold of his ankles to hold Sam still enough so she can stay on target. One thumb shifts over the the sole of Sam's foot softly as she ducks her head down in-between Sam's legs. She licks and kisses and sucks, enough for Sam to get a taste but to still be left more than wanting, and Sam shudders, shifting and panting, getting used to all the ways this feels different, but not necessarily uncomfortable, and just like Jess did with him before, he doesn't feel the need to let his mind drift, for his body to feel disconnected from himself. Jess makes everything feel okay, because she's looking out for him, and makes Sam feel so much it overwhelms everything else, every tiny bit of fear and unfamiliarity melting into the raw intensity of everything Jess wants to drown him with, so all he feels is the spark up his spine and the air choking in his throat and the aching, aching bliss surging through every part of him.

"I love you, Sammy." Jessica says as she climbs back over him. She licks her lips clean of come, her head rising back to eye-level as she starts drawing circles over Sam's chest and ribs and navel. "I love you so much, more than anything. And I'm the one who doesn't deserve you, you're so good, too good for me... Except I do, because we deserve each other. Now, the real question is," And Jessica's voice turns into a growl, and her expression turns wicked as her hands dart lower to massage Sam's inner thighs, "Do you want me to take care of you? Or you wanna be all up inside me, taking control?"

"How about both?" Sam mouths against her throat, then he kisses her, lifts her up on top of him so she's straddling him properly. She helps him with the condom, knees pressing into Sam's side. He wants to give back everything she's ever given him. He wants to feel her and give her all the tender closeness she craves, all the ways she can consume him, to latch on to all the needy hunger that lights them from the inside and to banish all the things that never makes them feel complete.

Jess purrs. "Mmm. You first, then, Sammy. Let's see that endurance of yours."

Then Sam rolls them both over so he's on top of her, figuring out their balance as they go with all the new dimensions between them, but they find out how they fit against each quick enough. Sam feels Jess up, asks her what she wants most, lets her direct him as he goes, all of it feeling new and good and right as Sam fucks Jess into the bed, because he's giving her what she begs him for, what makes the love sing past her lips, and Sam is not gentle or holding back because Jess wants to feel him as deep as he can go, even if it's only a few inches, but she doesn't care, all she wants is to envelope him and take him inside her so he is consumed by all the ferocity she is. Sam meets her level of intensity, giving as much as she can take. Sam's nails press into her shoulder-blades as Sam kisses her senseless and they are both gasping for breath from the friction and skin and movement, Jess kissing Sam wherever she can and sucking and biting lightly at his skin until Sam kisses her on the mouth again and again and her back arches and she is gasping for air and humming Sam's name along with incoherent noise through muffled lips.

Jess gets off first, Sam not yet fully satisfied, and then Jess has Sam roll them both over and this time, she sets the pace as Sam slides up into her and is once again inside Jess as she rises and falls and rolls with every thrust of Sam's hips. Her hips push against his pelvis so Sam has to chase her movements, to buck harder and deeper so she doesn't tease him and make him beg for more contact, only for her to push down harder until Sam can't take it, because she just keeps pulling him into her movements, rougher, stretching taut around him until Sam can hardly fall back, and she slides up against the edges of him where it's too sensitive, edges rubbing up against the underside of the head of his cock every time he tries to arch back, and Sam can't help but moan each time she pulls him closer, her nails lightly raking down his chest before hooking under Sam's arms so she can make him follow the violence of her movements higher, each thrust keeping Sam angled as she rocks him into her. Both of them are a bit too good at what they do and can't really talk as they go this time around, too blissed out and too focused on their own pure need to keep going as the want shivers through them. Then Jess whimpers, chokes Sam's name, then takes a few ragged breaths and climbs off him, and Jess slides the condom off and tosses in the trash before Sam hugs her close, then slides his own head down to give Jess a quick blowjob.

Jess pushes his head down, gasping and moaning and choking Sam's name, then Sam eases off when she the contact of her fingers leaves his head, and both of them roll on their sides and start making out again. Then Jess turns Sam around so she's the big spoon again, her hands wrapped over Sam's curled fingers as she guides Sam to feel himself and slide, and Sam eyes close and he whines, teeth presses together before he's huffing too short gasps, and Jess whispering other things now as he regains her breath and grinds against his back.

"You like that, don't you, Sammy. You want me to show you the way." Jessica laughs. She doesn't let him finish, though. Jess kisses Sam's neck and stomach and sucks his fingertips as Sam forces himself to stay still at Jessica's urging, and then helps Sam shift so his knees and palms are flat on the mattress, centers him, straps on her strap on, and whispers a few dirty things that make Sam too hot all over again.

"You open those long legs of yours up for me, that's right, let me in, just like that, Sammy." She coos, short breaths cold against Sam's neck. "You want me all up inside you, making everything feel so good."

Then she fucks him into the bed, keeping hold of his cock but doing nothing else yet, just holding him as Jess sets a slower, more languid pace, at least before she picks it up and Sam is crying and moaning and making noises Jess likes to hear.

"Jess," Sam gasps, eyes once again closed tight, and Jess gasps with him.

"Tell me what you want, Sam. I'll give you anything you need." She breathes, and then she's stroking him with abandon with jerking movement, and Sam feels like he's on fire as he feels the heat rush inside every part of him, and he didn't think could feel so much, and Jess uses every sensation she can just to undo him, so all that exists is this, them joined together. She keeps pushing inside and Sam whimpers and screams, face red and tears not stopping before he's finished, before he's too overcome to stay upright. His face presses into the mattress, sticking to the fabric, and Jess pulls out and unhooks herself, just as breathless, before laying down over the skin of his back, the both of them more than satisfied.

When Jess tugs Sam's arm, Sam rolls over, and Jess curls up and cuddles up in his arms, Sam the big spoon now. And after they catch their breath, she turns around, and after five minutes of Jess stroking Sam's face and lips and hair and kissing him as Sam just holds her close, until they rise and crumple up the covers and she leads him to the shower where they clean their sticky bodies off.

Sam gives Jess another blowjob in the shower, though. He might be done, but she never is, always wants more, and she prays Sam's name like it's the only word she ever wants to know, hands tangled in his hair.

Then they refit their sheets and climb into bed to sleep, both wrapped up in each other and their twisted up blankets, melting inside each other's embrace, with only room for each other.

\--

Sam falls asleep real fast, within three minutes. Lucifer wore him out, and if Lucifer were human, he'd be in a similar state.

Lucifer watches the rise and fall of his chest, the easy breathing, the dip of his pulse.

Looks at his eyelids and peaceful face, and memorizes every second.

_I love you, Sam. I never want to give you up. I never will._

Then Lucifer's muted grace sends over the feeling of the time they hiked two weeks back, hoping some of the memory of the woods bleeds through into Sam's dreams, since Lucifer can't reach him there quite yet. He wishes he could. He hopes the joy at least is there, able to hum across the thin line that hasn't yet burst open between them.

Lucifer does almost touch Sam as he traces his face, but stops short, then curls up against him and closes his eyes as he pretends to dream and sleep, just in case Sam jolts awake.

His head rests against Sam's chest, and he listens to heartbeat to keep himself calm.

It's almost like meditation, or prayer, for Lucifer.

It mostly fills the Devil with both hunger and relief.

\--

Outside on the steps, Brady swigs his tenth martini he nicked from the last party he crashed and downs it until it's gone, then lights another cigarette on his way to whatever mayhem he's decided to involve himself in, having heard Sam and Jess laughing and rejoicing loudly and whispering almost audible words from their upstairs window they forget to close.

He then leaves to go to kill a epidemiologist Lucifer wants neutralized for reasons unknown. Easy job. Shouldn't take more than thirty minutes.

Then he goes to make a call with Azazel, and see how the war preparations are going. Seeing if Heaven's made any visible moves yet. Lucifer could find out that later, preoccupied as the archangel and Sam are for the night.

Brady will admit, being their wingman is real fun. They make a cute couple, even if Sam doesn't know how deep the rabbit hole goes. He's still hopelessly in love, though, and Brady can't wait for the day Lucifer and Sam are together forever, running Hell and the rest of Creation like they've been meant to since God made the Devil who he is.

When Brady heads back to his own apartment, Lucifer and Sam are much louder, although not loud enough. You can only hear them if you get too close to the window, and since Brady is three doors down from the outside of their place, it's close enough.

The noise tapers off two hours later, long after Brady has left again to make a run for some fries and a milkshake and enough time for him to shell out some cash to fuck a prostitute in an ally before he compels her to go to another building where he stabs her a bit and slits her throat and keeps fucking her corpse before the poor bitch is torched and her body disposed of without a trace.

If they can have their fun, he can have his. Waiting is such a bitch, though. He wants this show to get on the road, even if Sam is a good friend, if demons can really have those.

\--

Weeks pass. Sam lives like he's walking on air, every breath and step lighter every time his lungs suck in or he corrects the set of his shoulders or he catches a look at himself in a mirror or a window or a car door. Life is wonderful. Sam even tells Dean, even though they aren't talking as much. Dean's over the moon for him, and that improves Sam's mood, although he doesn't miss anything from his old life except his brother. He wishes he would get out and live his life for himself, but he can only make that decision for himself, and he won't.

Nonetheless, not even that can even put a dent in Sam's newfound joy. Having a new body is heaven in more way than one. Sam finally feels all there, feels like himself, feels invincible, feels free...

It also gives Jess and Sam more opportunities to experiment and show each other how much they want to be near each other, for Jess to truly make Sam feel good and for Sam to feel like he's fully himself. Jess doesn't hesitate to take a lot of pictures, usually catching Sam when he isn't expecting it out of the shower, and Sam poses for her, at first taking it seriously and going for whatever mood Jess sets, although both of them are laughing by the end of it at the silly faces Sam makes.

Sam gets taller than Jess in a few months. That takes some adjusting to, and Sam sometimes forgets to duck when he should remember, but those times are rare. And Jess loves being picked up, loves wrapping herself around Sam, loves Sam being inside her. And Sam doesn't mind her being inside him, not at all. 

He can feel it all differently now, but it's better, more Sam's speed. That, and thanks to certain additions courtesy of the magical aspects of the surgery, the sex is mind-blowing, better than any guy Sam's been with mostly because Sam isn't working with a body that isn't his anymore. That, and it's Jess, and Jess knows how to make Sam feel alive and tended to and on fire. And above all, Sam isn't scared, not like he used to be. Not with the threat of what he didn't want to have or what he didn't want inside him gone forever, even if he would be happy having nothing there at all. But it is still good enough, because for the most part, his body fits, only a few things Sam can't change, and even if Sam's not sure the feeling of not entirely fitting right inside his own skin will ever go away, it's a vast improvement.

It still sets him free. Makes him feel like he's not looking over his shoulder, waiting for a nameless shoe to drop.

Otherwise, the rest is all because being with Jess is makes Sam feel like all starlight, like he could choke on every kiss and word she says, and he's melting from every emotion in her eyes and the way she holds him too tight and the electricity and Jessica's always too-chilly body.

"Bad circulation,' She'd always joke, "from packing too much heat because I'm wanted and on the lam."

"No one would ever dare lock you away, you'd bring them to their knees." Sam jokes back.

Jess smiles at him, a sadder smile with history, then kisses his lips softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you." She almost laments, and Sam holds her tight, kisses her the places she likes, and Jess holds on to him until she's pinching his ass, and then Sam picks her up, sits her on the counter, and makes Jess sing. And day in and day out, Sam doesn't shy away from every look she gives him, from every moment they shared, latching on to everything familiar and safe about this.

When she's with him, Sam feels understood. And everything feels like home.

They have the best relationship in the world, and Sam doesn't know how it ever fell into his lap so neatly.

Jess is whispered warmth and kindness and gentle hands and rough need that they both crave so much. Jess is always tactile, partially because she just likes touching Sam, and otherwise, keeps touching the world like it grounds her, always reaching out, wanting more. It's mostly because she just can't get enough of Sam, though, and Sam lets her, because he wants her just as bad. More, even, he'd almost argue, even if it's not her body he wants but just closeness, just to be near her, to hold her, to make her smile. Jess was like a drug he would never come down from because she loves Sam, and Sam feels all of it, feels how she needs him just as bad as he needs her, and every emotion they share only leads to how well they fit together.

They catch on to the little things. Opening windows when someone has sweat on their brow. Writing small notes to hide around the apartment for the other to find while one of them is out for classes or errands or events. Packing each other's lunches. Setting up the small alcove by the window with the books the other is reading and some pillows for the other to sit there before the other person comes back from a grocery run. When Sam gets a fever or grows sick with chills, Jess tends to him, but Sam recovers quickly. Jess doesn't get sick, but she does sometimes not want to leave the bed, and Sam makes her tea or coffee or soup or whatever she needs those days, although most of the time she just asks Sam to stay with her and lie there and talk about anything. Sometimes she asks Sam to cover their room in plants, and he does.

They see the love they have in each other's eyes when they make cocoa when Sam has a nightmare or when Jess starts shaking and looking at something Sam knows isn't in the present, something from her past she doesn't talk about that makes her flinch and bite her lip.

Sometimes Sam takes her to the bathtub and sits them both inside cold water, the gesture enough to calm Jess down from whatever it is she is remembering, and Sam holds her until she stops shaking and cursing and saying words Sam doesn't recognize. She always asks Sam to rub her back, to feel her shoulder blades as if the feeling stops her from feeling something hurting there. But Sam doesn't press. Jess has told him enough, told him she doesn't like heights and that her brothers and her father did horrible things.

Sam knows about not being able to talk about it.

He doesn't talk about Dean much. He doesn't talk about John at all now, and has only mentioned him three times in passing. Jess has long since filled in the blanks, though. Sam can tell.

But Jess loves Sam for who he is, and she would never leave him, not permanently. She'd always be there, in his heart, if not there physically. When they were together, she was glued to his side, but they still had time to themselves. She always tells Sam that when Sam is in a mood, vulnerable and aching and feeling like he's missing something. Jess always promises to be a a shoulder to cry on, right there, a friend for when Sam needs her, a body for Sam to hold. (That happens more and more whenever Dean's calls come through, and those have been growing less and less until the 2 year mark hits and they aren't talking at all, because Dean crossed a line and Sam is never going back).

Sam does the same for Jess, when she gets quiet and angry and this look in her eye like she's so damn lost and angry and alone except for Sam. When Sam isn't around, sometimes she breaks plates and tries to hide it, but Sam finds them in the trash and always tracks her down to their bed, bandaging her cut fingers, or goes to the shower whose base is so cold and slick Sam swears there's ice coating the floor. Jess always feels better whenever Sam cheers her up after that, or just holds her, hugging her close, or cuddling, and just says, "I know how family is. I know. But I'm your family. I'm yours. I love you. You have me."

Sam's moments are less and less, although sometimes, Jess seems to have more moments the more sophomore year draws on, although they are still rare. Sam isn't sure why, but he's there for her, anyway. He wonders if maybe something with her aunt brought it back up.

The only other worrying thing is Dean's growing distance, which Sam can deal with, and Brady's growing alcoholism and drug habits and partying. He has been getting worse over time, and Sam worries.

Other than that...

These days, Sam has never been more confident or happier in his life. And Jess becomes less withdrawn and more expressive the longer they stay together, although sometimes she looks at Sam and says, "I can't believe I'm this close to you. That you are right here, close enough to touch." She whispers as she strokes his face. "I can't believe I got so lucky to be yours."

Aside from that, things are the same. Good. So damn good Sam can hardly believe this is his reality, that he made it.

Jessica still turns off the lights when Sam falls asleep reading textbooks and drapes blankets over him, wrapping him in her arms so that Sam is the little spoon despite the fact Sam isn't shorter anymore.

Sam still makes Jessica's favorite food every other Friday, orange chicken and vegetarian lasagna, and they make so much every time that they end up eating half of it, and storing the rest for the week. Jess helps because she can't quite sit still when Sam's in the kitchen, usually sauteing mixed vegetables on the stove or mincing vegetables or grinding raw meat for anything they might make, be it various casseroles, salads, various toasted sandwiches, or barbecue wings drenched in hot sauce that they always make once a month, according to 'Jessica's family recipe,' which is just shorthand for Jess using as much hot sauce as possible and using it as an excuse to drag Sam up to the shower later that night to 'cool off.'

Jess makes Sam's favorite types of omelettes with extra bell peppers and spinach and American cheese every week, a different day each time. She's really intent on the whole healthy eating kick, too, only going for what will keep Sam and herself in perfect conditions. They don't count calories, just make sure they get a lot of colorful foods in their diet, and they tend towards the vegetarian side, although Jess always takes her steaks rare to the point it's almost bloody.

Sam likes the regimented normalcy of it, how there are surprises, but not scary surprises. It's domestic. It's safe.

And it's fun and spontaneous and Jess makes everything so damn easy and good and full of excitement, even if she's a terror around company.

Sam doesn't understand how she's so gentle and tender and kind and funny and patient with him, while still being completely sassy, sarcastic, and taking no shit from anyone else. She's fairly aggressive and pointed in all her other interactions that aren't couched in distant disinterest, all except for a few people she tolerates, and even those are a battlefield, like Jess is in a war Sam isn't privy to. She's good when she's with Sam and they go out for dinners, lunches, functions, parties, and galas with their friends and peers, but get her into a debate or on a topic of overpopulation, animal extinction, pollution, the ocean, or anything to do with disease control, law, chemistry, and biology and she's ready to chew someone's ear out.

It seems like Sam is the only one to catches her in her quiet moments, when she's reading, or just thinking, or observing a spider by the sink, or a flower outside the windowsill, or the rain on the window, or lighting when they sit out on their covered porch and watch the storm roll by. Or when Sam catches her when she doesn't expect it, looking at Sam like he's breakable and beautiful and so much soft, fond love it's like she might cry from the feeling.

It's funny how Jess treats others so differently than Sam... But that's how Sam can tell how much she loves him. It feels like Sam is special in a way that's actually good, when she looks at him, when she treats him gentle and soft and warm when everyone else is kept out in the cold or at a distance. Sam tries to thaw her rough edges a bit when she's a bit too cold, but that's why they work so well, and Sam doesn't want to change Jess for the world.

Sam's surprised she hasn't pissed some of the professors or administration off, although something tells him blackmail and Jessica's own eloquent way of avoiding trouble and pointed wording of things is involved. Jess is smart enough to be ahead of the game, though, and Sam can't find himself feeling bad for them. Whoever pissed Jess off probably deserved it. 

Sam doesn't care, though, about the rest of it, not really.

Jess looks at him like he's just Sam, perfect because he's just Sam, and Sam wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

And Sam loves her for everything she is, flaws and all. If she asked him to bury a body, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

\--

(Lucifer doesn't. He has other people far more suited to that task, and Sam's better off being happy and enjoying life above it all, like he's supposed to, living the normal life he's asked for even though he doesn't quite know exactly what he needs and doesn't have yet).


	10. Behind the Wheel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Depeche Mode

Jess gives Sam a wicked grin and leans over the backseat, cradling the back of Sam's neck.

"It wouldn't be much of a vacation if we didn't go off the grid."

\--

Sam finds building a small bonfire both comforting busywork and oddly jarring.

He was too used to burning bodies and the smell of rot, too used to watching the flames leap up, lighter in hand-

But it's different, with only pine smoke clogging your lungs if you grabbed too damp or too green kindling (Brady's fault, usually, when he decided to join them and pretend at helping with a false incompetence Sam swears he commits to on purpose, as a joke he'll never quite get), and it's different, when you're pitching an orange tent while Jess laughs at some dumb pun, or when you're both roasting marshmellows and clinking together two or three beers before the stars come out.

Then all Sam can smell is woodsmoke, and watch the sparks crackle upwards while he leans his head on Jessica's shoulder or she lays her head on his.

Something, there, makes the tightness in Sam's chest uncoil, and it's those moments, that, for all the intense missed-step feeling of not-quite sense memory, of feeling like Dean could be there, if he gave a damn, if he had chosen his own life...

In some ways, it helps Sam let go of something he hadn't realized was coiled so tight, was keeping him choked down with the mildew-grime taste of all the hunts and fears he'd left long behind him.

That, and the Redwood forests they sometimes visited didn't really feel like anywhere else.

It made Sam feel small, but not in a bad way. Like he's just one among billions.

Like he's normal. Like he can take a step back and just look around and not worry about what might be walking in his footsteps behind him.

\--

The things that made Jess great wasn't just the closeness, or the kindness, or the kind of physical intimacy that came not from attraction alone, but from a fondness and a quick glinting smile that Sam could feel down in his bones whenever Jess looked at him.

It was that she trusted him, and Sam trusted her, and it felt like walking on air. Like nothing was impossible. That they were safe and happy and supporting each other, in this together, sharing each others hopes and fears and dreams and imagining what could be... All the things Sam had been too scared to dream of, once, because those things were not for him, not really-

But they could be, now.

As long as they kept believing, and catching each other when they fell, and building each other back up...

That all they had to do was share space and sit back in their lawn chairs at four thirty five to watch the sun rise, to watch the rays make tiny rainbow prisms as it filtered through the triangular keychain on Jessica's dashboard, or that they could just quietly read together in peace, or they could lounge on the back of the cargo bed and just lay with the blanket tenting between the space where their hands join, thumbs gliding over the other where they connected, cold and warm intermingling, while the the lit single-burner camping stove kept on baking potatoes or corn cobs or griddle cakes down on the makeshift table over the flatbed as they watched the birds fly by, binoculars in hand.

Herons. Gulls. Ospreys. Pipers.

Watching the grass sway in the wind, or the trees bend and give ever so slightly, or the way the water sparkled as the thin current bubbled away.

It's the little moments, the peaceful breaths in between every new venue, be it the crazy schemes Jess latches on to and whisks Sam off with her, or the wild outings and the long hikes to steep rock outcroppings, and the omnipresent studying, or the dizzying, too-crowded parties Brady still somehow drags them both to, or the beaches where they go and spend their time in the sun... It all makes everything seem bearable.

It's like Sam hadn't known how to take a breath his whole life, like he didn't know how to breathe fully, and now he could take in more than he ever thought, and felt like he actually could taste the oxygen without the metallic taste of fear and foreboding and having his back up all the time hanging over him like a cloud.

Jess wasn't just safe.

She sucked in everything around her and made Sam feel like he had someone to share with: all the small, beautiful things that got lost between the cracks.

That they held on to each other, and built something new, and watched the world go by together.

That everything was going to be okay, because they loved each other, and were teaching each other how to love themselves, and maybe, just maybe, that was the key to it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stuff in the middle that never became fully part of the fic in case I ever flesh out the middle sections I got writer's block with:
> 
> "I don't always feel right, either. I was lonely, for a long, long time, Sammy. And sometimes, that loneliness... It made me feel invisible, insubstantial, like I never existed at all." Jessica trails off. "Truth be told, I still don't feel quite right in this skin, like I'm not all here. But being near you helps, and I'd like to think that for all the ways we are lonely, that this is something that brings us closer."  
> Sam's words are halting and slow as he looks up at Jessica in the low light. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
> "Because I didn't want to make you feel like you had to shoulder some invisible burden trying to comfort me by hiding all your stuff and shoving it down, like you do so often. But you asked. And I will never lie to you."  
> \--
> 
> "Sam, if I wanted you to take care of me, I wouldn't be such a mess." Brady starts in, pushing Sam against the wall with his usual expression, the one where he's gonna raise hell and have far too much fun with it.  
> \--  
> Sam can still taste the alcohol on Brady's tongue when he walks up to Jess's door.


	11. No One's Gonna Hurt You, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by cigarettes after sex, and i still maintain their entire discography is creepy af
> 
> this is one of the squickier chapters i might cut or heavily alter but whatever, editing exists

It’s the weekend, two weeks before Halloween and the big surprise he’s got for Sam this year.

Lucifer smells the blood before he sees it. He leans through the door, Jessica’s hand grasping the doorframe with a bit of force, enough that her manicured hands shake, ever so slightly, reeling from uselessness the Devil remains unaccustomed to.

Sam isn’t wounded. Externally, at least. Internally, Sam is cursing every outside part of his body he hates, every sensation, everything he’s ever rejected about himself-

Lucifer knows this routine. Sam gets like this once a month when the testosterone still hasn’t been enough to end what Sam hates, menstruation reminding him of all the unwanted parts that remain inside and outside of him, uterus and otherwise. It's not just about his body not fitting what he wants it to be- not at the core, although it's certainly a major factor. It's not even that Sam hates himself, necessarily, because he doesn't hate himself for who he is or what he's working towards. No, it's all the subconscious other things Sam leaves unexamined inside his head, all the undercurrents of what he doesn't like to process that manifest through all the physical feelings he can't shake. Sam hates feeling like he sticks out like a sore thumb, or feeling ostracized, and above all, he hates feeling trapped, but more than all of that combined, he hates being reminded of everything outside of his control, aside from all the hormones and physical pain that already bring attention to the parts of himself he can otherwise deal with most days. It's the dichotomy of how, on top of everything else, Sam knows much happier he'll become once he achieves his goals and doesn't feel like he's got to be constantly looking over his shoulder for anything out to get him, like something's going to come barging in and break up everything he's worked so hard to maintain, and it's about the fact that he just isn't where he wants to be yet, when he's been trying to get there for so long...

Most of all, it always reminds Sam of what was barred for him for so long throughout his life. All the unpredictability and inconsistency of everything Sam's lived and grappled with since forever: from road trips he couldn't never got a say in, from all the times he had to sneak out to libraries to keep his grades up to even hope for a chance at scholarship in-between hunts, since that was never the other Winchesters' priority. It's all buried every town he's been dragged to, to every room he's had to share without any space being his alone, embedded in how much time he was allowed spend where he wants, to where he travels, dredging up every minute detail of all the times his family dumped him somewhere without a way to leave, with Sam having to navigate everything on his own, without any supervision or safety. And the fallout always reminds Sam of Dean, and how Dean used to be the only one there for him at times like this, even if that wasn't consistent, seeing as Dean's ditched him plenty of times. But nowadays, it's about how now he isn't there at all, not unless Sam leaves the dream he's made for himself, and caves into a life he wouldn't jump back into for anything. It's about Sam being able to make his own decisions, and having those decisions feel like they matter, like they stick. It's about the things Sam didn't want to give up in his life that were closed doors to him now, because of other people's choices, other people telling him he was not wanted anymore, because he's not useful, because he's not falling into line, all because he's not a implement to be used, but a person with dreams and hopes of his own. It's about Sam not wanting to be alone, and how he hates feeling vulnerable and lonely, even when he's been far too used to being on his own, more often than not. It's about how Sam wants to hold on to what he has, and how he's afraid that if he does, it will just be taken from him, like so many other things he's tried to hold on to in his life. And maybe the crux of that is on Lucifer, on some level, for everything Azazel did to upend Sam's family, and for everything he has yet to do. But right now, all that matters is that Lucifer can be there for him, can make it up to him right now, and that, when all of this is over, Sam will have the ability to mold the world with him, however he wants to, when they bring about the end of the one war that has only ever truly mattered. And Lucifer hopes that's reparation enough for now, even if it falls short; even if Sam hasn't yet faced the worst of all he'd have to live through. Not yet.

But Lucifer is sure of one thing: he can make sure that, before he's ripped from Sam, and before Sam is forced to face the life he's tried to escape day after day, that Sam gets the body that reflects who he is, who he wants to be, even if all his other decisions won't stick thanks to destiny having its way.

Sam's body isn't a battleground: Sam owns all that he is, unapologetic and uncompromising. But Sam's body does happen to be something other people try to control, making it the nexus of all these interlocking forces, a receptacle for all of these pathetic human lies so foolishly trying to tell Sam who he is, trying to mold his mind and his perception of self. It doesn't change that, for all of Sam's independent decisions, humanity has tried to take his choices away, the worst of which they've done by trying to make him unsafe and unworthy- to steal his comfort of being himself from him, after everything else. That won't go unpunished, of course: Sam only belongs to Lucifer, after all, and he's the only one allowed to persuade Sam of anything at all. And when the times comes, Lucifer is going to let Sam take his time with all those human leeches, to let him have all the vengeance Sam deserves after all he's lived through. 

When you consider everything, it's clear how Sam's corporeal human limits are not just about the physicality of Sam's situation, but it doesn't change the fact that they do happen to be a component as to why the physical feelings Sam can't keep out sets him off in the first place. All those base chemicals and animal instincts and pheromones and sloughed off blood is just one more thing piled on top of Sam's other stressors. Just one more thing reminding him of all the struggles he's gone through that he hasn't quite come to terms with or seen the other side of, because he's still fighting the war.

Yes, Lucifer hears every word of Sam’s supplications, loud and clear. The Archangel is tired of Sam waiting, of his own long stints of being patient, of watching off to the side when he can't take what belongs to him, and most of all, he's tired of seeing Sam so full of that despair he’s not meant to feel, not like this, not when it’s the universe treating him so unfairly, just as it’s treated them both, when it's Lucifer who is supposed to make everything right for Sam forever…

Sam keeps praying. The words turn sharp and violent and agonized, but mostly all they are is pain.

Lucifer vows to answer all of them, one by one, to counter every attack and every prison that came for him and Sam alike.

He is an Archangel, after all. And he can answer all God will not.

And in the case of Sam’s body, the same body made for Lucifer, to hold him, to keep Sam close, the one that would house them both forever, the one God had shown Lucifer long ago, the one he'd long since anticipated and had molded destiny so it can make Sam free, even though he should have never had to live anything otherwise...

Lucifer was tired of the same insecurities eating Sam alive, holding Sam hostage to keep him distant and out of reach. Sam deserves only happiness when he was near him, nothing less, having done nothing to earn any pain that was anything other than necessary. Only that which would make sure Lucifer would be there for him forever, only pain which would ensure he wouldn’t let anything else touch him, or hurt him, or make him cry out like this ever again.

Lucifer promised himself he’d fix this. He would free Sam, just like Sam was destined to free him.

It had been too long already.

\--

“Sam, you need anything?” Jess asks, head peeking through the door.

Sam remains huddled under the shower facet on the floor, shivering.

“I hate this.” Sam rasps, staring at nothing. One hand flexes open and closed as Sam holds his wrist, thumb pressing into any pressure point that might take his mind off of what’s happening. 

At the blank, wide ceiling and too-pale Plexiglas of the shower where it met the molding. The continual hum of the fan in the other room keeps buzzing in his ears.

Sam’s arms are crossed over his chest, unbound only because it hurt too much not to, and he’s holding back uncontrolled tears as he lies on his back. His binder is on the floor, discarded next to him, even though Sam wishes he could keep it on.

Blood seeps between Sam’s legs and down the drain.

Every month was the same old struggle that got reopened, a blistering, fetid wound Sam doesn’t like thinking about. Sometimes Jess got his mind off it, through jokes or distractions or her own bedside manner. She was good at that. More than good- supernaturally adept, really, particularly at reading Sam like an open book and anticipating things Sam wasn't even aware of needing. If Sam didn’t know better he’d say she had a gift, or was psychic, or... Something.

Jess was a fucking angel who only ever held on tighter when Sam pulled back, because sometimes this was so good he was too scared to think this was real. And sometimes, Sam felt so small in comparison, and in those lifeless, quiet moments of vulnerable loneliness, despite Jess, despite everything, Sam only felt weak, and empty, and exhausted, and didn’t want to see the weakness and the betrayal plastered all over his own face as he stared at himself in the mirror.

Sam was tired of feeling broken. Of needing reassurance. Of not being able to hold it together. That was the worst part.

Sam wishes he didn't feel wrong in this body. It just didn't change the fact that it wasn't him, and while he knows who he is despite it all...

He wants to feel like it isn't a struggle to be comfortable in his own skin.

Jess pads quietly into the room and crouches down next to him.

“Sammy-“ She breathes as she kneels down on the tile.

One cold hand strokes Sam’s cheekbones.

Sam screws his eyes shut and leans into her touch. He feels Jessica’s other hand reaching out over his face, a crossing-over shadow that soon makes contact and combs through Sam’s hair like Jess does so often, a sensation altogether familiar and welcome and soothing.

He’s too afraid to look at her. She loves him too damn much and Sam is sometimes unable to do anything but hate her a little for that, and doesn’t want to, but he hates himself so much sometimes it feels impossible for anyone to love him at all, and especially like that…

Like Sam is just Sam, but somehow she keeps saying he’s perfect and more valuable to her than anything in the entire world. Like Sam isn't something easily thrown out like trash, like he doesn't deserve to be blamed for being himself.

But then again, Jess understood it all too well. She could say she almost mirrored the same feelings every blue moon, really, because when Sam looked at her, Sam knew he saw the same feeling in her eyes. Only instead of hate it’s fear, and instead of betrayal its wonder and jealousy and want. She doesn’t know how anyone could love her so fully, so completely, could love her right back and not have that love ripped away, and somewhere, when Jess falls into her trances, deep and broken and mourning, Sam can feel the emotions coiled in her chest like they are his own. She feels like she was denied love and a family for so long that now she’s owed it, because they were both owed something, both searching for answers they don’t have an answer to, both latching on to love promised and given freely and not daring to let go.

Sam only knows that when she looks at him, a weight falls off her shoulders. She looks at Sam and smiles and sees something there that makes her radiant and carefree and bold, like Sam feels with her. Sam has seen it in the slope of her shoulders. Felt it when she touched him. Breathed it in when she kissed him.

Sam was like an answer to a question she didn’t know she was asking, much like Jess was an answer to all of Sam’s mirrored fears, one constant staving off Sam's feelings of abandonment.

Sam pulls himself together as much as he can and takes a breath. He looks up in brown eyes, so concerned, so determined, so full of everything Sam can’t feel for himself for just this moment.

Sam can remember how to love himself later. Jess can field this for the both of them, for now.

“I’m okay.” Sam’s voice whooshes through his mouth, all shallow noise, and he adds on with a thin wheeze, “I promise I’m fine. Really. I’m just…”

Sam trails off. Sam thinks of Dean despite himself, and the shame and loss constricts in his chest. When Sam would get like this, he’d usually be unable to move and when not abandoned at home, or trapped on a hunt, Dean used to get him heating pad and find the baggiest, formless clothes he could find, and he’d sneak Sam whatever painkillers he’d lifted from Dad’s stash or the drugstore or from people Sam didn’t know, and even saved up and bought Sam the first liner he’d had to keep the blood in, silky and shaped like boxers, and not pads, with the excuse that bleeding on a hunt was a fucking liability.

Sam’s throat feels scrubbed raw.

“I know, baby.” Jess whispers. “I know.”

She leans down and kisses him on the lips, blonde waves of hair obscuring Sam’s vision enough that he can focus on her and not this, this horrible fucking curse of the blood and biology that God forced on him, this body that makes him feel like he’s going to be trapped inside it forever.

Jessica’s lips are soft and stick to Sam’s chapped lips, wet but also slick from her lip balm, plain and waxy, and when she presses her mouth closer, tongue a light pressure but not pushing in, she cradles the back of Sam’s head with her arm, and holds Sam closer to her chest.

“I love you. Sam. And we’re gonna fix this. I promise. You’ll see. We’re gonna make this right, you and me. I got you. I’m here.” Jess whispers, nuzzling the crook of his neck when she pulls back because Sam’s nose is still stuffy and he can still taste the salt, damp against his jaw. Sam leans into her shoulder as her fingers rub circles over his back.

Sam clutches her hair and holds on to the back of her head like it’s a lifeline and doesn’t let go, and it’s only after he takes in frantic, shuddering gasps for air that he turns his head up and kisses her, honing in deeper and rougher and with need to feel her and not himself, not anything of his own damn body...

“Why would God do this to me?” Sam asks, voice wavering and raw. “I pray. I pray all the time and I don’t know why-“

Sam’s so out of it, Lucifer’s not sure he meant to say that out loud.

“Sammy-“ Jess interrupts, but Lucifer is distracted by all the names Sam is calling himself, all the things he’s got coiled up inside his brainstem…

Trapped. Disgusting. Unclean. Freak. Unworthy. Wrong.

It’s worse, this time more than the others. Sam has been homesick for the familiar the past few weeks despite himself, and he’s been swamped and overwhelmed by keeping himself afloat in class with bills and his nightly activities that he thinks he’s kept on the down-low, and Sam fought with Dean over the phone, and they haven’t talked for a week and a half now. Whatever words got exchanged Sam’s calling himself worthless and selfish and a screw-up and poison and he doesn’t want to believe it but he’s not in a good place, not by a longshot, and Lucifer has been trying to take the edge off… But when Sam’s spiraling, he spirals _hard_.

Not unlike himself, really.

It doesn’t help that Sam doesn’t feel good enough for Jess when he gets like this. That’s why it’s such an ordeal. Lucifer could make this better, could ease the pain, but Sam’s so sure he’s going to ruin this and that he doesn’t deserve any of the love that Lucifer wants to give that he fights and collapses in on himself until the one he loves builds him back up again. Lucifer isn’t angry at him for it.

On some level, Sam feels different. Everyone picks up on it, can feel the blood inside him, can feel just who he was made for. And Sam was kicked down for it, on top of everything else he was ever made to feel wrong with- other people telling him their unwanted opinions about his identity and his body, being scholarly in a house of hunters, wanting his own life, being kind and gentle and forgiving in a world that so often rewards the opposite. And Lucifer will kill the human disease slow for that, one day at a time, for making Sam feel like this for even a single second.

“I don’t feel clean.” Sam murmurs, half-hysterical, “Why would he make me if I’m like this, if all I’m gonna be is a giant fr-“

Jessica’s hands tighten around Sam until it almost hurts, enough to almost snap him out of it.

“Sam, listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing.” Jessica’s voice turns cold as Lucifer answers, “You just got screwed at birth. But you will come into your own one day. And I promise you, God’s done a lot he’s gonna answer for. If I ever get the chance, he’ll get a piece of my mind…”

Sam hiccups a laugh at that, still far-gone despite his best efforts, and Jess smiles, encouraging. Her voice softens as Lucifer adds, “But that doesn’t matter. Samuel, you’ve got me. And I’ll make this right. Baby, let me help you. Please. Baby, please.” Jessica’s mouth pleads as she pulls back.

Sam hugs her tighter and ignores how that makes it harder to distract himself from this body as it aches and curves against hers, because all he wants to do is breathe her in, smell the scent of her shampoo, feel only Jess and her skin and her love and her exacting, gentle way of doing the things Sam always seems to need at exactly the moment he prays for them...

They kiss until Sam has to breathe again and resurfaces, Jess so still, so calm, and Sam finally nods even though the words choke in his throat.

 **Okay**.

“Talk to me. Tell me what you need.” Jess instructs, lips pursing together in rapt attention. She stares Sam down.

“I…I just… I want to not feel like I’m…” Sam hiccups again, and Jess wipes his tears as he grits out, “Not this.” Sam finally says. **Like I’m not broken, like I’m not wrong, like I’m not trapped-** “And I…I… I don’t know how to do that right now.” Sam’s voice shakes and dies and he swallows down another sob.

“Okay. Okay, Sammy.” Jess answers, rubbing her hands over his shoulders and spine, "Let's get you out of here, okay?"

"Okay." Sam rasps, still trying to regain control of his breathing. Then Sam nods, hair falling in his eyes. Jessica's fingers tucks a stray strand behind his ear, wipes off the blood off his thighs with a towel, and lifts Sam up in her arms. Lucifer carries him out of the room, back to the bed, and tucks him in, not completely, but enough so that Sam isn't a witness to something he'd rather not have to see.

Then Jess retrieves his binder from the bathroom to put on his nightstand, leans down, plugs in a heating pad, lays it over Sam's stomach, and slumps down on the bed next to him.

Jess cradles Sam's arms and hugs him, not too tight, then tips her head down so Sam's face is perfectly aligned with her.

Jess kisses him, plunging in deep and breathless.

Sam kisses her back, leaning closer.

Lucifer takes the assent for what it is.

_I know. I’ll give you exactly what you need, Sam. Nothing will touch you except for everything good I will give you by the time I’m finished._

“I can get your mind off all of this. I can. I'll chat your ear off until you laugh so hard you can't breathe. I’ll make you feel good. Then I’m going to kiss you and worship you until you feel loved. Until you can only feel the body you deserve settling in your skin, until it feels like the temple it is. Like it’s yours again. Sound good?”

“Yes. Jess, I need-” And Sam chokes off and just nods, all tight movement, his desperation and trust clear as day.

Lucifer snuggles Sam closer and kisses Sam's forehead.

Then Jessica's voice is telling jokes and recounting stories and describing the lake they visited a few weeks back, all the things Lucifer noticed about Sam as they hiked and waded in the water, about the mosquitoes how they never stopped eating Brady alive, about old stories of bridges and new beginnings.

Lucifer's pets Sam's head and leans into the crook of his neck and huddles so Jess is close, but not touching anything too sensitive, and Sam settles in her arms and lets Jessica's voice help him drift away.

Sam ends up falling asleep, and when he wakes, it's around 10 am, and everything feels fuzzy, Jessica still holding Sam close. Sam drifts again when Jess starts mumbling about starfish and penguins and how their observed force propulsion when dealing with depth and water density actually should have applications in more engineering operations.

It's banal and only halfway makes sense to Sam's tired brain, but it's aggressively normal and every word is soft, and Sam doesn't want to lose track of Jessica's voice as it soothes every bone in his body, washing over him, making everything light and insubstantial...

\--

The next day, Lucifer helps Sam get dressed and makes breakfast in bed (bagels and lox and eggs), then puts on Jurassic Park when Brady pops in and they all watch, humor and exaggerated surprise over a movie they've all seen a thousand times growing increasingly irreverent, and after Brady leaves, Lucifer helps Sam memorize everything he can about tortes and property law for his next class. Eventually, Lucifer ends up reading to Sam about octopi and cognition, but by then, it's late, and Sam falls asleep with Jessica's voice droning on about the solitary lifestyles of octopi despite their capability for cooperation and problem solving.

Jess has been on an aquatic kick lately. Sam's not sure why. Something about cells and energy and the fact the coral reefs are receding making her more oceanic interests come into focus.

\--

When Sam wakes up, lurching upright in a cold sweat and blind panic as he aches, feeling scraped raw inside and out, Jess is still there, holding on, although she's long abandoned her dress and is sleeping topless, and she whispers in his ear, voice measured and warm. "It's okay, Sammy. Breathe."

It's cold, but not uncomfortable, the heating pad long since having been unplugged and discarded on the floor.

Sam starts to settle in, immediately relaxing out of habit as Jessica’s voice turns softer, breathier, as she keeps going, “Just take a deep breath- that’s right, just like that.” Jess inhales with Sam, and exhales with him, adding, “Now, lay back down.”

And Jess guides Sam’s head down with her palms, carefully keeping his neck supported and head from hitting the headboard, instead having him lean against her bare chest as they lie on their sides, positioned where he can hear every one of her heartbeats, so much slower than his, “Keep on listening to my voice. That’s it. In. Out. You’re doing so good.” She coos, “Now, close your eyes.” Jessica’s voice trails off as she straddles Sam’s left leg, lace underwear tickling his thigh. Lucifer leans in close, but not enough stick to Sam’s sweaty skin. Sam doesn't like too much contact in some ways, particularly when he's already feeling claustrophobic.

“I want you to picture something with me, Sammy.” Jessica’s voice breathes in his ear, fingers tracing his face. “I want you to picture every detail I’m giving you. I want you not just to see it, but to feel it, breathe it, live it… Because this is you, Sam. This is who you are. Think you can do that, Baby?”

Sam mouths yes, and he knows Jess knows because she feels the movement, and Jessica’s fingers trace the edges of his lips before gliding down his neck. He knows this. Jess has done it before, and they've got their own code to deal with these moments when Jess wants to ease Sam back to calm when he still doesn't quite feel centered in his own body.

“Good. See, right here- I can feel the bob of your throat, your Adam’s apple, right here, dense and lumpy, and I can feel it dip under my hands like you do when you get all flustered and nervous, just like those cheeks of your blush, so warm,” And Jess glides her face over his, cooling his forehead with her own, eyelashes flitting over his jawline as she leans down, holding his hand as she adds, “I see you, feel you, Samuel, all flat chested and built like a freight train. And you’re all tense for me right now, Samuel, because you had a nightmare, and that will fade when you feel me right here with you. I want you to breathe in, again- like that, good." Jess praises, continuing, "Feel your ribs expand with your lungs, and all the oxygen in your throat. The rise and fall of your chest is just that. Just you. Exactly like I said it.” As she speaks, her fingers knead gently over Sam’s sides, circling over his back to massage tender, swollen skin, flickering over them with precise weight against pressure points to make the pain fade, and Sam takes in a shaky breath, warmth shooting through his navel and pooling between his legs despite the cold contact of her fingertips making everything sharper and more real. Her hands slide back to feel up Sam’s arms and shoulders, squeezing and massaging until every knotted chord of muscle is undone, moving over to the small of Sam's back and then to his hips…

And Jess licks up his neck, kissing him as she reaches his chin and ear and mouth, her lips huffing out air as she whispers, “I taste you, all musky and salty and sweet. And I smell you, books and leaves from sweeping all those leaves off our porch and oranges thanks to that shampoo you like.”

And Jess feels up every inch of Sam's back, mouthing against Sam's collarbone as she kisses his clavicle and sucks at the underside of Sam's chin where his pulse jumps, and she sucks her fingers and keeps praising every detail Sam can picture in his mind, almost like it’s being implanted there, and Sam almost feels the ghost of himself possessing this shell he otherwise would dissociate from, can feel Jess so close and heavy and heaving against him, fingers sliding lower and lower on Sam's spine until…

“You’re beautiful and handsome and perfect, Sammy, and that ass of yours is tight and snug and perfect, too,” Jess says, and then she gives him a look, asking without words, and Sam is begging, "Please, Jess, please-"

And Lucifer cradles his ass, because that's one point contact Sam can deal with at times like these, seeing as that part of him hasn't betrayed him like other parts have.

Lucifer arches Sam’s position so he’s closer, and Sam nestles and curves with the movement, head pillowed on Jessica's arm.

Jessica's tongue glides over Sam's own when she kisses him again, and then she's got her arms on his hipbones, spreading his thighs as she adds... “And right here, your hips, they thin and sharp and feel heavy, only because you’re spreading yourself wide, because they fit so good against mine, like this…” And Jess grinds against his thigh, adding as she starts to finger his ass with more force, “And right here, what I see, what I feel, is all muscle, all tight and bulky and warm. Because you just want to stay still and breathe in and ease into this feeling. Lie still, feel how heavy your limbs are, Sammy, let me really feel you…” And Jess caresses his legs and the insides of his knee and up his thigh, her cold toes curling as they glide against Sam’s ankles and Sam shudders, ticklish. Lucifer praises, “Perfect, Baby, you exhale now. Feel your legs, all long and wiry and built like a tree, and spread open them wider for me, that’s it, wider…”

And Jess massage Sam’s ass until it aches and Jess reaches inside of him, fingers crooked and twisting and rhythmic enough to make Sam shudder and for his head to roll back, and Jess remains heedless of the blood that drips on her hand, the same blood that made Sam curl in on himself in the first place, and Sam can’t even think of that for all the dirty things Jess says, and more besides.

“And you’re all slick for me, baby, all warm, and all that wet heat- that’s all heading down between your legs because you want me, want me so bad, because I’m all up inside you, and you are slick and wanting. I know you feel it, I know you're holding back, because you want me to feel you, Sammy, feel how how much you want for me to take you, to have me touch you and lick you clean…”

Sam loses time, blinded by the feeling and the hormones and the whiplash in his system from all the conditioned responses Jess has long since used to bliss him out. When Sam catches his breath, whining because it’s not enough…

A few more minutes and Sam can hardly think, everything going blank as bright light and blissful warmth and the cold, cold bite of Jessica's hands feels like frostbite against Sam's skin where she cups his ass, hands withdrawn after Sam bucked against her, head arched away from her arm.

“Sammy, you with me?” Jess asks, hypnotic hum of her words less ethereal and far away now.

Sam nods again but keeps his eyes shut, leaning back down on Jessica's shoulder.

“You need me to ease off?” Jessica clarifies.

Sam shakes his head no.

“No, no. Please, Jess, I need you-“ He whispers.

“Okay, kiddo. I gotcha.” Jess mouths into his ear.

Sam, more than anything, just wants to be loved and wanted and safe, and Lucifer will make his skin and marrow every part of him the refuge Lucifer knows it to be.

Because Sam wants to feel like himself, and Lucifer knows what kind of sex Sam can stomach, can crave, when all he feels is adrift, and Lucifer would bring him back to himself-

Sam doesn't move a muscle when Jess grabs the strap-on from the nearby cabinet, straps on, and slides inside him, “Because more than anything, you want me inside you, to take me in, and that’s all that warmth, that blood, is, Sam, it’s just you after I’ve ridden you until you can’t take any more. That’s all you, gorgeous.”

And then she rides Sam into the mattress, gentle enough that he won’t bruise but deep and quick enough to make Sam whimper and huff in tiny, shallow breathes as he tries to pull her closer. He would scream, but all the air is knocked out of him from just how good this feels, cramps and sore limbs forgotten as Jess keeps thrusting, languid and focused, until Sam shivers from exertion and she can see the tiny tremors in his jaw and she kisses him, open mouthed-

“I see you. Just like you see me for all that I am, Samuel. And I’m all yours, Sammy, forever, and everything is going to be okay so long as we’re in this together, so long as we keep holding on to each other...” Lucifer says as Sam closes his eyes, unable to feel anything but this, the things Lucifer does to make the world disappear-

Sam can feel everything he is, feels weightless and light and clean-

And Lucifer sends every vision of Sam over, every repeat of his dream where he found Sam and was freed and Sam had the body he wanted and felt so right, so close, nested inside the Devil’s own grace, because all Sam ever wanted was to feel beyond human, beyond bodily limits, just like the angel he was made for, without these human weaknesses, not these feelings of being one thing or another but all of them at once. To feel only an existence beyond everything he's known, and Lucifer wants that for him, too, wants them to be joined in all the ways they are the same, in all the ways they are eternal and beyond humanity, in all the ways the angels lived, folded through time and space with all the glory singing out to light the world on fire, and Lucifer only mirrors Sam's human limits because it brings them closer before he finally gets what they both need. No, Lucifer can't wait for the day when Sam would say yes, for all the ways Sam would rise up to meet him and be almost angelic enough for Lucifer to feel like humanity was worth it, just for Sam to exist, just for him to grow beyond all the flaws God gave humanity and to become Lucifer's, to be beyond all human comprehension in all the ways that mattered. And the Archangel hopes it is enough, that the blood inside Sam hums between them enough for the vision to make its way on through-

The only benefit to Sam’s false body is the fact Lucifer can make him sing for him, over and over, until he weeps and forgets everything except the one he loves right in front of him.

Jess pulls out and unstraps, but keeps petting his hair and lays back down, side by side, next to him, parallel to one another.

Then she hugs herself closer so Sam's head is still crooked against her neck. “Better, Sammy?”

Sam nods and buries his chin deeper in her arms.

“Thank you-“ Sam whispers, glancing back up into her eyes. The pale ray of moonlight from the window glints off the whites of her eyes in the darkness, and the outline of her is all sharp, all immediate, because she hasn't once let go.

Lucifer doesn't have to worry about seeing Sam properly. Even trapped in Jess, Lucifer can see Sam and every chord of his soul just fine.

“Shh. I love you." Jess whispers, lips glancing over his. "And I’m protecting you, baby, from everything I can. Giving you what you need.” Lucifer answers. “Because what you need, I need. We're in this together, for the long haul.”

Sam gives a wordless hum and nestles closer, all the pain and self-hate and worst fears exorcised for the time being.

“But next time,” Lucifer promises, “You’ll inside me for real. This time, you were so sleepy, I didn’t want you hurting yourself.” Then Jess glides a finger over Sam’s arm, adding, more somberly. “And soon, Sam… You won't be trapped anymore. I promise.”

Sam lets Jessica’s voice wash over him and numb the war inside himself, lets her gentle, kind assurances keep him grounded before he drifts back to sleep again.

Lucifer keeps watch over him, not once glancing out the window up at the stars.

\--

The sheets look like a crime scene when the sunlight filters in next morning.

Sam doesn't open his eyes for a while, even when he wakes, and Lucifer doesn't care.

Neither of them move from their spot that weekend, at least until the damp discomfort is too itchy and annoying to ignore and Sam asks Jess to help him wash up.

Jess does, and they strip the bed in silence, although Jess does stop to comb her hands through Sam's hair before they enter the shower together.

When they get out, Sam's not as sore, and he pulls his binder back on with a smile.

\--

This week in particular, Sam's period lightens faster this time around, with Sam counting down the days when he isn't outright trying to ignore it, and he's doing a lot better by the time he gets the next shot of testosterone that they've been saving for. His period isn't as long as it would be otherwise, and his access to testosterone is getting more consistent as the semester stretches on. Before Stanford, Sam had to scrounge and even lift what he could find, which was dangerous, even if Brady tried to help smuggle some on a semi-regular basis in his packages. Sam knows it's not good to be inconsistent, but the hunting life and limited money and lack of access to healthcare didn't exactly lend itself to transitioning. Sam wishes he could still feel like a man like some other friends do, like Evan, who feels more uncomfortable but doesn't hate himself, but Sam was so used to feeling wrong, feeling off, feeling trapped, not just in his body but having the feelings of shame and needing to claw himself out of his skin all exacerbated by what little control he's had over things other than his body, over his choices, and he deals with dysphoria as best he can.

Sam is himself. And with every self-administered haircut and carefully chosen shirt and every pair of bulky, washed out Levi's he still kept, still smuggled, from Dean's old hand-me-downs before he left...

He will one day feel like he is everything he knows he is. No mirror will obscure his identity, even if the dysphoria comes and goes in waves.

\--

When Jess gets her period a few days later, she strips off her dress to reveal nothing underneath and kindly requests Sam fuck her against the wall and rail her until she can't think.

Sam doesn't even hesitate. Blood that isn't his own doesn't faze him at all, and neither he nor Jess mind messy sex, and they've changed the sheets so many times this week they were bound for another visit to the laundromat either way. That, and Sam is pretty sure Jess has a slight blood fetish that he, under no circumstances, would ever admit aloud.

Sam straps on and rides Jess in the shower, at least until Jess requests he fuck her into the floor, which Sam does, at least until Jess rolls him over and slides atop him, setting the pace and grinding Sam into the shower tile until each breath heaves sharply in their lungs and they're both making obscene noises and gasping, Lucifer clutching Sam tighter, both of them whispering each other's names like a holy prayer.

After a few minutes, Lucifer helps Sam up off the floor, and turns the shower colder, and washes them off. Sam looks good covered in blood, and Lucifer would be lying if it didn’t feel a bit like a tease of all the blood that would be shed before this was over. But for now…

Lucifer straps in again after cleaning the strap on and fucks Sam against the wall, riding his ass until Sam’s knees go weak and it's only Jess holding him up, and then Jessica’s supple arms scoops up Sam’s shorter figure, Sam's legs wrapped around Jessica's waist as she carries him over to the bed, where Lucifer immediately fucks him again until he pulls out and goes down on him, Sam’s legs half-bent over Jessica’s shoulder for both.

Sam eventually has enough and takes Jess when she asks, eating her out over and over until Jess is shuddering underneath him, kissing every inch of him as they hold each other close again.

When they’re officially done, Sam collapses in the arms of the one he loves, who he relies on, who he believes in, and trusts more than he trusts himself and cuddles close, silent and grateful, feeling like he's given her something she needs just as much as he does. His breathing is finally less labored, and he looks more alive, more free...

The cramps come and go, not really bothering Lucifer much, but Lucifer opts for Sam's body heat, although he doesn't opt out of the heated blanket Sam offers as he keeps Jessica's arms wrapped around Sam, never letting go.


	12. They Always Fly Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Blouse

"Sammy, you're transcendent." Jessica's voice ghosts over Sam's throat when he remains spread out under her, still basking in the afterglow of an experience that took too much and not enough, and since neither of them has managed to doze off yet, they both know a losing battle before it starts. Then Sam is being kissed and held so gently he almost floats away, until Jess breaks it off and curls up, her head tucked over Sam's chest, and keeps listening to his beating heart as she traces the veins of Sam's arm. "Sometimes, I want to curl up inside your skin and taste your soul, so I can keep you close forever." Jess deadpans, and Sam laughs, loud enough to break the stillness in the air, and far too used to Jessica's over-the-top exaggerations by now.

"And they say I'm the one with morbid interests." He jokes back, and kisses the top of her head. It's funny, how knowing someone so well changes things. Anyone else saying weird shit, Sam would be running for the hills. But he's known Jess for years now, and she always had a wry, frankly bizarre sense of humor that's grown on Sam despite everything.

Jess trails a hand down Sam's thigh, then rolls on her stomach, pressing up on her elbows to to face him with an expression that Sam can only categorize as a rapt fondness. It sends sparks rippling up his spine, and Jess smiles like she knows exactly what she's doing, and presses a kiss to Sam's forehead.

"Mm. Well, I've never claimed to be anything other than a sinner." Then Jess pauses, and cups Sam's face, her own smile something sad and her expression something fierce, the laughter dancing in her eyes making way for something else. "I mean it, though. You, Sam- your kindness, your happiness- make all the rest of the ugliness in the world melt away."

Then something in Jess's face falls, gets closed off, and Sam would do anything to bring back that look she had earlier- pure joy, pure calm- and replace whatever brittle, melancholy weight has made the light of her eyes go dim.

But it doesn't change the fact he knows she's hiding something.

Sam sits up and holds Jess close to his chest, making sure that he doesn't throw her off balance as she settles in his lap.

"Jess, I love you, and you are the light of my life. But weird pillowtalk aside... What brought all this on?" Sam questions. Jess hadn't exactly been chatty today. Quite the opposite, and it's not like her.

Jess gives him a look with darting eyes and bites her lip, hunched body language like a cat flailing in midair who doesn't quite know how to stick the landing.

"I can't just appreciate you?" She challenges, and rolls her eyes with a toss of her head like that will make all her discomfort roll right off of her, but Sam isn't fooled. He might never be able to evade her habit of knowing exactly what's gotten him off balance, but the casual familiarity goes both ways, and Jess has been quieter and less bold and brassy than usual, clinging to Sam and holding him close without paying much mind to anything else, and that always sets the alarm bells ringing, because usually, Jess is the one dragging Sam along somewhere and throwing everything else into chaos and at the mercy of the wolves of whatever new scheme she's got planned for the week to stave off boredom.

Sam raises his eyebrows and waits. He knows something else is eating her, and if he waits, he knows she'll cave.

Then Jess sighs. "Don't be mad, okay?"

That, more than anything, gives Sam an idea of what she might be avoiding. He can read Jessica's moods as well as his own, and when Jess turns evasive... It usually means something hasn't ended well.

Sometimes, talking to Jess at 3 am is like talking to a alien under the bed that's decided to stick around for some reason. Sam usually likes those conversations, the ones that happen late at night that aren't the two of them drowning, ones that are more along the lines of Jess talking about things like art, or nature, or insect classifications, or the one where they both ranted about gender and Jess had whined, " _Gender is always such a... human construct. I've always felt more I'm genderless ball of light and fury, fluid and untethered by the frail conceptions of human limits_ , _and sometimes I feel like I am stuck in the wrong skin. But I think it's different for me, Sam. You feel trapped in a body that isn't your own, but I feel like I'm just waiting for mine to fit me. Anyway, human social constructs aside, I know all this matters a lot to you, Sam. And I want you to know: you don't have to hold back, not with me. You never have to be afraid of me not seeing you for exactly who you are. And anyone tries to tell you otherwise, I'll break their jaw._ " 

Sam then had to talk her down from that, and despite it all still appreciates how much weight feels lifted from his shoulders, not feeling like he has to look over his shoulder waiting for the other shoe to drop, even though some part of him knows that her evasion usually signals one thing Sam has been trying not to feel vulnerable with, seeing as he fled from violence and doesn't want to flee towards more. And despite that, Sam had never really thought Jess was a monster, even if she had a tendency to think more with her fists than her words sometimes, although she'd never gotten violent with him (it's the opposite, usually, Jess seeing the whole world as her enemy except for Sam, saving all her kindness for him, and in some ways it scares Sam how much he wants to feel protected, feel like someone is finally on his side without reservations or care for the consequences, even if Sam knows that's not something that's probably healthy). The fact is, Jess has got amazing upper-arm strength, and sometimes she's wild and exacting in her criticisms of other people, much like she thrives on being the center of attention or stirring up drama like a shark out for blood, but that's more human than anything else. Jess is so damn perfect with almost everything else, and yet so ruthless, and sometimes she reads Sam so easily that can't help but doubt.

That being said, Sam has done covert tests back in the beginning, just to be safe, because he hadn't wanted to lay salt lines everywhere, and Jess was sometimes too good to be true and some habits are so ingrained you never quite let them go, and it's easier thinking she might just be a monster than a human that loves him so much Sam isn't sure what he's done to make her latch on so tightly. (And it's not like silver jewelry is going to hurt anything, quite the opposite, and Jessica still wears the plain silver ring he got her, quick to show it off for all to see. But silver and everything else have done nothing, so Sam's only running theory is that Jess is either psychic or scary intuitive, and Sam doesn't much find that he minds much either way.)

But psychic or not, it doesn't change the fact that sometimes, Jess really doesn't seem to attach consequences to her actions, and Sam knows when she's acting cagey enough that she's worried he'll hear about it somewhere down the line.

"Is it about last night?" Sam starts in, poking Jess with the tips of his toes as he sprawls out again, but he keeps leaning into her shoulder.

Jess glances at him and finally lets out a loud exhale.

"Yeah... about that."

Then Jess is regaling a story from the bar Brady invited them to, and unpacking some of her decidedly not-okay decisions while she took a fight outside, and Sam was still playing pool with a friend from class, completely out of the loop.

"What can I say?" Jess says, and she keeps playing with Sam's hair even as she wraps an arm around Sam's waist, fingers drawing circles on the barest hint of exposed skin where Sam's shirt rides up by his stomach, and adds, "Bitch said I look at you like you're a piece of meat. I had to defend myself from baseless accusations."

Sam gives Jess a sharp look that's all raised eyebrows and mild disbelief, and puts a hand over hers. "So you broke her teeth?"

"She had it coming." Jessica's voice remains thin, but then she looks down from Sam's level gaze that hasn't once looked away, and sighs, "I will concede she's right, though. You're a fucking saint, compared to me."

"I'm not saying that was okay. But... I know you, Jess. And that can't be all that she said, if you're throwing punches." Sam says, and while it's not a question, it's close enough, because he wants to give her the benefit of the doubt.

 **Although you should pay for the medical bills, and I have no idea how you keep getting out of these situations, or a lawsuit.** Sam thinks, but puts that off. He can bring that up later, once Jess has opened up whatever can of worms has been making her act strangely. It's not like her, being this mercurial and emotional and violent in ways Sam doesn't fully recognize. Sure, Jess might be vicious, but she was condescending and cutting more than anything, and when it came to legal hurdles, she prided herself on holding grudges and spite to get back at injustices without being hotheaded or losing perspective. Letting people get under her skin, rushing into things, and acting on violent impulses... Jess doesn't wear her emotions on her sleeve, not easily, so this more than anything makes Sam worry about her first, with all the other consequences taking backburner. Jess is his best friend, and if she's self-destructing...

Sam has to make it better, somehow.

Jess says nothing.

Then...

"She said I didn't deserve you." Jessica murmurs, staring at her hands. "And I just... It wasn't even about me, Sam. She was looking at you, but not seeing you, not really, and I just... snapped."

Sam keeps going despite the slight tremor in Jessica's hands, and says, so quietly, "Jess, this is the third time you've attacked someone this week. This isn't you, and you can't keep doing this. You're going to get in trouble."

"Nothing I haven't seen before." Jess grumbles, but she still won't look at him, and that more than anything makes Sam wonder how they are going to deal with this, because ever since Brady (and even just thinking of home, and all the broken things there, with Dean), made Sam feel like he couldn't quite find his footing.

Sam knows he tends to try and fix up his friends bad habits. He doesn't really mean to, but it makes him feel like he can't be replaced, that he's being useful, that he's protecting them, and sometimes it's a hard habit to break. Brady had noted it often enough. That's half the reason they broke up, even, although the whole thing was more on Sam's end than his, although sometimes Sam wonders if Brady turned on him just to make it easier for Sam to cut it all off because he wanted Sam to be angry for once. Brady had said a lot, actually. Said it was a control thing, that instead of focusing on himself that Sam keeps ignoring the writing on the wall, and just wants to help so much that he doesn't see when people don't want to be helped, and that Sam was too scared to be honest because it still doesn't feel safe...

The words hurt, but more than anything it was Brady's reckless habits that drove them apart, and the fact that both of them knew that Sam wasn't feeling the same way, and the proverbial nail in the coffin had been that Sam had almost loved Brady, but Brady didn't want love and had a habit of trying to tempt Sam into things he didn't want, and liked seeing Sam lose it in a way Jess didn't, in a way that made Sam feel like less of himself, and somehow Brady had turned it all on him and said that Sam was too scared to let people in and to live his life that he was just living by everyone else's rules, and while Brady had wanted him to have fun, to relax, he knows Sam doesn't look at his lifestyle the same way. That, and he knows how hard Sam worked hard to get here, and Brady doesn't want to drag Sam down with him because he knows how hard it was for Sam to get here- except when he does, and Sam kept holding on even when they knew it was over. Then Brady had tried to push Sam into something he didn't want, turned into a real drunk son of a bitch that Sam hadn't wanted to see his friend turn into, and that had ended the whole thing after they'd been on and off for years.

Brady had apologized afterwards, and had meant it, even if Sam still hadn't gotten over it. Said he wanted to make it easier for Sam to actually go out and find what he really wants, that he wasn't going to be the one to hold Sam back, and Sam appreciates that, he does, he just wishes Brady hadn't been almost a scummy friend for the month he'd been trying to push Sam into making a move and trying to push Sam away by indulging his worst habits and not apologizing for any of it.

 _But that doesn't mean you have to fix me, Sam. We don't want the same things, and that's alright._ Brady had said, like one simple conversation would undo all the damage Sam pretended wasn't done. Sam trusted Brady for years, and having him lose himself, having him become harder, more prone to unpredictable bouts of violence while he keeps digging holes Sam doesn't know how to dig him out of... Brady was becoming more of a stranger, even when he's not, but what hurt more was seeing Brady check out when Sam doesn't know why he's turned into someone else sometimes.

That being said, Sam knows by now how to best approach the subject of Jessica's wildly possessive bouts of incidental violence that occur so rarely that it's always a kick in the teeth when it rears it's ugly head again. Jess is better than that, and Sam finds he can't quite keep his eyes off half-eaten box of fried rice that he has left partially untouched, because looking into Jessica's eyes hurts a bit too much, and Sam knows by now that taking a gentler tact might get Jess to admit maybe she needs to lay off and admit she might have a fucking problem.

Jess sees his look and goes wide-eyed and hugs him closer. Unlike Brady, Jess is patient, and Jess is holding on, and not letting go, just as much as Sam is, and that, more than anything, makes them work through this.

"It doesn't matter what she said, Sam. What matters is that I let her get under my skin. It's not worth it. None of them are worth it." Something is a bit bitter and cold in Jessica's voice, and Sam doesn't like how robotic she sounds. But then her tone softens, becomes warmer. "I mean it. I hear you, Sammy. And I know what I did... I won't let something like this happen again. I'll talk to someone, or something. I just... I need you to trust me, and I want what's best for you, and I know I'm a mess-"

"Jess, what is going on? Talk to me. Please." Sam begs, hugging just as tight. "You don't have to keep me in the dark. I know you, and I know this isn't about anything out there, and I'm here for you, same as you always go to bat for me."

Jess keeps tracing the ridges of Sam's back as she answers.

"I'm not used to being loved like you love me." She whispers. "I thought I'd never feel so good, and it scares me. I've kept myself safe by being angry, by being cold. And you make all of that go away, and I don't want to lose you."

And then Jess turns to look at him, upturned mouth huffing breaths over Sam's lips, both of them forehead to forehead. "And I want to give you everything you give me, Sam. I'm just worried I'm going to screw it up, like everyone says I always do, and that you won't look at me the same way. I don't like feeling vulnerable, and weak, and limited... And I look at you, and everything is just laid out so clearly, and when people say it's all going to fall apart, I just... I'm so angry, Sam, all the time. But when I look at you, I'm not angry anymore, and I can't let anything take that away..."

Sam hugs Jess tighter.

"I'm not letting go, Jess. And we'll get through this. We will. And you can fight this, you can control it. I know you can conquer this like you do everything else, and I'm here. I'll be here, every step of the way." And then his hands are tangled in her curls and Jess is breathing Sam in and both of them fall back on the bed, and Sam manages to say, "And if you need anyone to talk to, I can help you find someone, and I'll listen, too. I'm here."

"I know, Sam." Jess answers. "I'll work on it. I promise. The last thing I want is to make you feel like I'm not trying."

"I know you're trying, Jess." Sam assures. "I'm just worried."

"I know." Jess keeps going, more sure. "And I won't let this hold me back from my future or stop me from living up to my full potential. I want to be the best version of myself. I know I'm better than this. And I'm going to be good enough for you-"

"Jess. You don't need to be good enough for anyone. That's why I'm worried. If that's what's messing you up... You deserve to live for yourself, same as all the rest of us."

Jess kisses Sam, fingers twined into his as she pushes him down against the bed, and she answers, "You should afford yourself the same kindness."

And then Lucifer makes sure Sam almost forgets the fears he's got in the back of his head, the worry for the thing he has always belonged to, enough so that by the time Sam has dozed off, he's placated and the buzz of worry has instead turned to warmth and safety and trust and reassurance as Lucifer cradles the back of his head.

\--

The Archangel appreciates the concern, and the love, and the kindness.

But it's not fitting to let Sam feel like he's done something wrong, that he's in over his head, like he's felt ever since the sting of familial abandonment. That defeats the whole purpose of being close to him, answering his prayers, and if Lucifer has to be a little more in control, well, it's something he'll suffer through, if it means Sam feels carefree and safe and loved.

He'll just have to be more careful, and keep his own frustrations from getting under his skin. It's not like it should be too difficult. He can deal with other uppity humans in more indirect ways, through latching on to their inferior insecurities and penchants for bad decisions, and Brady and Azazel and the other demons can surely help pave the road to Hell to punish those foolish enough to make his time with Sam less than perfect.

And Lucifer will be honest with himself, his impatience is getting the better of him (and he sees himself more like his vessel these days, not a genderless angel but a mirror to the body that belongs to him, to the soul that calls his name, and Lucifer feels that it is right, somehow, balancing his vessels needs this way). He hasn't tasted freedom yet- not fully- but this is the closest it's ever been in so long, and Sam was sweet and thoughtful and made it all so very, very worth it, even if Lucifer would be lying if he wasn't trying to bust Hell open faster and faster in the meantime.

But he will be the flawless entity he must be, for Sam's sake.

He has to treasure every single second he has with his true vessel, with the one who belongs to him, before war makes everything complicated. Even though Lucifer knows Sam will choose him, will be his in every way that matters...

He isn't going to lie to himself, and pretend that this will be easy for Sam. He cares too much, loves too deeply, and that, more than anything, is what Lucifer has to protect him from. The world isn't good enough for Sam Winchester, and one day he would see it, too.


	13. Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Daughter
> 
> also when Jess is talking about brothers, Sam knows Jess is adopted post-the fire when she was little, and is talking about adopted siblings, and then a later falling out when they were older. But "Jess" is obviously not talking about ppl she knew at 6 and having a falling out then, since the parents and Jessica's actual brother did not survive post immediate Lucifer possession

Jess puts down Walden by Thoreau down on the bench they both share on their balcony, eyes narrow as she crinkles her nose and crosses her legs.

"Man, Sammy, I don't see why this is considered a bastion of environmental policy. Even if you run off into the woods, you're still leaving a carbon footprint, and logistically speaking, human overpopulation would necessitate that this actually eats up more resources than if you actualized square footage of housing and recycling to minimize environmental degradation and deforestation. Not that that will really fix anything, but it seems like a glaring oversight for some poncy old dude supposedly enamored with nature..." She looks up as Sam sucks in a breath, a million miles away. "Sam. You online and functional or do you need another cup of coffee?" Jessica's voice lowers with concern, and she tilts her head, rubbing Sam's shoulder gently to get him back down to earth.

"What?" Sam asks, startled, and then he immediately relaxes into her touch, "Sorry, Jess. I spaced out for a second. Um. You'd probably like Upton Sinclair's 'The Jungle' more, deals with a lot of workers rights and conditions, although it might upset you more about the meat packing industry back then. Not that things are much better. But that's what legislation is for, so if things work out..." Sam pinches the bridge of his nose and trails off, inhaling sharply as he looks down.

Jess huddles closer and puts an arm around his back.

"Sam. You sure you're okay?" She asks, staring him down as she rubs his opposite arm.

Sam hugs himself and brushes the hair out of his face, sighing again.

"Yeah, I'm just... Not sleeping very well." Sam admits. Then he swallows and looks at his hands, bites his lip, and Jess waits, knowing there's more unsaid, and then he finally says, "Dean called again."

That's not the only thing, though.

Sam keeps seeing her burn in his sleep. And she's woken up to him shivering, crying, holding on and not letting go, half-incoherent because he can taste the flames and he would rather burn every night that have it be Jess.

The dreams are killing him slowly.

Sam looks out at the skyline. The air is crisp and only a few clouds shunt over the blue of the sky. By the bridge and the water, cars honk and whir in traffic.

He doesn't really register any of it.

Jess looks out with him, rubbing his back, then leans her head on Sam's shoulder.

"You wanna talk about it?" She whispers, and then she turns to face him on her knees, climbing in his lap. One hand plays with Sam's hair, twirling it, grounding him, as the other strokes his shoulder-blade, her face inches from his.

Sam looks at her, considering. He's not sure, yet.

He's not sure he has the words.

But, despite it all, he's brought back to the present, nails combing through his hair and down his back ever so slightly.

Jess thought personal space was stupid, and Sam was perversely grateful for it.

She was always close and always made sure Sam never felt as abandoned and alone as he otherwise would.

Sam nods his head in the negative. "Not right now." He says, finally, voice faint. "Later."

Sam looks away from her gaze, cutting and altogether too knowing, like she can see what's written in every pore of his face. It's not shame, not exactly.

He's just vulnerable. And he's scared to tell her about the nightmares. Talking about them would make them too real.

And Jess has her nightmares, too. Ones she doesn't talk about. They have this unspoken blanket policy where they usually just hold on each other for dear life, twined together and staying close, and not asking too many questions they're scared or too angry to answer.

Because Jessica's nightmares, unlike Sam's, made her furious. Her grip became tight enough to bruise when she'd say nothing, and it's only when Sam pulled at her fingertips that she realized and eased off, apologetic and immediately drowning Sam in kindness and softness and kisses that made Sam feel safe again.

Jess was always there, never asked for anything except love and understanding and sometimes Sam just feels so hollowed out because he's not... He's not used to that, even after two years of bliss. Having no obligations. Just being wanted and loved and not expected to be anything other than himself or expected to sacrifice anything or...

He's not used to feeling like other people see him, and make him feel complete, like they want him whole.

It still scares him, because he's scared to lose it.

He's never been able to hold on to it, before. His whole life he'd been moving around, expected to give up what he wants for what other people think is best.

It's hard, getting used to this, in some ways.

Jess only nods and curls herself in his lap. She knows Sam isn't telling her everything. But he will. When he's ready. Because he always does.

He sees that on her face, plain as day.

"Have I ever told you about my brothers?" She asks, and Sam curls his arms around her and shakes his head.

"Not really." He answers. Jess is strangely subdued in a way she otherwise never is. Vulnerable in a way she only ever is with Sam.

And he's good at being comforting. It helps distract from his own inability to fix his own unsolved issues.

(It's not like Dean's one for holding back. Never was.)

Something aches in Sam's chest, but Jessica's head leans on his ribcage, and suddenly, he just feels safer, less split open, because, out of everyone, she doesn't judge.

She just accepts Sam for everything he is, and even if she's like Dean insofar that she's vocal about her emotions, she doesn't couch them in evasions.

Jess is direct and patient and might be a bit pushy, but she always lays out everything up front.

Sam hasn't realized how much he relies on that, after getting out. With Dean and John, there were always secrets and hidden expectations and goalposts moving so Sam never quite hit the target, because there was always a new expectation to meet.

Sam never had that with Jess.

"Well, I'm the second oldest. My elder brother, he... We haven't talked in forever, not after he helped Dad kick me out. And it killed me, because before that, well, I was always looking for his approval." Jessica's voice gets breathier, and Sam huddles closer, both of them leaning into each other like the physical proximity is a lifeline for feeling disowned and otherwise adrift.

Jess doesn't talk for a bit after that, perhaps struggling as much as Sam did.

Sam clears his throat. "What happened?" He asked, and he's not sure about the scope of the question. Why she got kicked out. Why she left. When. 

Jess looks at him, and there's something sharp and cold in her eyes and the higher whisper of her voice. "He didn't deserve it." She says, and then shrugs and she lowers her gaze to Sam's throat, to his palm that she traces, holding her hand in his own. "So I made my own way. My big brother promised he'd kill me if I ever came back."

Sam isn't fazed by that. Jess had hinted at details like that before, like her family was the mob or something. Not like Sam could judge. He's killed a lot of monsters.

Jess keeps going, "My younger brother sided with him. And the youngest- well, he disappeared after I left. No clue what happened to him. So I haven't talked to any of them since."

There's another pause, sharper this time.

Jess continues after she exhales and resettles in Sam's lap, and the moment feels less like something monstrous and violent in its silence. Jess keeps looking at the sky and at Sam's face, gaze darting to the flowers on their windowsill and back to Sam again.

"I worry about him. My youngest brother. I mean, it hurt, when he didn't defend me. When he just sat by and said nothing. Not like it hurt when my other little brother sided with my father and Mike, but... Gabe and I were closer, in some ways. And he's the directionless sort, you know? A drifter." She gives Sam a small, empty smile. "I'd wonder where he's ended up, but I'm little scared to find out, knowing him."

"Maybe we could ask around?" Sam suggests.

Jess shakes her head. "If he wanted to see me, he knew where to find me before this. He didn't. Besides, it won't help anyone. It's safer... Better, this way. Besides," And then she looks at Sam head on again, like Sam is the sun, like Sam is beautiful, and something warm and bright and fuzzy blooms in Sam's chest and his face turns pink as she leans in close, brown eyes staring into his. "I've got you. And that's enough."

Sam's not one to argue.

He'd always thought he'd feel adrift and worthless and alone after he left, even if the freedom had been worth it.

But Jess had filled most of the hole that was left, staunched every wound she could. It didn't erase Dean, or what Sam missed from his family. Neither of them could patch that up for the other.

Still. They had each other. They had hope. And they could still feel loved, and safe, and happy. And that's all Sam really wants to pursue.

If only the nightmares would stop, Sam would be on top of the world, and would heal so much faster from the things Dean had demanded of him earlier.

He wasn't going back.

He had a future, and he was going to hold on to it, without having one foot mired in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> other thing that got cut earlier that I will leave here:
> 
> "Step right up and take a damn flier." Sam hears Jess grumble before he rounds the corner, and is greeted with the site of her not-so-gently pushing a very dense treatise on environmental regulations who apt title of "Sea Turtles are Only the Beginning-" Sam could only half make out where it was pressed against a passing grad student's chest.  
> Despite being built like a linebacker, her newest victim (Jay something, a grad student Sam recognizes from a conference on medical ethics Brady had attempted to blow off before Sam offered him company) wilts under the glare she gives him, and he almost tries to refuse, but the words die in his throat.  
> Jessica's deathglares tend to do that to people.  
> And Sam probably shouldn't smile at her habit of willful disregard for other people's comfort, but her pout and crossed arms and way she looms in her thin white stilettos is just so damn familiar by now that he can't quite help it.  
> "Jess, don't give the poor guy a heart attack," Sam sighs.  
> Jess turns to look at him and beams, all the tension draining out of her. Her heels click as she rushes over to meet him halfway at the sidewalk.  
> "Sammy! You got out early!"


	14. Dead Girl Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song from Heathers
> 
> also beginning of S1E1 and beyond, as then I touch on S4 and we get heavy into S5, and it's still more based on canon than I'd prefer looking back, but rn it is what it is

Halloween creeps up on the two with a vengeance.

"Sam! Get a move on, would ya?" Jessica starts in as she enters the room, readjusting her earring. She's all decked out in the white nurse outfit she handpicked, chosen because white and red were some of her favorite colors, and because Sam has a thing for medical uniforms. "We were supposed to be there like 15 minutes ago."

"This coming from you?" Sam teases from the other room she just left. "Ms. I'm-Fashionably-Late because I have to make an entrance?"

"Sam. You coming, or what?" Jessica answers, smiling as Sam follows, ducking his head out from the doorway in her wake.

"Do I have to?" Sam half-pleads, looking at Jess like she's the sun. Technically, they didn't have to go to the party. Ryan and Carrie were babysitting Brady so he didn't get too shitfaced even with Kit there, so Sam and Jess could just stay in and have some time to themselves if they really wanted.

Jess gives Sam a pointed look, eyes gleaming and bright. "Yes." She says with relish. "It'll be fun."

Besides, Sam deserved some normalcy before things went south. It was coming up on them quickly, now. Lucifer could tell.

"And where's your costume?" Jess asks, walking towards Sam just as he's wandering out to meet to her, drawn in like he always in to the constant humming pull he feels.

Sam looks down and gives her a sheepish smile, shaking his head before he looks back at her. "You know how I feel about Halloween." Sam answers.

Least favorite holiday before Sophomore year, and after that, his favorite, all because of her. And he's not going as anything other than himself in the body he has thanks to his own efforts and Jessica's help.

Besides, it's not like Jess minds.

She draws Sam in for a long, lingering kiss, biting softly. Then her hands are tangled in Sam's hair and Sam holds her closer as she draws Sam's head down again, and this time, the kiss is even gentler as she pulls back with the softest grazing of lips she can manage.

"I do." She says, and her smile is infectious as she ushers Sam out the door. "Come on, kiddo. I gotta brag about you and your big day to everyone we tolerate."

"That's a short list!" Sam calls after her, picking up and pulling on his coat as he rushes out the door to meet her. Sam can still smell apples and ice and smoke on her, the night air stale and muggy.

"True. But less people to see means we can say hi, nab a few drinks, then bail and have some alone time like you wanted." Jess teases, hand in hand with Sam as her heels rap on the pavement before they get to her red truck.

Sam hops in the passenger side as she sits down. The car doors slam, and Jess wriggles in her seat slightly. The keys jingle as they turn in the ignition.

Then they're off to the party, singing to the radio with their car windows down. Sam doesn't want to keep Jess there too long, though. She's been having more incidents, falling down and tripping and getting more bruises and lost time, lately. He'd do what she wanted, but he didn't want her overextending herself, so he'd just have to keep an eye out.

By the time they get there, Jessica's wavy hair has gone haywire from all the humidity, since it's been weirdly hot for October for days now, and Sam helps Jess smooth down her hair before they enter the bar.

Neon lights flicker and laughter and a mishmash of voices all bleed together from outside the door.

"I love you." Sam can't help but say.

Jess stares at him and hugs him close. "I know. I love you, too."

When they get inside, Kit, Ryan, Carrie, and Brady are already there. They dance and chat about Carrie's new cat and Brady's latest exploits and Ryan's plans for his own library and Kit goes into talking about her latest biochem research. Tamika, Selene, and Melinda stop by for a few minutes before they get absorbed into the crowd, and then the rest of them keep talking and dancing and finally grab a quieter table and sit with new rounds of drinks an hour in.

Eventually, Brady heads to get more drinks for the table and himself midway through the conversation, and gives Sam a pat on the back for his achievements. Kit follows him up to the bar, arm in arm.

"So here's to Sam and his awesome LSAT victory." Jess cheers, holding up her drink in a toast.

"All right, all right, it's not that big a deal." Sam counters, still not liking the attention but humoring Jess because pointing out Sam's accomplishments gave her some kind of vindictive joy-by-proxy. That, and she said Sam's self-esteem always could use some touch-ups, so Sam let her.

"He acts all humble, but he scored a 174." Jess coos, practically preening. Her eyes never leave Sam's.

"Is that good?" Ryan asks, half-choking on the alcohol before putting his drink down on the table.

Sam downs his own drink as Jess answers. Her eyebrows raise and her voice lowers, almost condescending, but she covers it with a small laugh hidden behind her shot-glass, "Scary good."

Then she downs her own drink as Ryan puts a hand on Sam's shoulder.

He circles around, then sits on Sam's other side. "So there you go. You're a first round draft pick. You can go to any school you want."

Sam looks at the table and then back up to Jess like he can't keep his eyes off her. His face is smiling even when he isn't trying to.

"Actually, I got an interview here Monday." Sam manages to say. The truth a strange thing. He's made it this far. So far, now. It's like his old life was almost a dream and reality finally made things sweeter. Sam looks back to Ryan as he adds, "If it goes okay, I think I got a shot at a full ride next year."

Jess leans in closer, and her foot pokes Sam's own as she plays footsie under the table. Her face is strangely serious as she says, "Hey. It's gonna go great."

"It better." Then he can't help but look both elated and lovestruck and a little concerned as he refocuses on the bags under Jessica's eyes. Sam needs to stay close for Jess. Anything else wasn't an option. And Jess is on board completely and knows his concerns, but there isn't anything to be done for her condition as it worsened. Jess and Sam had checked every avenue available, and Jess seemed to know more about it than she let on. She doesn't think its terminal, though, so Sam let himself feel relief at that. Sam keeps pretending he doen't see how sleepless she is at night, but unless Jess talks to him about it...

She doesn't want to, though. She just wants to cherish all the time she has with Sam.

"How does it feel to be the golden boy in your family?" Ryan interrupts the moment they share. Sam and Jess consider bailing early, both on the same page.

Sam goes quieter, and Jess goes very still.

"Ah, they don't know." Sam admits, scrunching up his nose. It's not as hard hitting as it would be, once upon a time.

Jess gives Sam a look that is silent, pure love and understanding concern and might also be a less-peaceful offer to force Ryan off the subject, but Sam shakes his head discreetly.

"Oh, no. I would be gloating. Why not?" Ryan asks loudly, heedless and a bit tipsy.

Sam turns back to him, voice clipped. "'Cause we're not exactly the Bradys." He forces a smile and throws some M&M's from the table at him.

Ryan holds out both arms, face disbelieving. "I'm not exactly the Huxtables." He jokes back, throwing some M&Ms back, before asking, "More shots?" Seeing as Brady, Kit, and Carrie have yet to return. Sam knows they aren't gonna catch either Kit and Brady for the rest of the night unless it's some small miracle. They know how this goes by now.

"No." Sam and Jess repeatedly protest in unison, adamant, but Ryan goes and gets more shots, anyway, which gives them their perfect out to bail and head back home.

Jess inhales and changes the subject before they go. Sam turns back to her, a moth to a candleflame.

"Seriously. I'm proud of you." Jess affirms, staring at Sam with promise in her wide eyes. "And you're gonna knock them dead on Monday. You're gonna get that full ride. I know it." Internally, Lucifer hopes it doesn't count as a lie. Jess might last a bit longer. She was wearing thin, but he might get another few days out of her. He hopes so. So if Sam has his chance, he'd most certainly get those things. It's all a question of when Lucifer will be towed back to prison, and Lucifer isn't exactly sure of the time-frame there.

"What would I do without you?" Sam asks, eyes only for Jess. The rest of the world has blurred away.

Jess gives a small scoff and playfully rolls her eyes as she responds, "Crash and burn." Then she smiles and strokes Sam's face, tender and just as hyper-focused on him as he is her.

 _Just like I will without you, Sammy,_ Lucifer thinks, although he tries not to. Waiting in Hell was going to suck worse than being thrown down the first time, now that he was losing Sam.

Sam leans in for a kiss, as does Lucifer inside Jessica's skin. They both hold on to the moment, Lucifer half-apprehensive but certain about things Sam doesn't know, while Sam is completely untethered by a weight that's been chaining him down his entire life.

Sam has himself, he has Jess, he has his future...

Then Sam cups Jessica's face and keeps kissing her and they stay another three minutes longer at the party, not wanting to let go.

Lucifer forgets everything but Sam in that moment, and let's Sam make him forget, because he wants this to last, and he can't let the fear of temporary jail-time ruin Sam's night or the time he has left. Sam doesn't know the temporary goodbye would be soon, and Lucifer wants to keep it that way. Both for Sam's happiness and for his own sake. And Lucifer would make Sam happy again, he knows it. He just doesn't want to say goodbye yet. He never will.

They head home with Zoe as the designated driver of Jessica's car, since she's headed to the complex next to them anyway. They say their goodbyes as quickly as possible and then Lucifer gets Sam alone in their shower and their bed and they hold each other close and press their heads together and breathe each other in, Lucifer praising Sam from inside Jess so that he would maybe believe it once Lucifer was gone.

\--

Sam is extra gentle with Jess when they make love that night, although once Jess asks him not to be, Sam complies. He doesn't want to hurt her with how fragile she's been lately, how sickly she's looked, but he wants her to feel loved and happy and safe and satisfied and he does that, by any and all means necessary.

Jess never wants Sam to hold back, though, so he doesn't. He kisses her and holds her tight and gives her everything, and she rasps, "Please, Sammy, please, I need all of you," and eventually he stops entering inside her one way and starts giving her oral that is so perfect it almost makes the Devil forget exactly who they are.

Then Jess wants to give back and make Sam feel everything. So she does, and Sam lets her take care of him. He loves it when she takes care of him, as much as he loves taking care of her. His mind turns to numb tingling electricity and surrender. Lucifer memorizes the look on his face when the feeling drags him under.

Jess gives Sam everything she can that night until Sam shakes and gasps and wails as he worships every contour of her body and every breath she takes and every heartbeat inside her ribcage and every brush of their lips and flutter of her eyelashes and every caress and every sigh and every promise she makes.

For every prayer Sam makes and every grateful incoherent thought he feels hammering inside his chest, Lucifer's whole being sings out in glory and gratitude and possessive need in Sam's name. For the Devil is certain that for every tremor, rasp, and tremulous prayer Sam offers up, the fallen angel will pay it back a hundredfold, because Sam need not want for anything as long as Lucifer was there to give it. Always his other half, Sam's personal God and guardian and whore and supplicating angel, the Devil himself laid low by one human placed high above all the rest.

Sam cherishes every word dripping from Jessica's mouth as she whispers, "You're mine. We're made to fit together perfectly. And I love you, never forget that, Sammy, I'll always love you, beyond time and space and long after the sun has burned out."

Sam answers, "I love you. I will only ever love you. I promise." 

And Lucifer holds Sam to it, because the Archangel cannot love anyone else, either. There is only room for Sam and himself and the life they would create together.

Lucifer kisses Sam's brow, then his eyelids, then his lips and chest and thighs and other places, and the Devil uses what he can to thrust and bury inside Sam as much as possible, guiding Sam's fingers as well as Jessica's own, a puppet-master guiding all strings, and a tongue licks outside and inside and around Sam so he screams and lurches and arches and moans.

Then Jess pulls away and starts to prepare Sam and herself, and Sam lays on his back, catching his breath, before Jessica climbs back over him.

"You know that it had to be you." Lucifer says softly. Jessica's throat is tight and scratchy when he says it. "It could never be anyone else. Understand?"

"Yes." Sam rasps.

**I love you.**

The Devil thrusts inside Sam as best as Jess can manage, all so his true vessel won't feel empty before he fills him to completion. 

"Sammy. It always had to be you." Lucifer rasps, wet and sticky. Jessica's hands brush Sam's hair out of his eyes. He leans into her touch.

Lucifer kisses him, and Sam closes his eyes and starts gasping for air as the Devil fucks Sam like the world is ending. Sam makes such beautiful noises in the meantime, before that future rises to meet them.

After however long, Jess disengages and unstraps and begs Sam to be inside her again.

Sam obliges, and they buck against the mattress and take in everything of the other until they can't take it anymore. Then they clean off the bed and each other and put on pajamas and kiss each other senseless and cuddle close, all warm and sticky except for Jessica's omnipresent cold, until Sam's eyelids droop and Jessica's head leans against Sam's collarbone.

As Sam falls asleep, Lucifer strokes his abdomen and holds him tightly and then even closer, but midway through the night Sam shifts, and Lucifer turns away with Jessica's back to him so Sam doesn't see that Jess isn't sleeping like he's been catching lately. That, and Lucifer wants to think, and doesn't want to freeze Sam too much or wake him from the tremors that rack Jessica's body more often than not these days.

Lucifer can feel the metaphysical fire not yet ignited, but still slowly smoking out from Jess and unhinging himself from her body on the inside, like a wrench working on a rusted, stripped nail.

He waits and prays and tries to keep Sam from feeling the feelings Lucifer can't quite keep from bleeding into Jessica's body language, and hopes Sam doesn't hear the grace of the Devil singing out it's scared, brooding impatience.

\--

Dean breaks in. Lucifer hears it first. But he's not worried.

Azazel sent him a line saying he was on his way, and with Brady being a lookout, well...

This was going to happen eventually.

Sam tries to get up as quickly and as undetected as possible, not quite sure if his past had caught up with him. Lucifer appreciates the attempts to let him sleep, if he slept. Sammy, always so considerate.

He keeps an eye on him as he gets up, though. No telling what damage big brother might do.

So what if Lucifer has trust issues when it comes to brothers. Knowing who Dean is... What he is... Who he belongs to...

Bitterness churns in Jessica's heart, thanks to Lucifer's half-life presence. Pain and anger and the belief that if Michael just... If Michael cared...

Lucifer shoves that down.

Michael left him. Michael planned to kill him slowly and painfully.

Michael wanted him dead. So he'll kill him first, and then Sam will be safe and happy with him, forever.

Just the two of them, safe inside all of Creation.

Still. Lucifer doesn't want Sam to go, even if he has to.

\--

There's a door left open and a gust from the window.

Sam's not letting anything from his past catch up to him. No monster or demon or errant thief is going to ruin this life he made.

It's his life. And he won't let anyone take that away.

He won't lose Jess to something, either... Even though Jess could likely take care of herself, when she wasn't falling over and having fainting spells.

Sam punches and tackles the intruder, who gives as good as he gets. Almost familiar.

Then it hits him. Literally and otherwise, the punches thrown quite recognizable.

This is Dean.

Dean broke into his apartment after two years radio silence.

**What the fuck is this?**

Dean gets Sam on his back, on the ground.

"Easy, Tiger." Dean says.

"Dean?" The first thing Dean does when he shows up is beat Sam up and tackle him to the floor, and Sam only pretends to have forgotten him because that truth is not something he wants to focus on... Even if he does. "You scared the crap out of me."

Not a lie. What if it was something else, what if Jessica hurt him not knowing who he was (she wouldn't hesitate to hit him with a baseball bat, all things considered).

"That's 'cause your outta practice." Dean answers, and Sam doesn't bother to correct him verbally.

Sam gasps and gets Dean on the ground below him, Sam's own legs a good a weapon as ever.

Sam doesn't want to be in practice.

He sees Jess out of the peripheral of his vision behind Dean in the doorway, keeping an eye out, baseball bat in hand. Shit. They woke her up.

She puts the bat down behind the doorframe when she sees Sam is handling his brother.

"Or not," Dean chuckles. "Man, you shot up real tall."

Sam pats his shoulder.

"Get off me," Dean orders, and Sam ignores that it's an order, and helps him to his feet, because he's his brother and he's not cruel or blind. Not like the rest of his family.

"Dean. What the Hell are you doing here?" Sam asks, half-curious and one-fourth wistful, because maybe Dean's going to stop trying to drag him back in, and one-quarter still angry, for the way this ended last time.

"Well, I was looking for a beer." Dean gives as a non-answer. Sam can tell there's an agenda behind this. Especially when Dean taps Sam's chest.

Sam lets the anger to the surface, all flat and level and assertive.

"What. The Hell. Are you doing here?" Sam asks again, voice low.

**You don't get to pretend everything is fine. You don't get to lie to me.**

"Okay, alright, we gotta talk," Dean rambles, voice still too light, but it's a lightness that hides years of violence and stress and Sam can tell something is wrong.

"Uh, the phone." Sam reminds, not giving ground.

"If I'd have called, would you have picked up?" Dean asks.

That's too much for Lucifer. He can feel Sam's frozen feelings all unexamined, all right there, as Dean puts the radio silence on Sam, like Sam was wrong for cutting him off after the way Dean blew up at him the last time.

"Sam?" Jess turns on the light and makes herself known.

**My hero.**

Sam is grateful Jess is awake, even if he doesn't want her to have to deal with whatever Dean is trying to pull. He appreciates the support.

Dean looks over, same as Sam.

"Jess..." Sam trails off, inhales, "Hey." And there's a silent, **Thank you for coming to the rescue** , before Sam says, "Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

"Wait, your brother, Dean?" Jess asks, pointing, and giving a smile, but it's one Sam recognizes as the fake kind. The wary one. The one where Jess assesses and makes her judgements.

Lucifer tilts Jessica's head and observes Dean as Jess leans against the doorframe. First time she's ever gotten a look up close.

He carries himself like Michael. All stiff. All... soldier.

"I love the smurfs." Dean smoozes, all up in Sam's space and then Jessica's like he's done with every other girlfriend of Sam's he's considered hot, and Sam hates him again for that, too. (Even if he was over Rachel.) No one ever deserves that treatment, especially from Dean.

Jess raises her eyebrows and keeps a cool, fake smile on retainer.

 _Classy_ , Lucifer's sarcasm almost doesn't get reigned in. Dean's cavalier lewd mannerisms are almost fitting, considering how brutish Michael would be. Not as rule-abiding, though.

"I gotta say, you are completely out of my brother's league."

Jessica's face remains a mask.

 _Not at all. How dare you, how dare you insinuate Sam is unworthy of me, how dare you belittle him-_ Lucifer's grace hisses, then collects itself. _Not like your opinion matters._ Lucifer collects his thoughts. _He's my league. All mine._

Then: _I'll enjoy watching you die, and Michael die with you._

"Just let me put something on." Jess says, as icy as possible without making Sam worry she was going to tear Dean's face off. Face still a flat mask, all icebergs and churning water below the surface.

Sam can still tell she's reigning in her gut reaction, though, and Jess eyes Sam over Dean's shoulder.

 _I see why you left._ Plain as day on her face.

"Oh, no. I wouldn't dream of it." Dean answers. Like Jessica's opinion is nothing. 

Lucifer re-evaluates its assessment.

Can he just steal Sam away now and not let him go back with this sad excuse for an ape, please?

The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, indeed.

"Seriously." Dean adds, and doesn't hide how he's checking her out.

Jess keeps eyeing Sam, and rolls her eyes when Dean turns, silently asking, _Can I punch him now?_

Sam looks pained and even angrier again.

Dean looks over his shoulder back at Jess even as he gets closer to Sam.

"Anyway, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here. Gotta talk about some private family business. But, uh, nice meeting you." Dean adds with emphasis, pointing again. Like Sam is just along for the ride without a say, too.

_Oh, really?_

**Shut the fuck up and get your fucking eyes off her. What is this, the middle ages?** Lucifer picks up on, and inside, he's glowing. Beautiful Sam, always so above the crass nature of his species. **And who the fuck do you think you are, walking in here, like it's nothing, like...**

Sam side-eyes Dean, and walks back to Jessica.

"No." Sam answers, and then he's got an arm around her. Both of them a unit, two-as-one, together.

Lucifer cuddles closer to the contact, as muffled as it is, still.

"No." Sam repeats. "Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her."

No real secrets between them, after all. Just things they don't say.

Lucifer gives Dean a harder look, one all harsh flats of his eyes as his head tilts in challenge, in support of Sam.

"Okay." Dean answers, voice flat, head bobbing slightly, and he plants his feet like he's gearing for a fight. "Um. Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam inhales and shoots back, "So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Lucifer keeps Jessica's eyes on Sam, seeing every syllable of how he'll shoot his brother down. It's gratifying.

Dean ducks his head down, voice growing more stilted and heated, "Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam goes still.

“Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside.” Sam grits out. But he gives her a look, one she knows. One where Sam will come back. He just doesn't want her to see this.

\--

Sam starts in on Dean as they get outside the door. “I mean, come on. You can't just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you...”

“You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him.” Dean argues.

Sam sighs, then turns argumentative as he keeps trying to talk him down.

By the end, Sam's half-successfully hoovered, and worried that he won't be able to go home, at this rate. If Dean keeps insisting on this, on Sam giving up everything he's tried to build.

“You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing.” Dean begs.

Sam knows that voice. His brother might be half a stranger now, but there's a promise, there. If Sam goes, this will be the last one.

And Dean said it himself. He could go alone.

He doesn't want to.

Despite everything, Sam does miss his brother. It's the kind of thing you miss and then hate when you are stuck with them again.

Sam's read about it. Enmeshed in the situation. Conditioning. The normalization of abuse.

Dean needed to get out, but he wouldn't. Sam can't save Dean from himself...

But he can do this one thing, and get out.

Sam makes up his mind.

“Wait here.” Sam answers.

“Sam-” Dean cuts in.

“I want to talk to Jess first.” Sam says, adamant, and he doesn't wait for Dean to try and say anything else before he heads back inside.

\--

“Jess. Are you going to be okay here?” Sam asks, pacing, then he stops to look at her before holding the bag of clothes, suspended and unsure.

“Yeah, but Sam… Are you taking off?” Jess asks, biting her lip.

“Yeah. You know, just a little family drama.” Sam replies, a bit too casual.

“Is this about your Dad? Your brother said he was on some kind of hunting trip.” Jess presses. There's weight there, too. She knows Sam's Dad never comes up in conversation.

Lucifer knows why. Jess just guesses for him without being too specific.

“Oh, yeah, he's just deer hunting up at the cabin, he's probably got Jim, Jack, and José along with him." Sam answers, and rolls his eyes, although his voice is tight. "I'm just going to go bring him back.”

“Sam, I mean, please." Jess stands and hugs him close, looking up as she strokes his face. "Just stop for a second. You sure you're okay?”

Sam laughs and hides his face.

“I'm fine.” Sam says.

He never is, when he says that.

“It's just...you won't even talk about your family." Lucifer stutters, trying to find the best way in. Now that Sam has to leave... He doesn't want him to. He deserves to be happy before Lucifer is gone. Who says he has to leave before Lucifer burns up? They can alter the scenario. Sam can be sucked in without having to leave... Jessica's voice turns a bit more frantic. "And now you're taking off in the middle of the night to spend a weekend with them?" The Lucifer forces her voice to be calm, so Sam doesn't feel guilted. "...And with Monday coming up, which is kind of a huge deal.”

“Hey. Everything's going to be okay. I will be back in time, I promise.” Sam assures, holding her shoulders. He means it.

“Sam… You don’t have to lie to me.” Jess sits down on the bed, holding Sam’s hand, and Sam follows her down, startled. Jess keeps her voice soft. “You don’t have to say what it’s about, but…”

“Jess. I don’t know how-“ Sam starts.

**I don't know how to talk about this-**

“You’re a hunter, right?” She asks, and Sam freezes. She said it with that intonation. The one with Meaning.

She shrugs at him. “You think I didn’t see how you reacted to Selene, at first?”

Sam winces and looks down.

“I… I’m leaving it behind, Jess.” Sam promises.

“Sam. All I want is for you to be happy. If you want this… I won’t stop you. But I don’t like how Dean is pushing you around. So if you’re going… I’m going with you.” Jess asserts, ironclad in will and focus. 

If Jess knows about hunting, then Sam’s sure she can hold her own. That’s not the issue.

“Jess, what if you collapse," Sam chokes, "What if something happens-“

“Then it happens to us. Together. Sam. Please. Trust me.” Jess wheedles.

Sam could never say no to her. Not where it mattered.

\--

“All right. I'll go." Sam says as he exits his apartment. "I'll help you find him. But I have to get back first thing Monday.” He tells Dean, non-negotiable.

“What's first thing Monday?” Dean asks, interest piqued.

“I have this...I have an interview.” Sam considers not saying it, but goes for it anyway. He doesn't care about Dean's opinion on this, it's his life...

“What, a job interview? Skip it.” Dean scoffs.

“It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate.” Sam enunciates every word.

“Law school?” Dean asks, knowing how Sam's been focused on that forever. His mouth still quirks, a bit wryly, like he still can't believe it

“Yeah.” Jess answers, all changed and heading out the door. “And if Sam’s coming with, I’m coming, too.”

“Sam-" Dean isn't about this at all, and his voice lowers.

“I only go if she goes. So we got a deal or not?” Sam grits out, staring Dean down.

\--

To say the car ride is tense is an understatement.

Jess doesn't give Dean much consideration. She's only got her eye out for Sam, nothing more or less.

\--

Azazel and Brady aren't happy with the plan. Lucifer doesn't care that they're unhappy he followed Sam.

They exist to serve him. They will obey.

Before he burns them out in the end, they will serve their purpose.

\--

Constance's ghost moans, "I can never go home."

"You're scared to go home." Sam snarls.

Constance flickers, and then she's in shotgun, pushing him back-

"Hold me. I'm so cold."

**Not cold enough.**

And Sam finds his voice is stronger than an avalanche.

"You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!" He answers.

Truer words have never been spoken.

"You will be. Just hold me." Constance corrects, and leans in.

Sam reaches for the keys.

Jessica stabs Constance with an ironcrowbar, and she flickers and screams. When she reappears, Dean shoots out the window and hitting her with rocksalt.

When she's back in the car, too close to Jess, Sam floors it, yelling, "I'm taking you home."

Constance is destroyed by her drowned children.

But Sam is distracted, helping Jess out from the back of the Impala.

Jess is okay, but she stumbles and collapses five steps out from exiting the car.

Uninjured, but the normal spells she's been having more and more lately.

When Sam checks, her forehead burns hotter than usual.

"Jess, Jess are you okay?" Sam asks, cradling her.

"I'm fine. I'm fine, Sam, don't worry about me, this is just what happens."

"I should have had Brady look after you, or something, you shouldn't have exerted yourself like this-"

"Sam, Brady. Really? C'mon. And it's fine. I'm okay." Jess hugs him. "I promise. I don't lie, remember. Everything is going to be okay."

\--

"Not bad, Jessica. Nice save." Back in the car, on the road back, Dean starts in, "And you found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy."

"Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?" Sam answers.

"Hey. Saved your ass." Dean answers with a wistfulness that Sam tries not to feel. Lucifer notes it, and tries not to think of his brothers before his Fall. Dean adds, "Same with your girlfriend. You two might be good to join the team, you know?"

Sam shakes his head, and Jess laughs.

_If only you knew._

Then Dean's voice turns, "But, Sam I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car?" And his tone turns dead serious, "I'll kill you."

Sam laughs. Jess doesn't, but she does smile slightly.

_Not if I kill you first._

Highway to Hell starts playing on the radio.

Jess gets really quiet after that.

\--

Jess is passed out in the back. (Lucifer pretends to sleep, oh-so-careful).

Sam pinpoints Dad's location.

And Dean tries to reel him back in, now that Jess is down for the count.

"Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning." He tries.

"Dean, I, um..." Sam says, but he doesn't fall prey to his carefully deployed disappointment.

"You're not going." Dean says.

"The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there." Sam answers. "And Jess needs me."

Dean doesn't look back at Jess.

"Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. I'll take you home." Dean answers. Sam can hear the bitter defeat in Dean's voice when he says the last word.

Sam glances back at Jess and out the window, the gleam from the streetlights flickering over his face.

It's true, though.

Being with Jess is home, now, more than the Impala has ever been.

\--

Jess leaves the Impala first to take a shower. 

Sam follows a few minutes after, but not before Dean tries one last time to ask Sam if this is what he really wants.

"Call me if you find him?" Sam asks a question as his answer, then adds, "And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?"

"Alright." Dean answers. There's four years silence and eighteen years of shared life together choked and hidden in the quiet of his voice, too proud to let on but too scared to set Sam free...

Sam taps on the car door twice and turns to go.

Dean hesitates, then leans over, "Sam?"

Sam turns back to look at him.

"You know, we made a hell of a team back there..."

"Yeah." Sam answers.

It's goodbye. Again.

Dean drives away.

Sam watches him go.

\--

"Jess?" Sam calls as he enters the dark apartment. Jess left the oven overhead light on for Sam to make it to the stairway safely. "You make it upstairs okay?" But then he hears the shower running, sees the shotglass on the counter that meant Brady had waited up for them to make sure they got back okay, so she must've made it up there, and Sam must've just missed Brady.

There's cookies on the table from before she left. There's a note that says, "Love you!" on them, in Jessica's usual looping handwriting, half scrawl and half-elegant, all geometric, almost. Sam takes one and bites into it. It tastes like home. Like weekends and laughter and safety.

He shouldn't have dragged Jess into this. But she was okay. It worked out...

Jess had been there for him, even if her and Dean... tolerated each other.

"Jess?" Sam calls when he gets to their room, in case she wants company. The bathroom light is on, and Jess is silent. Really tired, then. Sam will wait for her here.

Sam falls over the bed with closed eyes as he sprawls out and sighs. Happy to be home, and safe, with the one he loves.... Where he belongs.

Except something drips on his forehead. It's wet and tacky and warm.

He looks up.

Jess is pinned on the ceiling, abdomen ripped open. Dripping blood.

Sam gasps in wordless terror.

**NO NO JESS NO-**

"NO!" Sam yells.

She bursts into flame.

"Jess!" Sam screams, shielding himself from the flames but unable to move, unable to look away-

"Sam!" Dean yells, "We have to get out-"

And he carries him out from the building, dragging him because Sam doesn't want to leave her, he can't leave her-

"JESS!" Sam keeps screaming. "JESS! NO!"

\--

They make it outside.

The whole apartment goes up in flames.

Everything Sam made, everything Sam shared, the one Sam loved-

Gone.

\--

Except he doesn't know Lucifer is coming back for him. He's just made the first move.

All Sam's moves now, against the other pawns on the board, nudging him one step closer and closer across, until the Ebony King has crossed the chessboard to be reunited with the White Queen or King, whichever vessel Lucifer gets before Sam says yes and sets him free.

Inside the Cage, Lucifer sings, so bright and beautiful every part of his being hurts.

He misses Sam so much, and Sam is hurting already, because of the tasteless tactics of his demons, of how close they let him get...

Except he had to see. If he didn't see the way Jessica's body burned...

He wouldn't know it was Azazel. It needed to be done.

Still.

It won't be easy, this road.

But it will make their reunion all the sweeter.

Lucifer will make sure Sam is rewarded, in the end.

That's one of the few things he holds on to.

He hates this isolation.

And he can still hear Sam praying, so he sings his own prayers and love back in answer. All the glories of Heaven redirected to his perfect Host.

\--

Sam knows this is his fault.

If Jess hadn't overexerted herself, if she hadn't been made a target, if Sam wasn't seen back in the game...

One way or another, Jess died because the of whatever had been hunting their family.

And it found her because of Sam.


	15. Heat Stroke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Black Math

Sam misses Jessica's funeral.

It's less of a miss than coming late, because facing everyone would be too much, and Sam...

Sam can only face her alone.

He can't look anyone in the eye, can't bear condolences, can't bear to face the few college friends who showed up, or Brady, or Jessica's sort-of adopted aunt who sometimes had paid a visit.

Sam wishes Jess hung around, if it gave her peace, because Jess would never suffer laying down quietly, would want to handle this herself.

And he knows he's being selfish.

But when most of your life you see ghosts at every corner, well...

He wishes he could still hold her hand.

The sun is too bright. It doesn't deserve to be, not today.

And the laughter in Sam's throat is toxic, tastes like every monster's fresh kill, and it feels like a lead weight in his chest. The words burst out before Sam can help it.

"You always said roses were..." Sam swallows, stutters, finds his breath again, "Were lame..."

_And he can still hear the payback of her teasing back from Spring Break, and from Valentine's day, from every instance of the long-running joke they played on each other every few months when there was a holiday, or when they picked out what to fill their garden with..._

_From that one time in the morning when she'd cornered him during his morning routine with one in her mouth, before she pressed it to his lips, other arm anchored around Sam's shoulders._

_"Not lame. Corny, Sam. That's why I like them. Call me old fashioned, but there's nothing more romantic, more alive, than something simple. You pluck the life out of the earth with a promise binding you together thanks to the sacrifice, a beautiful one that can prick you enough to draw blood-"_

_"Real traditional." Sam had managed, trying to finish shaving the uneven stubble he'd managed to grow in thanks to months of hormone therapy, and to ignore the hands wandering to unclip his belt._

_"And symbolic." Jessica had said, and she smiled with sharp, all corners as she rubbed a line of shaving cream off of Sam's face, then pecked him on the cheek. "Point being, when I bite the dust-"_

_And Sam's smile had faltered, just a second, as he saw her burning above his head-_

_Except then there was a hand sliding under Sam's boxers, and that was more than enough to snap Sam out of whatever pall had fallen over him, if Jess even noticed in her flurries of constant, fidgeting motion and energy that animated her every time she got absorbed in whatever she was thinking about. "-Disregarding the ageless, flawless immortal that I am-"_

_And Sam had smiled with her again, memorizing every blink of her eyelids even as she kept on talking, familiar and unbothered and purposefully mundane even as she shrugged Sam's unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders and pressed him up against the wall. And Jess had leaned into Sam's neck, and kissed again, and yeah, she had noticed Sam's flinch and was doing everything in her power to get him focused only on her, lapping up the attention and eyeing the way Sam's throat bobbed as she watched him._

_"-You better deck me out in anything other than that. Something pink, maybe, to match my wings." And she'd flexed her shoulders, eyebrows raised, and Sam couldn't stop from laughing as he ran a hand through her hair, not once pushing her away._

_"Horns, more like." He said, breath hitching, and then tossed the razor by the sink, giving up on shaving entirely to hold her in his arms. Jess had wiped off his face with the towel before kissing the underside of his chin. The rose stem was still balled up in her other hand, flowers slowly falling on the floor, while her bright, dancing eyes laughed at Sam, too, for all the ways he couldn't quite hide how mesmerized he really was and how breathless she made him._

_"Both, Sammy," Jess corrected, sinking to her knees. "It's a package deal."_

_Sam had kept making fun of her for it until Jess had driven them both off track, having decided for the both of them to have them spend the day studying inside and walking along the pier instead of going out with their friends._

Now, the memories only hurt. Jess had been proud and focused and relentless in everything she put her mind to, and sometimes she was crude, and sometimes she was sarcastic, or possessive, or jealous, but more than that she loved with an intensity that made Sam forget the fear of everything he thought he was. And when she was here, she was always present, always touching and laughing and pushing the envelope, and she loved Sam, so much that Sam could feel every echo of every promise she had made, and it only made him feel more alone now, the enormity and finality of it all and how much time they never really had only now really sinking in.

And then the tears fall, and he's choking out, "So I brought you, uh... Jess... Oh, God..."

Sam kneels.

"I should have protected you. I should have told you the truth."

Because despite of all the ways Jess has sleuthed out most of the truth anyway, the big secrets they never talked about, but there was one truth Sam had never said aloud: that he was cursed, he was never going to get away, and trying to pretend otherwise had only stopped Jessica's future before it had even started.

It's not bad luck. There's always been something marking Sam, making him feel unclean, like there's something scratching it's way out from under his skin and claiming him from a life he's run from.

With Jess, he'd thought they'd have a chance. But he was wrong, like he always is-

Sam bends down, the pink and white flowers shaking in his grip.

A hand pushes from the dirt, and grabs his wrist. Too tight, burning cold, claiming him with all the hunger Jess always did.

_You know the truth, Sammy. You've always known. I'll be back for you. I always will come back for you._

And then it's bright, bright inside Sam's closed eyes, and inside the makeshift home of leather seats smelling of alcohol and old cigarettes, Sam jolts awake. He tastes blood and fire and roses on his tongue, and pretends the cold sweat on his back isn't making him shiver.

He's tired of visions and nightmares and remembering, except he isn't, because every time he falls asleep it's like she's out there waiting for him, and Sam still feels like Jess is still lingering, even now, even though he knows better, because if she was, she'd have made herself known. The pain inside his chest is a dull, roaring vacuum threatening to swallow him whole, and Sam's head pounds.

Even Dean is tiptoeing around him, noticing how often he's dozing and jerking awake and the dark circles under his eyes.

He even offers up a chance at the wheel like he has never done before. Hell, Sam had only ever learned the basics of how to drive with Bobby, and then more with Brady on long empty stretches of desert road, long after running away so many times before all the other times, and the creeping loneliness threatens to swallow Sam whole all over again.

Now, all he has is Dean, and the road, and an old life calling him back into the shadow of everything he's been running from.

There's only smoke in his lungs, burnt up rage so potent, all that's left is a the need to kill the thing that put Jessica in the ground.

And the sooner they find Dad, the sooner he can make amends for a battle Sam knows he's already long since lost.

\--

At the real gravesite, at the real goodbye long before Sam had driven away and fallen asleep miles and miles down the road, Brady had kept watch until he showed. Dear ol' Azazel was still stirring up some trouble to keep Winchester senior on the prowl, and while his orders had explicitly forbid any interaction, Brady, for once, feels like this isn't pushing the envelope. Any other day, Brady wouldn't have tried otherwise, not willing to jeopardize their main event.

But Sam's finally on his way to the playoffs now that Hell has finally kicked it's main plan into gear, and he can't help but see his handiwork up close.

Sam can't keep too many friends on call, after all, so Brady chances saying goodbye while Dean is occupied and Sam is alone.

He knows Sam won't even try to latch on, for fear of whatever killed Jess targeting anyone else Sam loves, and Sam doesn't know Brady can handle himself just fine, that's he's one hand out of a multitude praying for their King to set them free.

"Hey, Sam. Glad you made it." Brady says, shrugs as he exits the treeline. Consecrated ground is a bitch, but he's get enough tools for a workaround.

Sam freezes. "Brady-"

"Knew you would." Brady puts his hands in his pockets and lights a candle on the headstone. Virgin De Guadalupe, courtesy of one of Sam's human college buddies who actually gave a damn. The irony almost makes Brady grin.

"Figured I'd camp out and eventually you'd show your face. You look like shit, by the way, which, I get it, but..." Then Brady sucks in his teeth and gives Sam a once-over. "You sure you're up for a road trip with your brother? Same brother who, you know, you still won't spill the beans about-"

"It's fine, Brady." Sam's voice wavers, and he looks down at Jessica's photo. Brady scuffs his feet over the dirt, toes burning a little, still not being expunged from the earth. He narrows his eyes, even though Sam still won't meet them.

"Sure it is."

"I'm..." Sam doesn't say fine. He and Brady might have ended their fling with distance, with Sam smitten with their true messiah, and while it's not like Brady would begrudge him that, Sam has never stopped feeling guilty, even when Brady knew he'd driven the nail in the coffin on purpose long before Sam even had a clue.

"Look, Sam. You do whatever you have to. But you need anything... My offer still stands."

"I know." Sam exhales. And then he does take the chance to lie, "It's fine, Brady, really. I'm good." 

And Brady doesn't call him out for it, nor does he pat Sam on the back. They'd been babying Sam far too long, after all, and upper management thought he did his job a bit too well. Lucifer is still pissed, enough for Brady to be reassigned and Azazel's favorites to get on the case. But watching Sam cut his friends out all on his own, well...

Brady still feels pride. Sam was like this because of a job well done, so much so that he's fighting half the battle for them already.

"You need to get out of dodge, you call me, okay? Like old times. I know I'm not the most reliable, but we both know I'm a creature of the night, so-" Brady insists, pressing his new phone number into Sam's hand. Sam had barely kept updating in the group chat, either, deflecting everyone's attempts to get close, because that's Sam for you-

"I hear you." Sam had answered, shoulders taut.

There was nothing anyone could do, though.

All Sam could do is get as far away as possible. After all, who knows, anyone close to him could be next, and Dean's the only one who might stand a chance-

And Brady could see he'd achieved a job well done, and figured this was the only closure they'd get before the Devil rose again.

Brady gives him an out before Sam felt the need to flee, and pretends to go bum a smoke as Sam retreats back to his new-old home on wheels. Brady can't chance big brother seeing his face, just in case. And now that he's off his favorite case, well, there was other grunt work to attend to, now that Sam is back on track.

They all need to be ready for the road ahead.

Brady does laugh when he makes it to his next assignment, though. While Sam thinks they're flagging their sorry Dad down, when really Brady has got eyes on him right now. They're heading in the opposite direction. But they'll get there, when they need to.


	16. Saturn Barz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S1E22. chapter title a song by gorillaz

Dean is still collapsed on the ground, not quite stable but not beyond saving. Sam needs to get him out of there as soon as he knows John's condition.

And John is alive. Possessed, sucking in one huge breath, and the first words out of his damn mouth are all focused on the job, on finishing this, because Azazel is still kicking around.

"He's still alive. It's inside me, I can feel it." John inhales, wincing as he gasps, "You shoot me. You shoot me, you shoot me in the heart-"

His words repeat, over and over, and he calls Sam daughter like it will make the shot go down easier.

"Do it!" John orders.

Sam cocks the gun, muscle memory of that same violence in his tone making altogether too easy.

It's not that Sam can't kill John, much as he doesn't want to be the one to kill him or see him die. And if it's between getting Azazel, ending this, and John falling with him, well...

He knows what John wants. He wants Sam to put a bullet through his ribs or between his eyes, whatever works, so long as there are no questions asked.

Hell, he's begging him to do it. He's been waiting to bury himself deep in the earth and join Mary so long as the yellow eyed demon goes down with him.

"Sammy," John begs, every word a wheeze.

Sam knows he could do it, staring down the barrel of everything that's ever held him hostage, held his family hostage, even as he keeps hesitating.

"Sam, don't you do it, don't you do it-" Dean rasps, voice thin and high as it breaks, and he's lost too much blood already-

"Sam, you gotta hurry, I can't hold him much longer, we can end this, here and now-"

Dean's voice begins to slur as the blood loss worsens, and he mumbles, "Sammy, don't-"

And the air whistles between Sam's teeth as John yells again, "You shoot me, Sam!"

Once, Sam would choose himself, would choose Jess, would choose to let this die and to take back what he could salvage of his life, and he would walk away and live knowing that he wasn't coming back.

"Sam, no," Dean whispers.

"Sammy! You do this!" John yells, noting slight tremor of the gun. "Sammy!"

And he sees the look in Sam's eyes.

The thing is- Dean isn't who he used to be, either.

And Sam doesn't want to lose him. Sam wants his brother and he wants his family and he can't move forward like this, knowing that he failed him, knowing that after everything they've done that it ends with losing the only other family Dean thinks he has left.

Sam can't do this to him. Sam won't to break his heart.

This time, Sam chooses Dean.

Somewhere, deep down, he wants to hold on, too.

"Sam..." John's voice is frail, a quaking, broken thing, because he can see the battle is already lost.

Sam doesn't take the shot, and the gun lowers in his too-steady hands.

John shudders with a broken expression, chest heaving as he sobs, before Azazel issues from his mouth and vanishes again.

There is grief in the way John falls back to the ground, but Sam is more concerned with getting Dean and him both out of there, the blood trickling down Dean's front and wet, rasping noises he makes a bit too shallow to ignore.

\--

**At least there's a hospital nearby, three miles to go, two now-**

That's what Sam keeps repeating inside his head, but it doesn't stop his eyes from flickering to the backseat where Dean is uncharacteristically quiet, his head lolling a few times.

And it's here, in this home on the road, the one constant in their life as Baby speeds down the highway- that's when John's white-hot rage blooms again, dug out of a grief he's never healed from, the same grief he's always inflicted when he finds his sons have failed him.

Sam lets the words wash over and through, not letting them gain purchase.

But it's John's, "I thought we saw eye to eye on this. Killing this demon comes first, before me, before everything-"

And Sam won't stay quiet anymore, knowing, that this is the difference between them, that this is yet another reason is he will never turn into his father.

"No, sir." Sam answers, voice raw as he eyes Dean in the front-view mirror. "Not before everything."

Then Sam lays out their battle strategy, and the all the ways they can salvage this.

How they can take Azazel down, drive this thing into the ground, without giving up what they were fighting for in the first place-

Glass shatters.

And when the truck hits, plows straight throw them, all Sam can smell is sulfur.

All he sees is bright, bright light, hot and searing pain and red behind his closed eyelids as they get driven off the road.

Darkness swims across Sam's eyes, coming to claim what's left.


	17. Hey Jude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S4E21. chapter title a song by the beatles

The more the seals break, the more Lucifer feels it.

The Archangel tries its best to send Sam its support, its endless love, as best it's able. Tries to reach through and find the link he can't quite get to but knows is there.

And he knows Sam is hurting.

Can feel it all the way in the deepest pit of Hell where he waits, so close to freedom, yet so far.

_We're so close now, Sam. So very close to being together again. And I will make up for every ounce of pain you ever felt the moment I get out of here. I promise you. You'll see._

\--

The door closes behind Sam and he realizes that this isn't going to end well.

The fan over the Devil's trap in the ceiling spins in circles, with its hum.

There's a squeak as Dean opens the eye-only window to the room. Sam turns on his heels.

"Okay. Let me out. This is not funny." Sam starts in, trying to keep calm.

"Damn straight." Dean answers.

"Dean." Sam says, more insistent as he walks closer, right to the window, "Come on. This is crazy."

"No. Not until you dry out." Dean answers from the shadows.

Sam opens his mouth to say something, reconsiders, then decides to say what he needs to say anyway. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied to you. Just... Open the door."

Dean's voice is a bit too flippant. "You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. It's not your fault that you lied to me over and over again. I get it now. You couldn't help it."

No. Sam had to. He had no choice. Dean would just shut it down and make Sam follow his lead like he always does instead of fixing the problem and everyone would blame Sam, like always.

Sam could help it. But it wasn't the right move.

"I'm not some junkie!" Sam protests.

"Really?" Dean asks, disbelieving. Then his tone turns more caustic. "I guess I've just imagined how strung out you've been lately."

Sam lets out a false laugh, breathy and choked.

Sam's voice becomes louder as he brushes the hair out of his face and the sweat from his forehead. "You're actually trying to twist this into some kind of ridiculous drug intervention?"

Sam's hands leave his head, suspended out around him, palms open and up, arms reaching from his sides.

"If it smells like a duck." Dean growls.

"Dean, I'm not drinking demon blood for kicks!" Sam answers, trying to keep his voice from rising higher, to keep it even as he stops pacing and re-approaches the door. "I'm getting strong enough to kill Lilith!"

"Strong?"

"Yeah!"

"It's about as far away from strong as you can get." Dean answers, and Sam throws his head, a muscle twinging by his mouth. "Try weak. Try desperate. Pathetic."

Just because Sam is doing what he has to doesn't mean Dean gets to make that call.

Sam's voice lowers and deepens as his eyes meet Dean's again. "Killing Lilith is what matters. Or are you so busy being self-righteous you forgot about her." Sam blinks too much, every word emphasized, teeth bared in the red light.

Dean's face gets bathed in shadow as his head lowers, his eyes like empty sockets staring out from a skull.

Dean looks back up. "Oh, Lilith's gonna die." Dean answers, assured. "Bobby and I will kill her. But not with you."

"You're not serious." Sam denies with a shake of his head.

"Congrats, Sammy." Dean's voice is breathy, rasping. "You just bought yourself a benchwarmer seat to the Apocalypse."

No. No, no, no.

"Dean, no. Wait." Sam's voice is soft until the window closes with another rusty squeak of hinges. "Come back here!"

Sam punches the door, voice a throaty yell. "Dean, let me out of here!"

_Sam, Sam, I hate being alone in here, please, I miss you so bad..._

Sam ignores the echoes of an old nightmare and keeps trying to pretend he can punch through the door, like any continued fight matters or will change the way this has gone.

He was right not to tell Dean, though. If this is Dean's reaction, if this is how this goes...

He should have handled this himself.

Sam tries not to think of his nightmares. Of Jess. Of what this failure means for the world and himself and everything.

Sam keeps yelling and begging despite it all.

"LET ME OUT! DEAN!"

He pounds on the door until his fists bruise and his hands start to shake and the sweat keeps making him too hot, too feverish, and his teeth ache.

His breath still fogs up as the light flickers, though.

Then Alastair is there, and Sam knows he's in for it.

Just because you know it's a hallucination doesn't mean it feels less real.

And Sam's tied and trussed up and locked down and tortured for however long.

Just because it's a hallucination doesn't mean Sam won't scream or fight or plead.

"No, no, don't. Don't."

And then he's being split open and can only gasp and scream.

"Don't! Stop!"

Every nerve feels like it's being ripped to pieces as the poison boils under Sam's skin, and Sam wonders if his brain will melt and he'll fry down here, all alone, with only hallucinations for company.

And then Sam's on the bed and free after however long, except for the still-boiling blood in his veins and stabbing pain in his stomach, nauseous and sour, the ache in his throat and the pounding in his skull and the shakes and the dizzy vertigo making him feel like his head will split right open.

Sam tries to catch his breath and can't help but pat himself down to see if he's whole.

"The answer's yes." Sam turns around at the voice, at himself, at 14. Still a girl's body, still in too-big flannels Sam begged Dean to pass down to him and baggy pants that need a belt to stay on, still the short hair cropped around his ears, still so small. "You're hallucinating. That's right. It's me. Or, I mean, it's you."

Sam exhales. "I'm losing my mind." He says to himself.

"Definitely." Sam's fourteen year old doppelganger answers with two sharp nods and starts pacing. Sam keeps sitting on the cot.

"What do you want?" Sam asks himself.

"An explanation." Young Sam's voice turns vicious, arms out like he's gearing for a fight. "How could you do this to me?"

Sam flinches and looks down.

"I thought we were gonna be normal." Young Sam adds.

Sam looks back at himself and his voice shakes. "I tried. I did. It didn't pan out that way." Sam wishes his younger self would get it, that he would do anything to go back. Anything. "Sorry, kid."

Young Sam turns on Sam, snarling, head bowed, voice like a whip. "'Sorry, kid?' That's what you have to say? It's all we ever wanted."

And Sam looks down again as Young Sam's voice turns pleading, stutters, "We were so close! You got away from Dad. You quit hunting. You were gonna become a lawyer and get married."

 **Jess.** Sam misses her so much he could sob and choke right now, and he won't think of her, of her smile, of her sobs in his nightmares, of her, burning on the ceiling, so hot that Sam wants to burn right along with her. His teeth bare in grief as his lip trembles.

Young Sam is demanding, is relentless, out for blood. "Why did you blow it?"

"Look," Sam grits out, not trusting his own voice, tears teeming in his ears, the grief for Jess and his future and himself so close it could knock him flat. Sam inhales and soldiers on. "They killed Jessica."

"Yeah, and if you hadn't run off with Dean, if you'd been there to protect her," Young Sam gets in Sam's face, condemning, "She'd still be alive."

I know.

Sam blinks and looks up at the fan. Swallows. Bites his lip and chokes on his own words, raw and barely pronounced. "I know."

"You think Jess would want you to turn into this?" Young Sam scoffs, lip curling as he looks down at his future.

 _Don't worry, Sammy, you're always perfect to me._ Sam remembers. _And_ _nothing will ever keep me from loving you. Nothing._

Young Sam doesn't hold back. "She loved you."

_I love you, Sam. I love you, so, so, so much. More than the universe and everything beyond it._

Sam inhales and fidgets and looks at his own crossed legs, cannot face himself or anything.

Jess had given him everything and now she's gone forever, and Sam will never be okay, he loved her too much, they were going to heal and live their lives together...

"You think she would be happy, you using her as an excuse?" Young Sam asks.

It's not an excuse, he should be dead, with her, he just wants Jess back, doesn't _he_ understand, he would do anything and he can't go back and this is the only thing because once it's over Sam can die in peace.

Sam looks back up at himself, frantic and pointed and adamant and his voice a dull rumble. "I'm sorry. I am." His eyes don't leave himself once as he keeps going, "But life doesn't turn out the way you thought it would when you were 14 years old."

We can't run like we thought we could. We can't keep what we thought we had.

There's no getting out now.

"We were never going to be normal." Sam rages, all quiet, all fire, each breath physically paining him. "We were never gonna get away. Grow up." Sam commands, eyebrows raised and each word a sharp stab to the heart, although Sam's heart is already tatters.

Then Sam loses his nerve and looks away again, overwhelmed by the need to end this, to not be here, for rest...

Sam's throat has a lump he can't shake and his chest burns and his stomach wants to spew bile and all Sam wants to do is bleed and never wake up, but he has to finish this, has to get Lilith, first, he has to...

"Maybe you're right." Young Sam finally breaks the silence, enough to make Sam start upright. "Maybe there is... no escape." Young Sam decides on, taking time on each word. "After all, how can you run..."

So hungry so hot so wanting never enough....

"...For what's inside you?" Young Sam asks, eyes bleeding yellow.

Sam feels everything he's tried to keep down coming to skin him alive. He's never been able to escape his body- not fully, and it's always been outside Sam's control, compromised at birth and then six months after. And he's burning, always burning, he needs the cold, needs the dream where he's housed with the brightest thing in Creation, so many eyes and wings, dripping blood, speaking with Jessica's voice and cupping Sam's forehead like it will make all the pain freeze off him. Sam thinks maybe it's Jess, in Heaven. Bright and cold and royal and every bit the true angel he always knew she was, except better, because real angels are nothing like her, nothing at all.

And Sam feels the demon blood shuddering in his veins, twisting, singing some infernal melody, it's own poison, coursing through, like it's always been there and will never come out because it has and it will always be there and Sam damned Jess right from the start.

It's like it's searching, reaching out, for something that isn't quite there.

\--

Bobby isn't sure how to bring this up, after the seal and angel discussion, but he has to.

His eyes dart around before he inhales, finding his courage. "I'm just wondering," Bobby starts in, rubbing his face, throat bobbing...

Dean asks in the silence, "What?"

Bobby walks closer, hands in his pockets, eyes looking out the window. "With the Apocalypse being nigh and all, is now really the right time to be having this little domestic drama of ours?"

"What do you mean?" Dean demands, blinking, face stone.

Bobby meets Dean's gaze, voice not giving ground, although it's soft, too soft for Bobby's rough ease he usually remains comfortably housed in. "Well, I don't like this any more than you do, but... Sam can kill demons. He's got a shot at stopping Armageddon."

Bobby still believes in him. And he's knows what's been driving Sam this whole time, even if Dean doesn't want to be privy to it.

"So, what, sacrifice Sam's life, his soul, for the greater good? Is that what you are saying?" Dean's long-suffering fear of losing his brother and need to be the one to protect him and be in control to stop this from careening even further beyond his control bleeds through. "Time ares bad, so let's use Sam as a nuclear warhead?" Dean's voice becomes cold and deadly and exhausted because he can't let Sam be used like this.

Bobby doesn't say what he knows Sam would want him to. That this is Sam's choice. Sam's sacrifice. And Sam had been waiting for this. Wanted to choose something, after his choices felt so constrained and he felt like a puppet on a string. Losing Jess broke something inside him. Bobby knows that, just like losing his wife broke him.

Bobby would only hope to be there for him when it's over, but he knows what its like to lose someone, knows how deeply Sam feels about things, his own life...

Tears blink in Dean's eyes, pain scrunching his face, and Bobby doesn't say any of that.

"Look," Bobby finds his voice. "I know you hate me for suggesting it. I hate me for suggesting it."

Because he does. He doesn't want Sam going down this path. He doesn't want to keep Sam a prisoner. But he doesn't want to lose Sam, either.

Bobby's voice turns gentle again, turns to grief. "I love that boy like a son."

And Dean looks down and swallows because he knows it, too.

"All I'm saying is, maybe he's here right now, instead of on the battlefield, 'cause we love him too much."

Because we're too scared to let him go like he wants us to.

\--

Sam pants, dizzy, on the floor, cross-legged and wishing he was free.

The fan and it's light and shadow make his head hurt more.

He's so thirsty.

The room swims with a shudder, and Sam tries to stop himself from falling over and screws his eyes shut, clutching the cot to try and rise to his feet.

Mary's voice whispers in his ear, and Sam gasps, eyes opening.

"Mom." Sam finds his footing, Mary's ghost, bloody and present, in the room with him. He's not sure if she's real or just another hallucination.

He doesn't care.

"Sam. You look just awful." Mary's voice is a bit sharp.

Sam looks at his own sweaty mess of a body and feels the vertigo again.

"Let's hear it. Go ahead." Sam invites.

"What do you mean?" Mary asks, not moving.

Sam closes his eyes and his head turns as he speaks, too scared to look at her. "You're disappointed."

**You died because of me and I failed everyone.**

And Sam opens blinking eyes and his eyebrows raised and his jaw goes tight. He tries to smile at Mary and fails. "You never thought I'd," Sam inhales sharply, "Turn out this way." Sam says as he stumbles closer. "I'm a pisspoor excuse for a son." 

Sam's mouth twitches and his nostrils flare in self-hatred he can't dispel, and he chances a look at his mother, then looks away and sits down on the cot. "Your heart is broken." Sam sighs, staring at nothing. His eyebrows rise and fall with his eyes scrunching, "Am I close?"

Mary doesn't move and keeps staring him down. "Not at all." She gives him the smallest of smiles. "You're doing the right thing, Sam." Mary adds, walking closer. "What you're doing is brave." She continues, adamant, and Sam looks back at her, not daring to hope but feeling it anyway. "You're not being crazy. You're being practical." Mary's voice is like a sea washing the rot away, and she keeps one eyebrow raised as she looks at her son.

Then she gives a fuller smile to Sam. "Sam, I am so proud of you."

Sam swallows and inhales. "But... But Dean..."

Mary shakes her head, eyes blinking, "Your brother doesn't understand. I was raised a hunter, from a long line." Mary says as she sits next to Sam. "We understand that there are gonna be hard choices. And we do what we have to to get the job done." Then Mary looks down. "Yes, our family is cursed. But you..." And then Mary is stroking Sam's hair away from his brow, eyes full of belief. "You have the power to turn it into a gift. You can use it against them."

Sam stares past her, teeth glued together. He still feels like he's burning up beyond belief.

Sam looks back up at her, breath a hiss. "For revenge?" Sam asks, conscious of his sweaty palms and heartbeat pounding in his skull.

Mary meets his gaze and gives her answer, not compromising. "No. For justice."

Justice. Like Jess would always talk about. Would demand.

_Sam, me and you, we'll bring the world to justice, one day at a time. You'll see._

Sam can't stop the tears now and looks down at his hands.

Sam wants to reach out and burn it all down with her, take everything that ever hurt him and send them crumbling down to Hell.

"I know how scared you are." Mary adds.

Sam's lip quivers as he looks up. "What's... In me," Sam finally says, mouth grimacing, every word painful, like something stabbing him below the gumline. "Mom? It's..."

"Evil." Mary supplies, and Sam inhales, keeps the sob back. "And you know it."

And Sam just wants to reach out and pull, bring Jessica back and have her freeze every bad feeling away like she used to. To tell him he's perfect, that nothing vile has ever lived inside him, that he'll be washed clean of this.

Sam looks back down at himself. "What if it's stronger than me? Look at me. What if Dean's right?"

And Sam looks back at Mary, who brushes his hair with her hand again. "Dean can never know how strong you are." She answers, then sighs, hand settling on Sam's back. "Because Dean is weak." Mary finishes.

Sam blinks at her, thrown. 

Mary adds, "Look at what he's done to you. Locking you in here? He's terrified. He's in over his head."

Sam doesn't want to agree, but he does. This is killing him. This is taking away his one chance to fix everything. And Sam isn't in over his head, because he's been submerged ever since Jess burned, and he was going to take every bad thing down with him, every scheme of every demon who had a hand in this going to burn, and Lilith most of all.

_I will never let him hurt you, Sam. I will never let anyone hurt you again._

Sam listens to Mary's words, too quiet.

"You have to go on without him." She says, so sure. "You have what it takes."

Sam knows that. He's always had to go on without him, in the end. That's why Sam had to leave the first time. The first time... For his freedom, for his life, for his happiness.

The second time is just to let go. To be free in a whole new way.

"You have to kill Lilith." Mary continues, so quiet.

Sam cuts her off, nodding. "Even if it kills me."

Sam was going to die happy, knowing he won this, in the end.

Sam sighs and looks at his mother and wonders if he'll see her and Jess soon. If she'll be as happy to see him in Heaven as he knows his hallucination is, now.

"Make my death mean something. I'm counting on you, Sam." She finishes, and kisses his cheek, and Sam lets the imprint of her hold him close before the end of it all. "Don't let anyone or anything get in your way. Not even Dean."

Sam can almost feel that she isn't real, but doesn't want to.

Dean always said she'd sing, "Hey, Jude." Over the cradle.

She sings it now, and then she's gone.

\--

Castiel's voice is gravelly and exhausted. "The only question for us is whether you're willing to accept it. Stand up and accept your role."

Castiel keeps staring Dean down in that intense way he does, pleading and inextricable and angelic in a way that defies comprehension but demands action. There is belief, there, too. "You are the one who will stop it." Castiel says.

Dean inhales, and all the fear and pain he's been trying to hide leeches out despite it all.

"If I do this..." Dean asks, staring into Castiel's eyes, speaking almost like a prayer. "Sammy doesn't have to?"

That's all Dean wants. Is for Sam to be safe.

Castiel stares back at Dean, with Jimmy's eyes, so blue, and Dean can see the blue fire over the coals of his real eyes underneath.

Castiel is like a wall, not giving any emotion, only surety. "If it gives you comfort to see it that way."

Castiel does not want to cause Dean more pain. He just knows what must be done, because Heaven decreed it, and Dean is their instrument to wipe the slate clean, to stop the end.

Dean scoffs and has to look away from him, because he can see how something inside Cas is broken, even now. "God, you're a dick these days." Dean answers.

Cas stares out, trying not to feel the things he feels. Tries to be more angelic, more a product made and mass produced, than an individual person, one in a part of a whole.

Dean accepts the role.

He doesn't fall for the weaselly wording Castiel has been instructed to say.

Once, Cas would rejoice for that...

Now...

"Say it." Castiel says, and Dean turns back to face him.

"I give myself over wholly to serve God and you guys." Dean's eyebrows raise at the end of his answer, words too raw as he walks back over. Now, he's face to face with the angel who brought him from Hell and delivered him back to earth.

Castiel asks, trying to keep the pain from his eyes and not quite succeeding, but he carries out his task, "And you swear to follow _his_ will and _his_ word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father's?"

Dean stares him down, face set, mouth drawn, a muscle twitching on his face. "Yes. I swear."

Anything, to save Sam.

Castiel looks at him and wishes he understood the love he saw there. Nods slightly, eyes never blinking.

"Now what?" Dean asks.

Castiel's voice is low. "Now you wait. And we call on you when it's time."

The two keep staring each other down.

Dean blinks first, and Cas is gone.

\--

Bobby doesn't get a chance to grill Dean too much about his decision. Sam is too quiet, and they have to somehow help him while he's seizing on the floor.

Bobby puts his belt between Sam's teeth so he doesn't bite his own tongue off.

They tie Sam down because they don't know what else to do for him.

\--

Sam wakes handcuffed to the cot. Dean standing there over him.

Sam sits up and pulls on the restraints.

"We had to." Dean says. "The demon blood was flinging you all over the room. Tell me something, Sam. Why did you do this to yourself?"

"You know why." Sam answers, determined.

"Right. Kill Lilith. The big excuse. But why?" Sam looks away as Dean keeps going. "What, revenge? Right?"

"Of course." Sam answers.

"For sending me to Hell? Did you happen to notice I'm back? Alive and kicking?" Dean's gruff voice gets louder. "So what's the point?"

And Sam won't argue with that, except not everything is about Dean. Not everything revolves around him.

This is about so much more.

Sam doesn't look at him until he does.

"The point?" Sam answers, and then he's gritting his teeth and pulling at the restraints in exhausted disbelief and exasperation.

They took everything I loved away from me. They played with my life before I was even born. And now they are going to do it to everyone else.

"How about stop the damn Apocalypse?" Sam answers, inconsolable.

(He can't tell hallucinations from the real, doesn't know he's just picking up on all the interference his fried mind can't quite make sense of, his own fears coming out to play and eat him alive).

"My gig!" Dean yells. "Not yours. The angels said so, remember? God picked me, man."

Sam doesn't care, but swallows.

"So have you got any other fantastic excuses? Hmm?" Dean demands.

Jess. Not revenge. Sam just wanted this to end.

He just wants to be free again.

That's it.

But he can't tell Dean that.

\--

"Bobby, you saw what was happening to him down there." Dean defends, "The demon blood is killing him."

Bobby can't take this, because he knows the detox is killing Sam and he can't kill him. He can't.

"No, it isn't." Bobby corrects Dean. "We are."

"What?" Dean's face is shocked and his eyes wide.

"I'm sorry. I can't bite my tongue any longer." Bobby answers and shakes his head. He repeats, more adamant this time, "We're killing him. Keeping him locked up down there. This cold turkey thing isn't working. If... If he doesn't get what he needs... Soon," Bobby says, and swallows, eyes not leaving Dean's face, "Sam's not gonna last much longer."

Dean swallows and looks down.

A muscle ticks under Bobby's eye when he sees his stricken expression, sees what's coming.

"No." Dean rasps, eyes watering.

Bobby's eyes narrow as he stares Dean down.

"I'm not giving him demon blood. I won't do it." Dean says.

Bobby has to hold back tears, now. "And if he dies?"

Dean's voice breaks and becomes a loud, choked sob, "Then at least he dies human!"

Bobby can't be a part of this. He can't. He doesn't care what Dean says.

He's not letting his boy die. He's not letting either of them die, whatever must happen.

But he listens, because he can't do anything right now. Not without Dean trying to take him out of the game.

"I would die for him in a second." Dean says, and his voice chokes into a whisper. "But I won't let him do this to himself. I can't. I guess I found my line," Dean adds on, chest heaving as his throat bobs and he stops the tears from falling for this second and this second only. "I won't let my brother turn into a monster."

Little does he know, Cain made the same choice in his own deal with the Devil, oh so very long ago.

Dean thinks he can own Sam's choices. They are not his to make.

Bobby stares Dean down, and won't let Dean take away Sam's freedom to live.

Bobby can't let Sam go free, can't let him take on this suicidal mission he knows Sam is on.

But he can't let Sam die.

\--

"I know why you really drink the blood, Sam." Dean says, pacing around the cot.

"Just leave me alone." Sam begs.

Dean doesn't stop. "Makes you feel strong. Invincible. A big bad wolf in a world of little pigs."

Not just that. Mostly, it just makes Sam not feel the pain. It makes him feel like he's so full, so ready to take everything in, that he can take the whole world apart and it can't hurt him because he can't feel all the things trying to pull him back under. Just anger. Just resolve. Just need. Like an echo filling up whatever keeps Sam feeling so empty all the time.

"No, you're wrong, Dean." Sam protests, breathing heavily.

"It's more than that, isn't it?" Dean growls over him. "It's because your whole life, you felt different. Am I right?"

And Sam doesn't know how not to feel the depths of pure betrayal, because he told Dean that in confidence. It's not about the blood, or the need, or Azazel.

It's about how he's always felt wrong and in the wrong body and Sam prayed so hard and then Jess helped make it right and Sam was as free as he was going to get, and how dare Dean use that against him.

"Stop." Sam's voice is a ironclad gasp, brooking no argument. He'll fight Dean for this. He will.

"Oh, I hit a little close to home, huh?" Dean says and stops pacing, his head bobbing with too much self-righteous knowing.

Sam inhales and bites his lip and looks back at his handcuffs and pulls as hard as he can with the body that is his.

"Not different because you were some lonely kid. Or because of your weirdo family..." Dean starts in, voice lower, more pointed, and Sam tries not to cry.

**_Because you're a freak, because you're not my brother, the one you chose to be. You're just Samantha Winchester, not Samuel Winchester. You're just the little kid I had to take care of and lose my childhood for, just a thing formed by other things who didn't listen to what Dad and I said for all those years. Sammy, you fell into the wrong crowd. You let them change you. That's how they got their hold over you, because you thought it was just your body that was the enemy. But it was your heart, Sam, your blood... That's why you were never happy, Sam, why you never felt whole. Because there's something intrinsically wrong with you._ **

Dean doesn't say it, but Sam hears it anyway.

"Stop it." Sam's voice is stronger now. Every bit full of every thing he's ever done to make it that voice. His voice. All his. With his throat and his lungs and his depth and his testosterone and his everything.

Dean stares down at him like he sees Sam clearly for the first time, then leans over, one hand by Sam's head. Sam closes his eyes and can't look at him.

"Because your a monster." Dean says.

"Shut up!" Sam yells.

"You were always a monster." Dean adds.

Sam yells over him, "JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!"

"And you only feel right when you're sucking down more poison." Dean growls, voice a guttural snarl, condemning and promising hurt.

Sam tries to pull away again, in his body, with his wrists...

"And more evil!" Dean finishes with a yell, and Sam looks back at him, as heartbroken as the day he had to leave.

When John said, "You walk out that door, don't ever come back!"

And Sam didn't mourn him but he mourned his brother for not standing up for him, for looking like he was the one betrayed, like Sam was the one who wasn't allowed to go.

Sam pulls on both restraints with both hands and prays.

**Jess. Jessica, by all that is holy and not, I miss you, I'm coming back, I'm going to be safe in your arms again.**

Sam sobs inside his head and thinks of every kind word she ever said to him, when all Sam wanted to do was curl up and hide from the world, and she held him close, and kissed his forehead and his lips and hair and neck and eyelids and promised Sam everything was going to be okay, because she was here, and she loved him, and she was his best friend, and she would never let him go, and Sam was safe.

_I love you and no one can ever take that love away. And you have to love yourself, Sam, more than I love you. You have to because you are perfect and there is nothing wrong with you and you are the best thing and the kindest, strongest man, strongest human, in the entire world. You have to love yourself as much as I love you, because you're mine._

Sam hears, and Sam sobs and pretends he can't hear Dean talking, saying, "Monster, Sam, you're a monster," because all he hears is her voice, Jessica's voice and the undertone of the voice in his dreams as a child, and hears his own shallow breathing as tears fall down his face and he tastes the salt from his eyes, so different from the blood in his veins.

"Dean, no." Sam finally meets his eyes.

"I tried so hard to pretend we were brothers. That you weren't one of the filthy things we hunt."

Sam whines and keeps trying to pull out of the restraints, lips drawn back, teeth gleaming, noise humming in his throat and eyelids screwed tight so he doesn't have to see Dean's face, that expression, in his eyes.

"But we're not even the same species. You're nothing to me." Dean keeps going.

"Don't say that to me!" Sam answers, begging and angry and in pain and done, "Don't you say that to me."

"You're a freak, Samantha. Just another bitch to gank."

And Sam turns his face away and cries because he can't stop it. And he retreats back into Jess, into every memory of every bit of love she ever gave him.

When Sam turns back, Dean is gone.

And Sam prays it was just a hallucination. Knows it is, because Dean never called him Samantha. Not after Sam was three and told him he's just Sam, just Sammy, and he better remember it.

Sam lets out a sigh and lets all the stress and pain he's been trying to keep himself above wash over him.

He just wants out.

He just wants Jess back.

He just wants Lilith to die screaming and then he can rest.

And then Jess is there, standing over him, looking so lost. "Sam. Sammy." She says, and then she is on the cot, huddling up against him, kissing his face, cradling his cheek, eyelashes against Sam's face, icy cold breaths huffing against his lips.

_My Sam. Oh, what have they done to you. I promised not to let anything happen and I failed you..._

"It's not your fault, Jess. It's mine. I shouldn't have left you." Sam sobs. Jess holds him tighter, massages Sam's sore wrists. "I should never have left and you would be safe and alive and we'd be together and happy."

_Don't blame yourself, Sam. This is and will never be your fault. I promise you. I promise._

"Don't cry, Sam. Don't. You'll be safe, with me, soon. I'll take care of you. I love you. Don't let anyone tell you you deserve this. You deserve to be happy, Sam."

_Remember, it always had to be you. Because you're mine, and I will make you happy and safe, and I love you, and I want no one else. It had to be you, Sam, to set us free._

There are starbursts and wings and cold and ice behind Jess, burning so bright around her golden hair that it's like she's crowned with light, pure light, behind her eyelids.

Sam never wants to her to let go.

He holds on to her, and she stays with him until the light from the fan above dies and it's dark and cold and blue.

"You aren't a monster, Sam. You're beautiful and perfect and mine and nothing will hurt you ever again when this is over." Jess whispers. "I won't let them."

Sam lies there until it gets dark, and colder, but still not cold enough.

_Sammy. I'll never really say goodbye. We're together forever._

**Jess.**

Jess kisses Sam on the lips and brushes the hair from his face and stares into his eyes. Sam thinks he sees red behind the brown, but isn't sure.

"I'll see you soon, Sam." Jess promises, eyes so bright and lips so cold.

Sam hears a ringing. Angels.

And Jess is gone.

Sam's wrists and legs are freed.

The door opens with a creak.

Sam calls out as he walks out. No one answers.

And Sam goes to prepare for Lilith and meet his death, so he can finally be reunited with the one person who never asked for Sam to change or be something he's not.

He leaves the Hell, the prison, Dean made for him, the fan and its humming and it's shadows behind.

\--

Cas lets Sam out.

He knows what must be done. Has his orders.

Can some echo of something between Sam and Hell. Knows that is ordained, too, because he knows who and what Sam is.

His role.

Then Cas goes to retrieve Anna.

Castiel doesn't want the emotions Dean makes him feel. Doesn't want the emotions from Sam, either.

Heaven tried to tear it out of him. Heaven reprogrammed him.

Now they would reprogram Anna.

Because that was the will of the Lord.

"You really shouldn't have come." Cas says.

Anna is taken away with the holy light of Heaven.

No mercy. Only relentless, inextricable purpose.

Cas looks out on the pier, at the world and waters God created when he separated Sea from Sky, like he's separated Heaven from Hell, and wishes Heaven were merciful like Sam once prayed it was.

\--

Sam goes to take a car.

Bobby cocks a shotgun behind him.

Sam turns around.

"Uh-uh, Sam." Bobby's voice is low, but gentle, and scared. He inhales. "The only place you're going is back inside with me."

Sam sees something in his face, despite the gun. Sees the unsaid: I won't lock you up again. But I can't let you do this. I can't let you leave and go die like this.

Sam shivers and looks down, his face a wreck, almost looking bruised from the poison in his veins and the bags under his eyes.

"No." Sam breathes out with finality.

His answer is no. This is his choice. He needs to do this.

He looks back into Bobby's eyes.

"Damn it, boy." Bobby's eyes water and his voice shakes.

Sam keeps staring back at him, breathing too tightly, eyes watery, too.

This is goodbye.

Sam gives a small shake of his head and looks back down at the gun. "You won't shoot me, Bobby."

Sam walks closer.

"Don't test me." Bobby answers, but it's a strangled noise and betrays everything and they both know it.

Sam lets the weight of their memories together surface. Bobby, holding Sam on his shoulders. Bobby, feeding Sam extra food and making him cocoa when Dean was asleep or John and Dean were gone on a hunt. Bobby, buying Sam clothes that fit him from the boys section of the store. Giving Sam some of his old jackets. Bobby, watching Sam watch TV and read and sing while Bobby read the paper and drank a beer, but not like John did, not in a way that made Sam scared.

Bobby telling Sam he'd always be welcome in his home. Bobby reaching out to Pastors and helping Pastor Jim help Sam apply for college.

Bobby, telling Sam he still loved him and hoped his life in college was good and that he's happy he's made a life for himself. Bobby, talking to Sam when he said he was going to propose to Jess.

Bobby has always been like a real father to Sam. He supported him. Never questioned what Sam wanted to be called or his gender, even as a child, or what he wanted in life or Sam's taste in romantic partners. Helped Sam through it when Sam realized he was bi in his teens, since Bobby had been with Rufus after Karen and wasn't something to let Sam be all alone with that stuff, since Dean was still in the closet and wouldn't know safety if it bit him in the ass, not until Sam made him talk to Bobby, too.

Bobby let him be a second son, and asked for only Sam to be himself in return.

"You won't do it." Sam says again, staring at Bobby with all the love in the world.

Bobby stares back at him with all the love a parent has for their child who doesn't want to see them die before them. Doesn't want to send them off to war to die.

Sam steps closer like he'll hug him.

Bobby tries to stop from sobbing and sees all the intent in Sam's eyes. All the pain. All the loss. Sees his own loss mirrored in Sam's eyes.

Sam steps into the barrel of the gun.

"You can't do it." Sam adds, voice a raw, trembling mess.

Because you love me.

Bobby looks down at Sam's heart and back up again and his grip on the gun is so shaky it might just fall out of his hands.

"We're trying to help you, Sam." Bobby says, tone unsteady, every unvoiced sob and cry and unshed tear hidden inside it.

Sam looks at his face, memorizes it, a grimace of pain shooting through his jaw, then looks down at the barrel of the gun.

Sam doesn't want to die a freak. A monster.

Sam doesn't want to die.

He just wants to bring Jess back and kill the sons of bitches who put her in the ground.

But he can't.

All he can do is go to Jess and die avenging her.

Sam pulls the gun to his heart, white knuckles the metal with his fists, every breath a heaving shake.

"Then shoot." Sam demands, looking at the bare patch of ground past Bobby's head where no grass grows.

The wind is silent.

Bobby doesn't move.

Sam's lip quivers, and tears fall from his face and Bobby's as Sam chokes out breathy sobs, staring back into Bobby's eyes.

Sam sees Bobby tremble, sees that he can't let Sam go, won't kill him but won't let him die.

Sam grabs the gun and hits Bobby with the barrel of it, knocks him out cold.

This is Sam's choice.

And he's taking it.

Sam's chest heaves and he throws the gun to the ground and he wishes he got to say goodbye but that's all he was going to have.

He looks at Bobby and hopes his heart doesn't break more, like Sam's has.

He can't mend both their hearts, though.

Sam's is already in two, and he wants to stop it from beating.

Only after he tears Lilith apart, though. Only after this is over.

Sam makes sure Bobby is in a safe position, that he's not vulnerable or has a concussion before he leaves, then Sam hotwires the car and flees to the end of it all.

Endings are always waiting.

\--

When Bobby comes to, he doesn't tell Dean Sam escaped. He waits until they go to check on him, lets the empty room speak for itself.

If Sam wants to fight his fight...

Bobby can't take anything else away from him.

The least he can give him is time.

He still doesn't know how he got out. But he won't stop Dean from going after Ruby.

Ruby wasn't Jess, and Bobby knows he can't stop Dean, anyway. And he doesn't want Sam to be anywhere near her, wants Ruby gone so Sam has to sit this one out.

And Bobby wants Sam home safe, damn it all.

He can't let him throw his life away, even if Sam wants to make him.

So Bobby does tell Dean when he's car has been switched.

And Dean makes his play when realizes the neon sign is Sam's way of trying to hold him off.

And Bobby waits to see what will happen, now that Dean is on a hunt to get his brother back.

He can't betray either of his boys. He can only hope they can fight this fight together and not crumble to pieces.

But Bobby was hoping Dean wouldn't catch on to what Sam did, on some level.

He still knows why Sam is doing this.

And when Dean calls him to figure out what Lilith is up to, Bobby reminds Dean that they just want to get Sam back.

Not push him away, like John did.

Like Dean might.

Bobby ends it with, "I know you're mad, Dean, I understand. You got a right to be. But I'm just saying... Be good to him anyway. You got to get through to him."

Dean hangs up the phone.

Bobby prays.

Lucifer hears him, of all people, hears every word issuing from his mouth. Every begging, pleading prayer that Sam makes it out of this alive.

And Lucifer promises nothing less, and knows his deliverance is so soon at hand, and he keeps counting down every hour that ticks by in Hell.

The Devil prays with him.

\--

"Honeymoon suite. I'm flattered." Ruby says as Sam lets her in.

"Did you bust me out of that room?" Sam demands.

Ruby isn't amused, only impatient.

"How could I, Sam? The whole thing's engineered to bite me in the ass." Ruby scoffs and shifts her bag from one shoulder to the other.

"Then how did I get out of there?" Sam asks.

Ruby shrugs. "I don't know. I don't want to know. You're out, that's all that matters."

Very results oriented, Ruby. Eyes on the prize, no beating round the bush.

Ruby eyes Sam, expression softening. "I'm glad you're here."

Sam isn't so charitable, lets the anger out because he can't be a wreck and needs the anger to function, to see this through the end. "Yeah? Where the Hell have you been?"

"I got here as quick as I could." Ruby's voice turns to acid, her lip curling.

"I mean the past three weeks! I've been calling you!" Sam answers, voice raised.

Ruby heads towards the bed.

"I've been pretty deep in it, trying to dig out Lilith." She replies, arms out, expression unforgiving. "Sometimes I can't sit around and check my voicemail."

Then Sam wavers. Jess was always reliable, even if she was always unpredictable and never on time, and he can't think about her right now, but he's so hungry and so tired and in so much pain and Dean turned on him and he might collapse right now.

Ruby's bag falls to the floor, and when she looks back at Sam her expression gives way to understanding.

"I'm sorry you're hurting. Really." Ruby's tone goes lower, loses the edge. "I had no idea that Dean would do that to you."

Sam believes her. Has no reason not to.

(Ruby isn't lying about that last bit. She doesn't want Sam incapacitated. She's on a tight schedule).

Sam stares at her, not seeing her, face twitching as he inhales. "You and me both."

Ruby looks down at the intensity of his gaze.

"You didn't book this joint just to impress me, did you?" Ruby asks, and Sam ignores how she sounds put out about it.

As if. Sam doesn't love her, not properly, and can't afford to care like that. His heart belongs to Jess and only Jess, and Sam's never been able to move on. And Sam might be considerate, but he knows what Ruby is, knows that for their partnership they were both using each other, to some degree. Sure, they were allies, and Sam wouldn't let her die, but Ruby was still a manipulative bitch, and got off on Sam being dependent, and Sam let her because he needs her and needs her blood to end this and doesn't have much left to lose.

Sam walks closer, on a mission, all coiled up purpose. "Dean's gonna come after me. And he knows my habits, my aliases, everything. He knows exactly which motel I'd pick." Sam is inches from Ruby's face now, his face a drawn mask of certainty.

"Hence the room." Ruby muses. Waiting.

Sam nods at her and looks down, tries to ignore the hunger screaming inside him, the chills racking his body from being too hot, too empty, too powerless. "Whatever it takes to shake him."

"Well, it won't be easy. I mean... He knows you better than anyone."

Anyone alive, that is. Sam thinks. Ruby can afford to be wrong, though.

It doesn't matter.

Soon he'll be with Jess and will have stopped the end of the world and maybe Dean would be the one to kill him for what he turned into but Sam doesn't care.

"Not as well as he thinks." Sam says, exhales, tilting his head as he refrains from going in for the hit he needs. Thinks of Stanford, of all the things Dean doesn't know about Sam, all the things Sam has shared with other people, when he was truly free and happy.

"You know, it's sad." Ruby says, head nodding, arms crossed.

"What?" Sam asks, eyes not leaving her face.

Ruby doesn't meet his gaze and looks beyond his shoulder.

"That things have gotten this bad between you two." Ruby answers, hand stroking through Sam's hair like Jess used to, barely an imitative parody.

Sam misses the real thing. And he wants her hands off of him, because he didn't give permission for it.

He grips her wrist and pushes her down on the bed, taking control because otherwise Ruby was driving against Sam's will (wanting intimacy Sam allowed but doesn't want to give because that was their arrangement. Her the dealer, Sam the client, her the pimp, and Sam the whore, but that's the price you pay to get Lilith and end this and it's a price Sam will pay as long as he must, to get an end to this), and Sam is on a mission for the blood and blood only.

He still gives her the illusion of romance. Ruby was a bit more giving when he played along like that.

Sam doesn't kiss her, though. He never initiates those. Ruby just stole them when they didn't belong to her.

Sam tries to restrain himself from going for her knife immediately and goes down slow, to keep up the facade.

Sam takes the knife from her boot and his breathing becomes choppy and it takes all his willpower not to slice her up. He opens one veins and sucks like his life depends on it (only it's his death that does, his absolution, his justice) and pretends he doesn't see Ruby's self-assured, smug expression at how dependent Sam is on her. She may have saved Sam's life after Dean, gave it purpose in derailing the end and getting the ones jerking Sam's leash around back, but it is still an overdue date Sam has to meet sooner rather than later.

Sam will pay that price for what needs to be done, and after all, he knows she is still a demon. They both have a bigger enemy to wipe off the board.

When it's over, Ruby observes Sam like a science experiment. Sam thinks about everything else and her voice jolts him from his thoughts.

"Your appetites gotten much bigger." Ruby says.

Sam recoils from her a little and rises to sitting position. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He doesn't like her expression.

Means your well on your way getting ready for other things to fill you, Ruby thinks to herself, but doesn't let on.

"Sam. Relax. It's okay. It's good." Ruby answers.

Sam tries to settle back down. Tries to believe her. Doesn't want to think it makes her hold on him stronger.

"It just means you're getting stronger. That's all." Ruby explains. "It means you're getting strong enough to kill Lilith."

And that makes Sam's heart stop racing, because that meant they were still on the same page.

"Just in time, too, because the final seals are breaking." Ruby tacks on.

Sam sighs. "How many are left?"

"Three? Two?" Ruby asks.

Sam jolts into almost fear. "What!" He asks, voice too loud and sharp. "Well, where are the angels?"

"Screwing the pooch, wherever they are." Ruby answers, not amused either, but Sam isn't looking at her anymore. "The point is, it's looking more like we're getting down to the final seal." Ruby tries to look as concerned as possible, adding her hook, "And I found out something big."

That makes Sam look at her again.

Sam's voice is soft. "What?"

Ruby shifts on the bed, both arms under her, head rising to meet Sam's height. "Seal 66? It can't be broken by just any demon. Apparently, only Lucifer's first can do it."

Not a lie. Ruby thinks to herself. Boss couldn't be angry about that.

Sam doesn't know what that means. "Lucifer's first?"

Ruby's eyes dart down and back up, a wry half smile on her lips. "Demon Sunday-School story. God prefers humans to angels. Lucifer gets jealous. And then he gets creative."

And Sam isn't looking at her again, can't help but feel ice down his spine, the echo of something like a dream, saying, _Not jealously. Intent. Proving a point. Waiting for the future. For the one destined for me._

(Then Sam thinks of himself, laughing with Jess, asking how she could be jealous of anyone. "Not jealous, Sam. Just proving a point.")

Sam gets derailed from his thoughts. Doesn't know why that even came to him.

Ruby keeps talking, and Sam stops spacing, keeps absorbing her words, "And he twists and tempts a human soul into the very first demon as a screw you to God. It's what got him locked up in the first place."

("I got locked up for being right," Jess had joked. "Too hot to handle the truth." Brady had laughed with her, as did Sam, because Jess got out of jail time from a protest somehow, wouldn't tell anyone, and got everyone with her out on bail, too.)

Sam needs to stop thinking of the past and thinking of how he's going to fix this.

But God, he misses it. He misses his life.

He never even said a proper goodbye to Brady, either.

Too late now.

Sam refocuses. "That was Lilith?"

She certainly didn't act particularly mature or like she'd once been human. Just another super-evil, violent nuisance Sam needed to end.

Still. She'd been human once. Weird to think about. Sam wonders how Lucifer got her to change. If her age would be an issue with destroying her.

"She's way older than she looks." Ruby says with a shake of her head.

Clarity breaks over Sam like a lightning strike and he rises to sit. "Wait, so, if Lilith is the only one who can break the final seal, if I get to her in time..." And Sam looks at Ruby with certainty, with almost-joy.

Ruby finishes his sentence. "Then Lucifer never busts out of his Cage. Exactly."

And then Sam can rest.

"Great! You figure out where she is?"

Ruby rolls her eyes. "That bitch can hide. But I finally have a lead."

And then Sam is listening to the inside information, wondering what Lilith needs a personal chef for. They make their plan.

Then Ruby is telling Sam the hard truths. That he'd need to take in more blood.

Sam tries not to think about it.

But if it's needed...

"I wish he'd trusted me, you know?" Sam laments about Dean.

 **Like I trusted him**.

Ruby apologizes, and Sam doesn't know where the words come from, but keeps talking. "I just hope when this is over... I hope we can fix things." And Sam knows there's no going back, but he hopes, before he dies...

He hopes Dean isn't the one to kill him.

That he can die feeling like he still has a brother.

No more loose ends.

\--

Dean catches Sam leaving the suite.

Goes after who and what matters.

Ruby. Killing her.

Stopping her from poisoning Sam more.

Ruby holds him off but doesn't attack.

Sam stops Dean and grabs the knife from him.

"No! Let her go!" Sam demands, intercepting, grabbing the knife from Dean's hand and flinging Dean to the bed. "Just take it easy." Sam asks, tone softening, hands out, placating.

"Wow, that must have been some party you two had going on, considering how hard you tried to keep me from crashing it!" Dean answers. Sam looks down, doesn't want to see the rage and hate in Dean's eyes for Ruby, the anger at Sam. "Well, solid try, but here I am."

Sam looks up, tone gentle. "Dean, I'm glad you're here. Look, let's just talk about this."

Dean isn't budging, tone clicking to the roof of his mouth. "Soon as she's dead, we can talk all you want."

Sam swallows. He might not like Ruby, but he does need her.

They have the same enemy.

"Ruby, get out of here." Sam directs, only half-looking back.

"No, she's not going anywhere-" Dean gets in Sam's face, tone adamant.

Ruby flees. Sam stops Dean from following after her, a body in the way.

The door closes loudly behind her.

"She's poison, Sam!" Dean yells.

"It's not what you think, Dean." Sam tries, because it isn't.

Dean is not biting. "Look what she did to you!" He rages, one hand darting out, and Sam tries not to flinch. Dean reigns it in a little but still gesticulates, face muscles bulging and tone still loud and unforgiving. "Well, she up and vanishes, weeks at a time, leaves you cracking out for another hit!"

Sam doesn't like how close to the surface that hits, and counters, "She was looking for Lilith!"

Sam knows what he is. What he's doing. How he's compromised himself. Doesn't change the end goal. 

Dean lets out a huffing breath and tries to calm himself and fails, "That is french for manipulating your ass 10 ways from Sunday!"

Sam cricks his neck and replies, "You're wrong, Dean."

Dean looks at Sam, pain and fear and more pain in his eyes. "Sam, you're lying to yourself." Dean rasps, and steps closer, like he wants to hug Sam but he's too overcome with rage and exhaustion and the need to stab something.

No, Sam knows Ruby isn't trustworthy. Knows she's manipulative, wants Sam singing her tune. But she's not lying about wanting Lilith dead.

Sam can feel it.

Dean stares into Sam's eyes and says with all the honesty in the world, "I just... want you to be okay."

Only Sam is never going to be okay. Hasn't been okay, for so long...

Not since Jess.

Still. Sam feels the love there. Thinks maybe he can get Dean to see his side of things, until Dean says the next thing, "You would do the same thing for me. You know you would."

But Sam wouldn't. Sam wouldn't lock his brother up and do what Dean did. And that crosses a line.

Sam's voice is a whispering rasp as he looks away and back at his brother. "Just listen."

Sam dumps Ruby's knife on the bed.

"Just listen, for a second." Sam pleads, hands out. "We got a lead on a demon close to Lilith. Come with us, Dean. We'll do this together."

Sam doesn't want to do this without his brother.

Wants to say goodbye.

Wants to find a way for Dean to save him, maybe. To maybe think he has a shot at life after this.

Doesn't want to see that heartbreak and condemnation in his brother's eyes.

Dean isn't compromising. "That sounds great. As long as it's you and me. Demon bitch is a dealbreaker. You kiss her goodbye, we can go right now."

Sam licks his lips and looks away again, this time getting angry. This isn't Dean's call.

Sam shakes his head. "I can't. Dean, I need her to help me kill Lilith."

Sam wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for that. He needs Dean to understand...

Sam needs to make this right. Needs to stop the forces that made him into what he is, turn their own weapons against them...

Dean turns away, hand over his mouth, and Sam can see how little he's holding it together, but tries to explain, so gently, "I know you can't wrap your head around it. But maybe, one day, you'll understand."

Dean's hand slides off his face, and Sam sees the sharp rise and fall of his shoulders.

Sam sighs and shakes his head, throat bobbing. It's not a good sign, when Dean won't look at him. "I'm the only one who can do this, Dean." Sam states.

Dean turns around, expression tense and on edge, and looks at his brother, sees every single birthday and every single thing that brought them here and he can't lose him. He can't lose his brother and if he has to stop him...

"No, you're not the one who's gonna do this." Dean whispers. I am, I have to, I have to protect you, Sam...

Sam's tone loses it's patience. "Right, that's right. I forgot. The angels think it's you."

Because Sam's not allowed to save anyone. Because he's not worthy enough to them.

Dean blinks, and his jaw tightens.

"You don't think I can?" Dean asks. It's one thing to feel like he can't protect Sam, but for Sam to think he'd fail him...

"No." Sam answers, certain, "You can't. You're not strong enough."

Sam may be cursed, but he can use it. Dean doesn't have that. Dean has one knife and nothing else.

"And who the Hell are you?" Dean demands, trailing off from pure rage, from helplessness, from Sam trying to take this road. From the echoes of Sam saying that Dean was holding him back, that he was stronger without him, when under the Siren's spell.

"I'm being practical here. I'm doing what needs to be done." Sam assures, trying to be logical and level about this. Sam's voice shakes, though, because he doesn't want to have to be the one to do this but he's gone this far and he has to see this through to the end and he needs rest and he needs Jess and this is the only way.

Except in Dean's humble opinion, Sam doesn't know anything.

"Yeah?" Dean's voice grows cold and sharp and painful. "You're not gonna do a single damn thing."

Sam finally loses it. "Stop bossing me around, Dean!"

Sam can make his own choices. Sam doesn't have to listen to him, or John, or anyone... Then Sam inhales, cuts off his own rage, tries to hold it in and half succeeds. "Look, my whole life, you take the wheel. You call the shots." Sam appeals, staring at his brother and his throat bobbing and his clenching and unclenching fists. Sam can't quite find himself breathing evenly now, can't hold back all the feelings, "And I trust you, because you are my brother." And Sam's voice breaks.

Dean looks down and nods, eyes narrow.

"Now, I am asking you, for once," Sam breathes, tone sure, begging, hopeful, "Trust me."

Every expression on his face pleads for understanding.

Sam exhales and breathes too heavily and Dean swallows again, staring at him.

Only Dean can't do what Sam asks, because if he does, he might lose Sam, and he can't lose Sam...

Dean blinks back tears and his throat is too tight and he shakes his head.

"No." Dean answers. "You don't know what you're doing, Sam."

Sam rolls his head back and answers, adamant, exhausted, drained, "Yes, I do."

**Stop treating me like a child and treat me like an equal.**

"Then that's worse!" Dean bellows.

Sam looks at him, stricken. He breathes, "Why? Look, I'm telling you-"

"Because it's not something that you're doing! It's what you are!" Dean yells.

And all of Sam's worst fears come true.

Sam flinches, mouth twitching, blinks, doesn't want to believe it.

"It means..." Dean chokes off, eyes not leaving Sam's.

"What?" Sam asks, head tilting, eyes watering. His nostrils twitch and his throat bobs and his throat closes and he can't hold anything back, says through gritted teeth and pure denial, "No."

Dean doesn't look at him.

Sam stares him down, mouth a snarl, his voice too soft but with so much intensity, "Say it."

Dean looks back up at him, and his voice is a guttural, raw sound. "It means you're a monster."

**You're a monster, Sam. That's what you've chosen to be. A freak.**

Sam blinks and tears fall and nods his head once, turns to the side, lips pursed. Sees Dean crying out of the corner of his eye, like he hadn't said the one damn word hanging over Sam's head for a lifetime.

Sam punches Dean in the face with all the pain and betrayal he's ever felt from his brother. Every single moment of it. For every unsolicited punch or jibe or violence or thing Dean considered necessary, for all he's done to shut Sam up and pretend it's for his own good when it never was, not really-

Dean falls past the bed to the floor.

Sam hyperventilates, stands where he stands, tries not to smile in anger and fear and abandonment. Everything feels like a tingling haze falling over him, only his heart pounding, all empty sound echoing in his head.

Dean rises to his feet. His expression is flat and unforgiving. Promises pain, like the other times he beat Sam into the dirt or hit him unprovoked, and Sam isn't going to stand for this any more. Not for another second.

Sam has his life, short as it may be. Sam has his pride. Has his value.

And if Jess was the only one who saw it, saw Sam for who he was, who loved him unselfishly, who would let Sam live it, even if Bobby tried to give Sam the same consideration...

Then Sam would join her, Dean be damned.

Sam's mouth bares into a snarl and his nostrils flare and his muscles twitch from the blood inside him, from the need to fight back, from the never-ending emptiness that just wants to be filled.

Dean stares Sam down and punches Sam head-on. He hits twice until Sam hits him back and then he's kneeing Sam, throwing him back before closing in, but Sam intercepts his next hit with a yell and a groan and hits Dean as good as he gives, and then Dean is punched in the jaw, once, twice, three times and is thrown back into the mirror, which shatters.

Dean falls face first into it, then stumbles around. Sam stops, inhales, waiting, then Dean goes in for another punch, and Sam dodges, throws Dean into the latticework of the room and breaks the wood with Dean's body as Dean is thrown to the floor and crashes into the glass table, which also shatters.

Dean is down for the count, glass digging into his back.

He groans and coughs, winded and bloodied. Blood starts to seep from his nose.

Sam stands over him, takes in as much air as he can, and then the blood is coursing through him and he needs to hurt Dean, hurt Dean like Dean hurt him...

And then his hands are around Dean's throat and Dean's trying to hold him off and Sam can barely think straight, he's just so angry and broken and lost and Dean called him a monster-

And then Sam stops. He's proven his point.

Sam exhales, panting, shows Dean he isn't out of control. He knows what he is doing.

Dean keeps coughing in air.

Sam says from above him, "You don't know me."

And Dean still won't look at him.

"You never did." Sam rasps, chest still heaving. "And you never will."

Sam walks away.

What Dean wants to say is: Stay. Please don't leave me again. Please. I'm sorry.

He doesn't.

"You walk out that door," Dean gasps, staring after him, at Sam's receding back, "Don't you ever come back."

Sam pauses and swallows and looks back at his elder brother, no more pain to mourn because he's already been cast out.

Sam exhales and doesn't give that a response.

He left once already. Made his life. Fixed his body.

Found Jess.

And he is going to do so again.

Sam opens the door.

It slams shut behind him.

\--

 _It's okay, Sam. It's okay._ Sam hears in his dreams that night, Jess whispering in his ear, holding him close as she burns, but feels so cold Sam's breaths fog. _I've got you. I'm here. You're running right back to me._


	18. Small Bill$

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by regina spektor
> 
> endnote was a flashforward that I'm not sure needs to be there but this was originally like, the 5th chapter before I tried to put things back in order back in the early days

**A Few Hours Before Lucifer Is Released From the Cage The First Time, And Then A Timeskip**

When Sam hears Cindy screaming in the trunk of his car, the sound never ceasing even as Lilith's demonic lackey still lurks somewhere inside her veins, something ugly rears up inside him. Casts doubt on this whole damn enterprise with Ruby even as she goads and eggs him on.

Because that screaming is human. That screaming, that loss of self, of purchase, feels far too similar to how off-balance he's been lately.

Feels too similar to his own mind when he sought out the blood to keep himself from feeling powerless, to keep the tide of Hell back, to destroy the very thing threatening his life and the lives of everyone on earth.

Reminds him too much of being locked up himself as Dean tried forcing him off the demon blood.

Reminds him too much of, “You’re a monster.”

Reminds him too much of, "Don't come back."

But most of all, it reminds him of all the times demons and angels and brothers alike started calling him names like Sam's some infection. The Boy with the Demon Blood. An abomination.

How Yellow Eyes seems so certain his path would be a legacy steeped in ruin and decay.

Holds up the truth like a beacon: How they don't know him, not at all.

But then, all that did was remind him of _her_.

Then there were the nightmares. There were always the nightmares.

He always feels them surging around in his brain, scrabbling for purchase where a great void was waiting to swallow him up. The blood helps sometimes, keeps pushing the feeling down, but then it all surges back anyway.

The ones where Jess burned on the ceiling. The ones where she clutches him, crying, yelling, before she grows too calm.

Says: _I don’t want to be locked up, Sam._

_It’s so dark and lonely in here._

The ones where he wakes in the middle of the night, expecting to find her nestled up against to him.

And then... How she isn't.

(Sam doesn't tell Ruby about the nightmares. Doesn't tell her that she was just an imitation of someone he missed, either. He thinks she could guess anyway, whenever he screamed himself awake.)

\--

Lilith running scared is such a poor consolation prize.

He wants her dead. He needs her, the first demon, dead, because then this new nightmare (too old, too familiar) would be over.

Sam wants the Apocalypse, the Seals, the whole Armageddon outbreak to veer off course like a runaway train. As if he can't feel the clock ticking down, down, down, down, down.

Feels time slipping through his hands like sand, and wonders if his life is slipping through with it.

The blood pounds in his veins.

Angry. Intent. Full of purpose.

 **I am not the monster you made me,** Sam thinks, **I am not a monster at all. And I have been waiting for this for a very long time.**

Goes in for the kill... 

For his sake. For Jessica's sake.

Until Sam hears Dean calling him through the haze.

Pauses. Doubts. Wonders if Dean realized he's not what he thinks he is, he's not, that he's _fixing_ this, he is.

Then he pushes, and Lilith falls. The seal breaks.

And Ruby is laughing in his face, until she isn't anymore.

_It was you, and your choices, Sam._

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

_It always had to be you._

\--

And when the Cage starts cracking open wide, Sam feels Jess back with him again.

Knows, the truth is far worse than imagined.

Can hear the whisper of, _Sam. My Sam_.

Feels the ice start closing in, instead of flames on the ceiling.

And the shape of her, the feel of her wrapped around him, is not such a comfort like before.

"Dean." Sam breathes.

As if anything will shield him from the Archangel coming out to play, or it's whispering.

_Sam, did you miss me? I called out to you every night._

And Sam knows, he knows, "He's coming."

\--

Even as he lets Dean start to drag him out of the chapel, even as he's beamed to safety, he still hears her voice.

_I'll wash you all clean, Sammy. None of them will ever touch you again. I promise._

Still sees her behind his eyelids. Still tastes her in his sleep.

_I knew you would come for me, Sam. I knew._

And cold lips keep him sedated, keep him tossing and turning long in the night.

_I'll keep you safe, I promise, Sam._

No phantom limbs to wake up to.

Until there are, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--
> 
> 8 years later, Lucifer still smiles at him about it.
> 
> Knows that the nightmares still come for him.
> 
> Knows how he clings to Sam in his dreams.
> 
> Holds him tight, like he'll never let go.
> 
> Sam wishes he could stop remembering as the Devil keeps his iron grip on his soul.


	19. Eleanor Rigby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s4 finale
> 
> chapter title a song by the beatles

Sam’s heart leaps in his throat, and it keeps pounding in his head, drowning everything out.

It's time this ended.

“I've been waiting for this..." Sam pauses, and tilts his head ever so slightly, and when he does, all Lilith sees is the vengeance of an archangel staring out of his eyes, eyes that have never been his alone, even though he hasn't let Lucifer out yet, because today was the fucking day, and Sam inhales, so certain, "For a very long time.”

Not as long as he's been waiting for you, you young, foolish thing. Lilith thinks. She knows there's no running. The game is up for her, and any chance she would have taken to not be a part of this, well...

She tried running once.

She can't run any more. And this is what she was made for.

This is why Lucifer chose her.

The first human he ever handpicked to showcase God's imperfect creations. Secondborn of all her forebears, like the Archangel himself.

Her job was to die, to die for something older and more brilliant than she would ever be-

Lucifer had always looked at her askance, like she was flawed and imperfect and crude, but she was, and she was allowed to be exactly as she was in all her imperfections-

He had set her true nature free, and she had been his the moment he changed the script and tore God's plan out from her ribs and her heart and her soul.

When she first saw Lucifer, she had wept tears of reverence.

She had never knelt for anyone save the Devil, much like Lucifer had never bowed to anything he'd considered lower than himself, all except for God and Sam, with Sam too blind to see the gift offered up to him-

But that would all be remedied now.

Now, the part of her that used to be human, the part of her he had long since torn out-

It wants to rest, and let Sam end it.

She would die, and her death would usher in a replacement for shoes Lilith had never filled, no matter how much she had wished to.

The demon part of her might be holding on, might be getting no shortage of twisted satisfaction, knowing Sam Winchester has been brought low as her only to be raised up by Lucifer instead of torn down-

But the part of her that's older, that was there when the first human looked at the world, with Adam eyed her like she was an object, and she prayed for a different path than the one God had given her-

Lucifer had answered them, and fulfilled a prayer of his own.

And now she would see his design to it's completion.

“Then give me your best shot.” Lilith grits out, curls falling around her head, every pore of her human skin sticky and sallow with sweat.

Sam blinks once, nostrils flaring, then holds out his right arm, hand open, palm out, in a gesture Lilith has seen so often, so long ago, before the Devil had been imprisoned-

Sam _pulls_.

Dying, as much it as is perfect agony, feels more like love, like a gift long time coming, and it rings true inside her as Sam finds every stitch of the so-called corruption Lucifer let loose, leeched on inside her, and now every stitch was being popped and annihilated and ground into ashes, every particle burning with no hope of being reborn-

She could see just where Sam began and where the Devil would invariably find his way in. Because the Devil had already made a home with Sam Winchester once, inside his heart, inside his soul and bones and blood and skin, inside everything Sam had ever accepted from the moment he laid eyes on Lucifer's borrowed skin, made a home in a way Lucifer had never made with her. And Lucifer had let Sam in, had done so in a way he'd never done, not since he helped cast everyone far from their homes, as the Devil had once been cast from his own-

It felt good, bringing Sam Winchester down to her level.

Better, even.

It felt like the cycle had finally been broken to make way for something new.

And he would fall to his knees and meet the Archangel that would own him, just as she had. She would make him kneel for her, through this murder, in death having become worthy of the legacy she'd been working so hard to uphold.

Lilith gasps and chokes and wails as her insides are charred and ripped to shreds, as her eyesockets smoke and are undone from beneath her eyelids as the whites of her eyes roll, decaying inside her human skull, this borrowed body that burns in tandem with her oil-slick, rotten corpse of a soul with the unholy fire that sings there. It's incomplete, it's smiting but the infernal kind, incomplete as it waits for the sheer cold to light Sam's blood up and make its hymnals known, the same grace that will erase the twisted, incomplete humanity from Sam Winchester's veins and replace it with the lifeblood of an Archangel-

It's almost funny.

Lilith is bringing something to life, making Sam a conduit for everything she's ever forsaken, breaking the one vow she told herself she'd never trespass against, the one rule that made her Lilith, and no one else, from the very beginning of it all.

New life, the same life Lilith wanted to cut short and had never wanted to host inside her womb, the same life she had refused Adam and God and had never wanted to be a container, to be a slave to something inside her, able to give life that was forced under her skin-

Except Lilith was still made a slave to Lucifer, made to birth his grand design, to watch Sam crawl from a womb of his own making, a womb he thought he'd clawed himself free of except that it had always been on loan, gifted to the one he had given his heart and soul long since over to, and Sam would be perfect in all the ways she was not, a slave as Lilith was set free and given the freedom she had long since prayed for.

Still.

She had been freed by Lucifer, once, in the beginning. Had her eyes opened, even if that came at a new price, one she had not foreseen.

But jealously has no place in death. Particularly jealously of a human, of a vessel, of yet another body Lucifer would use and undoubtedly grow bored with, as he had grown bored of the first human he'd ever found interesting enough to grace with his presence.

And Sam had hunted her down, fair and square, because the only reason he got close is because Lilith sent Ruby, and Ruby drew Sam in, because Lilith had gifted her chosen to him and set him down this path, just as Lucifer had ordered, just as they had all prepared-

So really, her death is her design, by her own hand, in the end.

She chose this.

She made this all happen.

Lucifer may have twisted up his promises, but she had been faithful.

She had always been faithful of breaking free, just as he did, ready to tear God's designs for the both of them to shreds.

She would accept her death, and all it's consequences, no matter how much part of her held on-

It was time to let go, and let it all burn, and let Sam be the one to tear the whole place down with Lucifer as his only anchor.

Sam snarls, pulling harder, more hunter than the man he's always wanted to be-

And Lilith smiles and screams and glows white from the sheer exertion as Sam unravels her from the inside out.

There's something itching, eating at the edge of her awareness, even as her skin crinkles and blackens from the inside, muscle and sinew atrophying and imploding against bones and tendons and bright, bright frequencies of Sam, all set on sending Lilith to her grave.

There is pounding and scrabbling from outside the chapel. An unwanted visitor Ruby had locked out and Lilith hopes will come in once the seal is broken and God, would she pay to see the look on Dean's pathetic face, because Alastair had twisted him up so beautifully only for the angels to steal him away, when her contract had made him hers, really, to do with whatever she pleased, and because he would fail, the older brother having always failed the younger, like the angels for which they were made, but if this goes as planned, she won't get to see, but Lilith can only imagine, in her death throes, the thought her only reprieve from the agony gone supernova against the vessels and waves of her mutilated soul-

“Sam!” Dean’s voice echoes, muffled from behind the door. “SAM!”

It's too late, Lilith thinks. It's already over. He's just as broken and flawed as the rest of us. He's lost to the thing he's given himself over to. And you lost. Humanity is reaping what it has earned from the moment we first took breath-

Except Sam looks back, for a second, just one. Lilith ceases to burn, and with it, Sam sends all her careful poise tumbling down, all her expectations, her surety-

The sight makes Lilith ignite with a poisonous flame licking at every particle of her that's left, every atom more venom than knowing acceptance, now.

He isn't better than her.

He can't come this far, can't break this, can't fight the destiny she's been crawling towards, that she's engineered with the one he belongs to, one day at a time, but still, Sam Winchester, the worm he is, stops, and fucking HESITATES-

If he wasn't Lucifer's, and wasn't going to drag him up from the deep, from solitary, this very minute-

She'd tear him apart, limb from limb, for that hesitation.

“Dean?” Sam calls out, thrown, confused, still half out of it from the pounding in his head and the sulfur on his tongue and the thrum of his heart, threads pulling him closer and closer, latching on to something he can’t quite get ahold of-

He just wants to do good. Wants to fix everything that's broken.

But he's been broken for a long time now, can't he see? They were broken the moment God made them. Lilith can't let this mistake go unchallenged, because Sam took too long.

It's all one second, long enough to think, long enough that he might just snap out of it-

“What are you waiting for?! Now! Sam, now!” Ruby’s voice barely makes a dent, also sounding too far away. Sam doesn’t see the frantic look on her face, doesn’t register the edge of desperate, violent panic that makes her sharper, more defined-

All Sam can feel is the blood, and the burning in his skin, and the ice he can feel creeping in every time he rips Lilith from the flesh she’s chosen as her final resting place.

It feels like justice. Like with every wave Sam can feel Jess back with him, again, can atone for everything he's ever lost because Jess was taken because of his failure, his blindness, his inability to see what's right in front of his face-

It's not only about her, really. Jess stood for more than that.

Jess was part of Sam's new life. His freedom.

And that freedom was stolen from him the moment she burned.

Lilith laughs, half desperate and half hysterical as Sam pulls back and hears, and her looks at her, thrown by the noise, the cacophony he's barely able to feel above the sound of his own heartbeat and the whispers, so close yet so far, because Lucifer can find his way in, can feel Sam's every lungful of air, because right now, his blood has been claimed, everything he took in binding him to the very depths he's pulling Lucifer out of-

He can see her clearly now. Every detail of what she is, legs splayed wide out in front of her, and the crook of her elbows and upturned arms still pinned as if she's been nailed to the side of the alter, the places her twisted soul sags and seeps from outside her throat and eyelids, inconstant, every particle and fiber of immaterial being calling out to him, every echo of her true self resonating with light so close to what Sam's insides are roiling with, inside, from every sip of sulfur and tar and hellfire and Archangel poison, straight from the well he had dug for the humans of his choosing, found in every person Sam drank from so very deeply, the taste of the blood still rich and coagulated and warm on his tongue.

It's a phantom limb, now, calling out, burning Sam up so brightly he feels like he'll never be clean, never know what is it like not to burn up, never feel the cold against his skin, and his brain burns, and his lungs screams, and his heart aches, every nerve on fire, like he's a sacrifice, a condemned man hogtied to a pyre where there is only one way forward, just the one-

Lilith keeps laughing.

“You turned yourself into a freak." Lilith says, mouth curling, eyes full of hate, because she means every word. Sam Winchester is the freak he's always feared he'll be, because she needs him to be. Because it should be her, taking the world by storm, and not this unworthy mewling thing that needs to be guided every step of the way-

"A monster." Lilith adds with relish, jaw ticking, eyebrows raised, and her tone pitches higher, doused in all the mirth she can muster, weakened as she is, "And now you're not gonna bite?” Lilith’s laughter trails off and her tone scalds the very air she doesn't breath, so sure. Her teeth gleam, white as snow. If she could, she'd bite off Sam's tongue with them and bring him to his knees for not taking initiative, for not ending this when he should've, for taking that one second to _pause_ -

Doesn't he see they are answering all his prayers, too?

Why should he escape? He had been given visions, dreams, his body even though he had been a frail and pathetic woman, just as she had been, once, only made to be useful-

But it was Sam who would be granted the Paradise Lucifer had promised when no one else had been deemed worthy. And Sam had had him, had kept Lucifer as Jess, had held her false form in his dreams as he slept, praying for her salvation, for her to come back, and now he would have exactly what he asked for, except he was deviating from the plan.

Like every weak particle that made Sam human and not like her, he was holding back from taking everything that was his, that was promised, that he was made for-

All for a brother who had only ever held him back and dragged him into a life he had only ever prayed to escape?

What made him special?

What did Lucifer see in this sad, suicidal excuse for a man, and what made Sam more special than her when every prayer Lucifer ever answered for her led them here?

Why was he so enamored of what had been promised to him, when all God had done was abandon the Devil to solitude with only his creations for company?

She had bled for him.

She would die for him.

But Sam had been chosen in her stead.

Because Sam is the one. Not her. Never her.

And he would not ruin this for her, for the one task she'd promise Lucifer she'd accomplish. He would get what he wanted, and she would get to rest, after all these long years of being his right hand.

There is no other option.

She's barely holding on by a thread, but Sam needs to be the one to end this.

Only then is she vindicated, having erased any panicked doubt Sam had sent rushing her way seconds before.

Lilith's expression turns murderous, and she growls as she laughs, staring down Sam's soul like it is a personal affront to her existence.

“I'm sorry, but that is honestly adorable.” Lilith snarls, tilting her head as she gasps, words slurring despite herself.

Lilith sees the jump of Sam's throat, the tremble of his hands as they rise up, fingers clenching, and the glare of his eyes, so bright, so wide, as they blacken, flooded with every bit of poison Sam swallowed-

Sam’s heartbeat leaps back into his throat, all rage and assurance.

He's caught, mission saved. And Lilith can see just how Sam thinks he will fix this, how he feels he has to, but he doesn't know just what wrongs he's undoing by taking the fucking bait-

And Sam lets go. The blood boils in his veins and his eyesight goes fuzzy but all he tastes, all he sees, is light, pure light, as Lilith is wretched apart, thrown back into the altar, wailing until she doesn't have the air or the strength, every wave a gasping, a choking, wet noise, every shallow inhale and frantic rise and fall of her chest a victory, and with each push Sam is thrown into the deep end and his very essence is married to the creature he would unbind and be bound to forever, the one he thinks he's sealing in Hell for all eternity, when all he's doing is letting it out to come and claim him-

Lilith's true face is hideous and mangled. Sam can see it so clearly now, can see every gash and mark she had put there herself, and ones he thinks Lucifer must have carved into her soul for punishment. Sam doesn’t know if her innate nature made it so, or if she was made into that monster, one day at a time.

Lilith convulses and pants, glowing brighter and brighter-

Then she freezes.

Stops moving, slumps, a limp corpse on the floor. Head sliding sideways against the tile, imprisoned body taken by force set free just as she was burnt out like a candle doused in gasoline.

And then it is dark, and silent, and Sam’s heartbeat isn’t choking him out, isn’t strangled as it tries to hold on to something, as the sulfur twisting inside his every heartbeat clamors for this new feeling, heavy and suffocating like too much ozone around him.

Sam can feel a new cold chill settling over him, keeping the fever at bay…

 _Sam_. _Sammy_.

Sam’s heartbeat calms and slows. An echo of Jess hums in the back of his mind, her voice but more, all whispering and insistent, full of praise and elation and understanding and love, grateful, purer than anything, and Sam thinks he must be dying from the blood now, must be losing it, because the poison inside him must be sending him on, must be killing him slow, if she sounds so close-

Sam breathes deeply and takes in as much air he can fill his lungs, still unsteady from the exertion even as he stands, tall and unbowed. He inhales again.

It's finished, now. It's over.

Sam can finally rest, one way or another.

Except, quick as a struck match, the fear leaps back in his throat, because Lilith’s blood crawls as if alive and siphons over the floor into a pattern, one that makes Sam's eyes swim and the air stutter in his throat so that the very oxygen burns his mouth, tasting like metal and blood and dirt and ice all gone sour, like radiation and decay on the tip of Sam's tongue.

It's Enochian. It's a blood binding. Ancient. Sublime.

More cold seeps in, rising up from the coils the ritual has come to completion. A cycle at it's apex, undoing it's own coils to reach totality.

Ruby has waited so long for this day.

“What the hell?” Sam asks, stepping closer even though he wants to draw back and run as far away as he can.

He glances at Ruby, who is gazing down as if hypnotized, solemn and calm and footsteps not making noise against the grit of the tile. Then he stares back at the blood as it keeps on it's path. The hair on the back of his neck rises as the cold chill rising up higher and higher-

He's not sure why the panic hasn't set in. It's hazy and undefined and feels like goosebumps on his skin, prickling up his neck, his teeth aching in his jaw. Only the echo of Jess, of the feeling of something latching on, thawing him out, coming closer and closer and closer-

He thinks he's seen this marking in a dream, once upon a time long forgotten.

Had seen it carved into the snow by mouths and hands and the fluttering of red, red eyes that hold Sam's gaze as wings hold Sam close and hands caress his face and pull him deeper, make him float into this feeling, this ecstasy of release, of safety, of rest, like Jess had always been-

The fear Sam feels but can't quite articulate is so vast, so beyond him, nothing feels real. Everything feels inconstant, like smoke, so far away...

“I can’t believe it.” Ruby says, elated, breathing the words like the air is forgotten in her lungs.

“Ruby, what’s going on?” Sam demands his answers, voice muffled from the burnt out taste of his own bile and spit and blood hacking up from his lungs. Muffled by fear, too, and the nagging feeling of what Sam doesn't want to accept ripples over his skin. It's not just that something isn’t right here (except it is right, Sam can feel whatever is on it’s way, and it feels so close, and yet so far, and it feels perfect, it feels content, it feels like it's finally done waiting-), and things are wrong, so wrong, every note of every particle in the air trembles from the ancient silence that come to swallow them whole-

“You did it. I mean, it was a little touch-and-go there for a while, but... you did it.” Ruby adds, stronger now, more certain as she celebrates. When Sam looks at her head on, he sees what she is, still, sees the echoes of her demon face thanks to the blood, and every muscle and hiss of smoke sings, untouchable and sure and pleased.

Sam knows she isn’t talking about killing Lilith anymore.

Whatever her endgame is…

“What?" Sam asks, syllables still faint, his mouth curling as his brow furrows. "What… What did I do?” Sam stutters out, not wanting the truth but knowing it all the same.

Ruby's face twists into something both mocking and kind and elated, all twisted up by assurance and the stone cold reality that she'd shepherded her little lamb right where he needed to go.

Realization lights Sam's face up, prickling over the twitch of his cheek, the widening of his eyes.

“You opened the door.” Ruby whispers. Then she laughs. “And now he's free at last. He's free at last!”

“No, no, no." Sam denies, hand shaking with every punctuated gesture as he points, trying to ignore the whispers and the cold chill that wants to freeze him out, not willing to feel whatever this is, not willing to see just how bad he's been played. "No, he… Lilith… I stopped her." Sam's teeth flash, white and pained as his expression turns feral. "I killed her!”

Ruby stares Sam down, still as the grown, spine straight and every muscle motionless except for the curve of her borrowed mouth.

“And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal." She breathes, and then she smiles as Sam turns away from her and blinks and inhales too tightly, her voice low as her smile widens and Sam can hear it, ripping her mouth wide, "And you bust her open.”

Ruby tilts her head down, eyeing the last seal and keeping Sam in her line of vision, brow crinkling as her eyebrows rise, but her smile never wavers.

Sam holds his head in his hands and paces, every breath not deep enough to hold off the fear that's taken hold. And behind that, the realization of what's coming for him, the phantom limbs he can feel reaching out from beyond the door, burned and malformed for trying to reach out beyond the cracks before they've been opened wide, but Sam feels it, all the same.

“Now guess who's coming to dinner.” Ruby savors every word.

“Oh, my God.” Sam breathes, arms lowering as he hugs himself.

The circle of blood completes, and starts squirming inward.

“Guess again.” Ruby sings, staring down at the floor as if she can't look away.

There’s still pounding on the other side of the door.

Dean's struggles on the other side of the door still echo, half forgotten as everything keeps Sam riveted to Ruby's orbit.

“You don't even know how hard this was!” Ruby adds, looking up at him, eyes narrowing, voice gaining a hysterical and pointed edge, “All the demons out for my head. No one knew."

Sam looks down, can't look at her, tries to keep the tears of panic and overwhelming exhaustion and betrayal down, tries to keep the bile in his throat, tries to keep himself from falling over even though all he wants to do is wring her neck-

"I was the best of those sons of bitches! The most loyal!" Ruby yells, triumphant, "Not even Alastair knew! Only Lilith!"

With the name, Sam looks back at her, and she keeps talking, faster, true face twisting into something earnest as she adds, "Yeah, I'm sure you're a little angry right now, but, I mean, come on, Sam! Even you have to admit… I'm… I'm awesome!” She shouts, fervent and released from a silence she's wanted to break from day one.

“You bitch." Sam spits and shakes his head. "You lying bitch!” Sam shouts, snarling as he advances. He throws out both his hands, but the effort is enough to make his knees buckle and he sinks down on his back, having almost keeled over. His heart feels like it’s being cut open, weak and stuttering as it bleeds out inside his chest. Sam screws his eyes shut and tries to ignore all the singing around him, the hum in his bones and the burning under his skin.

Ruby's expression turns tired and she stands there, unmoved. Sam struggles to sit up, and then her expression breaks into something that's almost concerned, a mockery of friendship.

“Don't hurt yourself, Sammy. It's useless. You shot your payload on the boss.” Ruby croons, lip almost twitching into a smile for a millisecond before her expression morphs back into fake concern. 

The feeling and the singing and the whispers swell so loud in Sam's heart, and in his head, and Sam feels something tight in his throat, feels a phantom hand in his, a phantom head against his forehead, the shape of Jess and the bright halo of light illuminating her from the inside out searing Sam's vision as he stares at the blood, still creeping along the floor.

_Sam. Baby, I'm here I'm coming I can almost taste you, we're almost there-_

“The blood..." Sam gasp, blinking, trying to ignore the swell of ice trying to hold him still, radiating upwards. He sniffs, accuses, "You poisoned me.”

**You did this.**

“No. It wasn't the blood." Ruby says as she shakes her head, then steps closer and closer until she's standing over him. 

"It was you... and your choices. I just gave you the options, and you chose the right path every time." Ruby hums with glee, voice gasping from elation now, sounding nasal from sheer overwhelming knowing that the Devil was so close, and she'd done her part, and everything was almost at her feet, the new day she'd been preparing so long for finally laid out before her. "You didn't need the feather to fly, you had it in you the whole time, Dumbo!" She adds, genuine in a way she's never actual been, and the look of raw betrayal Sam gives her is like a shot of pure caffeine to her system, a drug that never gets old for the dealer now given the grand jackpot. He may have not trusted her, may not have loved her, but he had thought they were working for the same thing, on the same side, and can't he see they still are? He'll still get everything he's wanted. Ruby heard him, crying out for Jess, for the one he loves, for the reason they set him on this path in the first place. And now he'd have that love back, and Hell would have it's heyday, and everything would be put right-

They aren't enemies. Sam just has to wait, just a few moments longer, and Lucifer will be there to fix this-

Ruby turns on the charm, on the persuasive edge all demons need to foster for otherwise they cannot be the instruments to their master, and gives an honest opinion, an offer of friendship she knows Sam probably won't believe, but he's at his lowest, and can't hurt her, because she's fucking untouchable, on top of the world-

Sam shudders and can't stop, every breath rattling in his throat.

Ruby kneels directly in front of him.

"I know it's hard to see it now... but this is a miracle." Ruby whispers, patting the edge of Sam's jacket, then his face, because once he said yes Ruby would never be able to admire her handiwork, and Sam tries to wrench away, but there's nowhere to go, and he's reeling, and fragile, and barely holding it together, his breaths shallow and his forehead glistening with sweat as his teeth just keep on chattering. Ruby adds, so smooth, so even, "So long coming. Everything Azazel did, and Lilith did. Just to get you here." Ruby pauses, and she inhales, eyes wide and fervent, an extremist so close to seeing their messiah raised from below, "And you were the only one who could do it.”

“Why? Why me?” Sam stammers, frozen, unable to raise his hand or move his head no matter how much he wants Ruby's hand to burn up and disintegrate where it makes contact with his face.

“Because...” And then Ruby pauses and gives Sam a solemn look, every word dripping with emphasis. “Because it had to be you, Sammy. It always had to be you.”

Sam freezes. Inhales, and his heart clenches. All the words Jess used to say, and the cold chill Sam can feel seeping in closer, and closer, and closer, and the denial almost breaks Sam then and there, because he knows, now, knows all too well what must be coming for him, what's been nesting inside Sam's dreams long before Jess even burned on the ceiling, why things haven't been adding up-

Except now they have.

_Sam, Sam, Sam-_

Sam hears, and it feels like completion, but it's like a ghost of a feeling, like a kiss on his neck, a hint of lips brushing the edges of his frantic pulse again, freezing Sam's blood in his veins-

He’d been digging up Jessica’s grave, only turns out Jess’s grave was a prison, and that Jess isn't who he thinks-

Except... The Devil always tempts you with what you love, what you want most.

**How could I be so blind?**

And Sam prays to God and hopes he's listening, because Sam doesn't know what else to pray to, and God's the only one who ever kept Lucifer contained in Hell by any margin, and because that's the only being reaching for him, for Sam now, it feels so pure, and bright, and cold-

So cold, Sam just wants to get closer to where the blood is pooling. So right, so comfortable, making Sam's heart pound with something other than fear, not calm, but not terrified.

It's ephemeral, and eternal and right and _holy-_

And who else can Sam pray to, for the Devil himself to stay away?

Sam nearly falls over, head listing, and Ruby's hands settle on his shoulders, keeping him from falling into unconsciousness, from not seeing Lucifer rising up in all his glory, hand still stroking Sam's face, his eyes screwed up so tight and every breath labored and burning in his chest-

Ruby keeps going, heedless to Sam’s newest joint combo of conjoined panic and his own personal Mt. Everest of denial, pure as snow, smothering him in shock and pure stasis, every syllable basking in the glow of the future she's envisioning, “You saved us. You set him free. And he's gonna be grateful. He's gonna repay you in ways that you can't even imagine.”

Sam hears what's unsaid. 

He's gonna reward me, for this. I'm going to take my rightful place and it's all thanks to you and your pitiful heart.

Dean breaks down the door, eyes burning and stance ready to tear this place apart and drag his brother out from the rubble.

Dean turns Ruby’s own knife on her.

Ruby releases Sam from her grip and turns, rising to her feet, and Sam's hands scrape along the floor as he tries to regain his balance, reeling from the loss of purchase, because he still can't look Dean in the eye, still can't erase the feeling of the blood on his tongue-

Ruby looks Dean in the eye and stands tall, every bit on top of the world as she feels.

“You're too late.” Ruby gloats.

Dean’s voice is a low growl when he answers, “I don't care.”

Dean advances and keeps marching closer with murder carved into every inch of his body. And Sam finally finds the strength to stand, and grabs Ruby from behind, holding her close, holding her still, as Dean shoves the knife through her abdomen, as it snicks through flesh and blood and twisted, vile, decomposed soul-

She burns bright and falls. Dean's face sneers as his eyes turn hard and his jaw clenches. He twists the knife as she chokes her last incoherent words and sinks to the ground.

There, Ruby's eyes don't dance with mirth any longer.

They are empty and dead. Like the glazed over look Lilith had, when every part of her had been excommunicated from the land of the living.

Sam's shoulders rise and fall and he finally meets Dean's gaze. It's condemning, and afraid, and full of the need to drag Sam from here, and angry, so angry-

“I'm sorry.” Sam gasps. His voice is broken, and every nerve in his wrists and ankles and throat keeps trembling.

Except sorry doesn’t undo the fact that the Apocalypse is coming for them all, that Lucifer-

That Sam-

Dean's expression turns more afraid from the reeling loss and terror and barely there look in his brother's eyes. He came in here expecting to have to face his brother as a monster, and all he sees is a broken man barely hanging on to consciousness, calling out for help without knowing how-

The seal pops open, and even Dean feels the cold, and the burning, and the boiling air, and Sam hears laughter, bright and ringing and pure-

Dean swallows and looks at the seal, the last one, broken like he broke the first-

The earth quakes, and…

It’s so bright.

Dean wants to run the moment he sees it, every part of his body screaming danger, screaming to get out, but he's frozen in fear, and Sam's immobile where he stands, so heavy.

Sam wants to get closer. His feet almost move without him realizing it.

Every aching part of him feels far away, feels pulled closer into the orbit of the bright, bright grace filling Sam's head with so much love, so many promises, and it's like the fear is banished, gone, switched off like a light-

And it's so cold, so perfect, so gentle and constant and makes Sam feel the right amount of warm, and Sam can feels wings, so many, and just wants to fall forward, wants to rest-

It would be so easy.

And as the essence of the Archangel's full being breaks free, as Lucifer's grace washes over him, filling the room with the vast expanse of everything-

Sam just wants to step forward and let it take him where he can't feel anything except this.

“Sammy, let's go.” Dean urges, fumbling for Sam's arm.

But Sam clutches Dean’s shirt, barely heaving in a breath, and Dean holds Sam up by his jacket, seeing how Sam can barely stand upright, and his knees tremble, and Dean sees just how Sam's eyes are riveted to the sight, somehow arrested yet at ease, a moth flying towards the sun, closer and closer...

Dean doesn't know why Sam is like that but he needs to get him out-

“Dean... he's coming.” Sam rasps, Dean looks over too, despite himself, feet frozen, and there’s this look in Sam's eye when he glances back at his brother, all awe and hypnotized disregard, as if all the fear just suddenly melted off him. Like Dean might have to drag him out of here, except Sam is so heavy, and Dean's not sure if he has the strength, Sam's dead weight dragging him down...

The light grows brighter and brighter.

_Sammy, it's been so long..._


	20. Whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by evanescence

Sam finally finds it in him to move, and he runs with Dean to the door. He lets Dean drag him because otherwise his knees would go weak and he'd fall into the arms of the newly freed jailbird he knows and yet will not acknowledge. The trill of grace burns so bright in the room, loud and insistent.

_Sam. Wherever do you think you're going? I'm right here._

The whine of angelic grace turns sharper, sings out with all the freedom Lucifer can muster.

Sam is so close, so very, very close, Lucifer can stretch himself and wrap around and finally touch him again-

Dean scratches at the door, trying to rip it down. Sam tries to help but can barely muster the energy, holding himself up with desperate fingernails against wood.

It's so cold. So beautifully, perfectly cold-

Something bright and warm and wanting blooms under Sam's tongue, loosens every limb, and makes ecstatic starbursts spark over Sam's vision.

And Sam finds he only wants to close his eyes and lean back and fall into the arms and wings and hands he can feel, the humming lips on the back of his neck-

Sam wrenches away and leans against the door, not knowing what to do.

He doesn't know how to run from this.

He doesn't want to.

He'd been hurting and praying and been bruised and beaten down and so hollow inside for so long, and now he's light, and weightless, and there's something stroking and touching and gentle and soft-

His heart knows the truth and missed the one calling out to him and it takes every stretch of willpower to stop himself from letting go-

Lucifer can't keep his grip or hold on enough, still half-formed and half-out, grace and True Form changing states to move into physical form, all liquid and insubstantial waves not quite there, like a ghost still drawing the rest of himself out like water from a well...

His staccato whine of grace thrums, louder and with more force, enough to send a shockwave rippling through the room...

And Lucifer unfurls, taller now, waves of his being seeping through with enough force to rip holes in the door and nearly shred the surrounding building to pieces. He holds the church up as best he's able like this, half in Hell and half not, like Atlas holding up the world on his shoulders so Sam isn't smushed beneath the plaster and stone like a bug.

Dean yells and falls to his knees, hands clapped over his ears from the noise. He screws his eyes shut, the light too bright, so violent it might tear him limb from limb...

Sam imitates the gesture for other reasons. To try and drown the lapping whispers and rolling waves of promises calling out to him...

His eyes are open, though. Open and unable to stop looking.

 **Help.** He prays, not to anything or anyone. Just one blanket word to any entity that could combat something he can't fight on his own-

_I'm here, Sam. Right here. Made to answer your every prayer. Let me help you, Sam. You, of all people, are not one who need fear me._

Sam closes his eyes and huffs in a breath and regrets it, because all he breathes in is ozone and want and whispers flushed against his chin, words dripping closer, teeth gliding up his neck and wings holding him close and an inhuman face with inhuman lips finding his own, not an apparition but so bright there is no way human eyes can see-

Sam sees Lucifer, though.

Sees his wings unfurl as he keeps on rising up and up and out.

Sees everything he is. Every alien component, every jagged, inhuman angle, every fissure of folded space and light and plasma beyond the limits of earthly dimensions, the same creature and imprint of light he'd seen night after night walking over a cold tundra, blood dripping in the snow, holding Sam's face, cradling Sam in his arms, and wrapping him in his wings.

And beyond that, Sam sees a silhouette of Jessica's body lit up from the inside, overlaid with Lucifer's true form, bound to this false human flesh like a candle illuminates a paper lantern, a lightning storm contained by flesh and light and burning want, and that same form shimmers, not solid but all movement, all twitching hands and grasping claws and skull-light pits where eyes are staring, and the jawline of a large, bright face unlike anything Sam could name. Sees every facet of this angel and the True Face of the one he loved, the one he'd been praying for, the one he'd been trying to avenge, with what he'd lived with long before, only having ever a glancing a sidelong glimpse of light and bright fire looking out in the corner of his eye when he caught sight of Jessica's eyes in the dark. He sees beyond that, now. Sees a star and fire and ice and wings almost the color of blood, like sunrise, like the birth of daylight from the very Beginning.

The cold, running egg yolk of seeping feeling, of knowledge Sam didn't know he knew, cracks down his spine, all of that he knows dragging Sam down.

Lucifer pulls himself up just as Sam's soul accidentally falls to meet him, legs gone to water, mind shot with static and love and weeping, desperate awe Sam doesn't want to recognize.

Lucifer feels how they fit together. How Sam's soul calls out, just as exhilarated and full of worship, as much as Lucifer's grace sings to him.

Sam feels it, too.

With a sinking feeling of collapse, Sam finds he knows just what he is. 

_Sam. My Sam. You rescued me. You brought me back. Thank you, Sammy. Thank you._

Lucifer's grace praises, weeping with joy even as it remains hungry and wanting and close.

And just as Sam stumbles upon exactly what this Devil wants with him, feels it with every heartbeat almost tearing his heart out of his chest, he denies it just as quick.

**No. No. No, you can't, you aren't-**

_I am. Sammy. You're safe now. I'm home. I promised I'd never leave you. Let me have you. I love you. I love you._

Lucifer's song sings out, bright and victorious and ringing out, so cold and deep and thrumming the whole world shudders from the sound.

Out of the corner of Sam's eye, Dean remains huddled on the floor, hunching tighter, all instinct screaming that immolation and immediate disintegration would blast him to bits just from proximity-

Sam, in comparison, is barely holding himself together. Lucifer gathers him close, and it feels like every nerve is alight with the slightest feeling of contact, of grazing movement so perfect settling beneath Sam's skin...

Lucifer lays him out over the floor, arms and legs open, Sam's mouth gaping despite himself because he can't breathe, all he can taste is grace and starlight and Lucifer, with every limb shaking and so relaxed he can't quite move, and his eyes stare upwards, unable to tear themselves away.

_I missed you. I heard you. I prayed to you, prayed right back. Sam, I promise. You don't have to feel more fear, or more pain. I'll protect you. I'm here. I'm not leaving again._

Millions of red eyes blink at him, teeth smiling down at him, as hands and claws and wings lay him out over the floor, unwrapping him, pinning him gently to the ground with all the feeling in their gaze and the same song humming in Sam's limbs.

_Take me back. Come with me. Let me keep you. Say yes. Sam. Sam, say yes and we'll never have to be apart ever again._

Sam can't move his mouth. Can't swallow.

Can't quite move at all.

Can't taste, can't answer. All he sees is the light burning above him, all he can feel is the want, the surrender, the feeling of every empty, barren ache inside him almost chased away by mere proximity, by the thing closing in on him, by the angel kissing his lips and chest and eyelids and neck and mouth and stomach and thighs and everywhere all at once.

Sam couldn't speak even if he wanted to, even if his throat wasn't closing up from all the feelings that tow him under, yanking out the exhaustion and replacing it with a frenzied electric, burning ache over his tongue and on his eyelids and in every tiny tremble of his fingertips. He's struck dumb all because Lucifer can't stop itself from being all over him. It's all too much, a surge choking his brain so all he feels is a tingling, constant joy that's so good, so perfect, it feels like agony he can't ever let end.

Artic calm, an endless, singing want that isn't tranquil, is all rough need and desperation slides against him, glides beneath every pore of Sam's body, and radiates outwards, numbing all other feeling except love, except need, leeching inside him, scooping out his insides to settle beneath Sam's ribs...

And then it's gone.

Yanked away so it's only a dull throb in the dip of his throat and a tremor in his spine, the feeling made distant and remote as Sam and Dean are wrenched from that church and back in time by a few minutes, thrown on a plane slated to go down the moment Lucifer rises. Sam feels like he's on fire. Sam feels like he'll never be whole. Sam feels like all his skin was flayed off and that his heart was ripped out and left in that church with the monster that came back to claim him now that Lucifer was ripped away so suddenly.

The fact he wants to weep and cry out and worship the Devil every way Lucifer had been going to worship him, the way he feels this pull, a constant tug to go back, only scares Sam more. Sam can't think about this. Won't.

_Sam. Come back. Please. Sam. We waited so long for this-_

Sam remains mute and dumb and lets Dean frantically try to collect their bearings while he resists the urge to heave. The white noise of the plane's TV washes through one ear and out the other, unheeded, the Devil on the screen chuckling, "I can use a guy like you."

_You need me. I need you. Sam, please-_

\--

Chuck exhales shakily, his meatsuit feeling the strain despite itself.

That was too close.

\--

_Sam. Do not be afraid. I'll find you. We were so close. You don't need to run. You need fear nothing from me._

Sam doesn't answer, only hugs himself, nauseous and empty and wanting from the withdrawal he feels scabbing over his insides, from a want he is scared to name, because once he tasted demon blood he realized just what the echoes were calling out for...

He curls over himself on the steps and tries to keep himself from shaking. Dean's in the bathroom, still puking his guts out from the aftermath of the exposure, all shaky as his limbs stay numb and feel like they've been frostbitten for days.

After the plane went down, they had found themselves on the street-corner of a hotel and hid inside, their limbs still twitching and barely functional from being exposed to that much grace, that much power-

Or in Sam's case, for other reasons.

_I love you. I love you. Sammy. Please. Let me fix everything that went wrong. You belong with me._

Sam ignores the constant noise he recognizes but can't tune out. He scratches the back of his neck and tries to ignore the frantic itch under his skin, the throbbing, endless hum of every part of him that felt alive, felt wet and wanting, ached with every hollow, scraped feeling of being unsatisfied, not filled up, not full with all that power that tried to kiss its way down his throat-

Blood pools in limbs that ache, a rush between Sam's thighs, heavy and uncomfortable with unfulfilled need from an unconscious responsiveness to a creature Sam knew too well and didn't want to comprehend. The feeling of cracked open emptiness, of promise completion undelivered, of sticky, sweat-soaked desire, rips Sam in half, and makes everything shaky and insubstantial, Sam only wanting for more, for Lucifer to be close, to push him open and shove against him and kiss everything up inside of him, numbing every flayed nerve into gentle, careful touches that made all the pain end...

Sam he ignores that, too.

If he ignores it, he won't say anything. Won't feel the need to ask where he's supposed to go, with every atom in his body screaming for him to go back.

_Sammy, I know this is a lot to process. And I won't apologize for not containing myself- getting back to you took so long... But I can be patient, if you need it. I've waited this long. You just let everything sink in. Make sure you handle the aftershocks. Take care of yourself. Warm up, find some blankets. I'll get freshened up in the meantime. And then we'll find each other. We always do. It's going to be okay, Sam. I promise. You just rest._

The only thing keeping Sam from crying is the empty pit in his stomach, the raw, curdled self-hatred, gnawing, all burning pain in his gut, self-blame like ash in his mouth, all from the knowledge that he just kicked off the end of the world.

Because Sam saw everything.

Every violent, infinite promise the Devil had promised to unleash as he rose, higher and higher, grace keening its relentless song. If it wasn't for the joy, the floating, ruthless feeling of blood boiling too tightly in Sam's constricted veins, thudding heartbeat lighting up places they shouldn't and tangible in the back of his throat, Sam would feel like he couldn't move at all.

As it is, he can only shake, every nerve ending beyond capacity, everything synapse begging for relief no earthly distraction would comfort.

Sam swallows and almost tastes nothing. Only holy light and lips and his own blood and the echo of something frozen yet liquid enough to drip down his throat and settle deep inside him.

Only promises made by something larger and endless and greater than him, every word so far from empty Sam feels like the whispers will fill him to the brim.

They felt like home.

Sam couldn't let them. So Sam keeps running.

He's good at that. Running from the homes he's never truly been able to escape.

Sam tastes sandpaper and follows Dean back into the car. The metal of the car door feels too hot against his fingertips.

Sam feels like he'll just float through the leather seats and into the ground, everything limb too heavy, yet weightless. Insubstantial. A phantom feeling.

Like Sam left something behind.


	21. Lazarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s5e1
> 
> chapter title a song by david bowie

“Oh, God.” Chuck says. “Is that a molar?” He stammers more while covered in viscera, Castiel’s, well, Jimmy’s tooth, technically, hard and bloodstained in his hand. “Do I have a molar in my hair?”

The part of God in residence does think he sells the panic very, very well. It’s not entirely disingenuous.

After all, Lucifer is free now. And Chuck has Sam in his company, beamed him up from what would have otherwise been an unmitigated disaster.

Sam would have been eaten alive right out the gate, taken in and thrown off by every bit of love Lucifer’s been nursing for him inside the Cage God carefully exiled him into, right from the start. Not Sam’s fault, considering the day he had, and the past between them, and the overwhelming love and fury of an unhoused Archangel when faced with its other complementary half.

Still. Sam is here now. In Chuck’s house. And that… isn’t something Chuck wants Lucifer to find out, if he can help it. Because then Lucifer will show up to take Sam, and Lucifer might actually notice Chuck isn’t just Chuck, considering his observational skills when compared to his brothers. God’s second-born had gone so long without seeing the full glory of Elohim, of the Lord in all its multifaceted parts, compared to them. So he would be more likely to pick something up, because Chuck knew, even in this form, that Lucifer not only held grudges, but had an excellent memory for things he considered important.

And dealing with God is his third priority, with the Apocalypse coming in as a second contender.

Sam came in first, miles before the rest.

God, well, Chuck, admits that he is limited like this. He doesn’t let himself see everything coming. Defeats the purpose of his self-imposed witness protection and indefinite vacation.

But he knew enough about Sam, about Lucifer, to know that leaving Sam there wasn’t the best call. Not like this.

Chuck sobs. “This has been a really stressful day.”

As if he hadn’t watched one of his many children be ripped apart by his elder children, as if it had been him, not Castiel, and not the residents of Ilchester, or the hurricane victims, or anyone else, who had been ripped from their lives in a worse way that day.

After all, it was just business as usual for Chuck. Minus Lucifer being free.

That was reason to panic, for the time being, since Sam couldn’t be asked to step up to the plate yet.

And then, Zachariah interrupts, like the smarmy bastard God allows him to be, colossal disappointment as he is. Although, most of God’s children are, in Chuck’s humble opinion.

“Lucifer is powerful in ways that defy description. We need to strike now. Hard and fast.” Zachariah pauses. “Before he finds his vessel.”

“His vessel?” Sam’s voice is a bit too steady.

And Chuck will be honest with himself. He has no clue how Lucifer managed to sneak on through and “possess” Jessica Moore through the Cage, limited as it was. He knows Azazel did something, but the details are fuzzy. Chuck generally doesn’t sweat the small stuff. Not his job to micromanage anymore.

But that was a detail he hadn’t really been banking on, because that meant Lucifer knew things about earth. Has gained know-how and street smarts and resources.

Knows things about Sam, not from a game of telephone with his twisted creations, but directly. Intimately.

Which meant Lucifer would hit the ground running, with very little to halt him in his path.

Plus, it gave him a distinct advantage over Michael, who has been neglecting Earth for thousands and thousands of years.

And Chuck… hadn’t planned on that.

Still. What did he care, really?

He could always start again.

At least, that’s what Chuck tells himself.

He tries not to feel too guilty.

“Lucifer needs a meat suit?” Sam asks, clarifying. Chuck lets himself be distracted in a human way, for the sake of authenticity.

**Then… How? How is he… How is Jess…? What the Hell?**

Chuck can feel Sam’s thoughts screaming out, as easy as any Archangel. Sam’s mind is a hard one to crack for most. Not for Lucifer, though. And not for God, or even a fragment of him.

“He is an angel.” Zachariah sneers, looking back at his lower-on-the-totem-pole angelic security detail like he’s in on some bad inside joke. This would be one time he’s able to appear more in the know than Sam. “Them’s the rules.”

Sam takes that in, mind whirring.

Zachariah keeps talking. “And when he touches down, we’re talking four horsemen, red oceans, fiery skies, the greatest hits.”

Chuck feels as Sam decides to go with complete blanket denial again. Like he doesn’t know there’s a very obvious omission in there that Sam definitely knows he should be panicking about.

Chuck doesn’t blame him.

And then there’s words exchanged. Blood dripping, sigils activated.

Angels, banished.

Then the Winchesters leave, finally. Out of all angelic crosshairs for the moment, and out of Chuck’s hair.

The show goes on.

There is no man behind the curtain.

Secret kept safe.

Chuck pretends he can’t feel Lucifer rooting around, trying to find a vessel both strong enough to take him and fitting enough to make the right impression on Sam.

Icy grace makes a beeline for Delaware.

Chuck promises himself he won’t go anywhere near that state. Not worth it. Maybe he’ll take a trip to another continent for a while…

The question is, what plane tickets? Michael and Lucifer would be wreaking havoc left and right, and that is not something Chuck can juggle easily in this form…

Maybe not. The Winchesters might suspect something, and Chuck didn’t need that headache, either.

Best talk to Becky, who is human and flawed as any average human can be.

It was better than other alternatives.

Besides, then he wouldn’t need to worry about visitors. Becky could pass the messages on for him, no direct contact necessary.

Chuck pat himself on the back.

He may be hands off, but he’s helping. Not throwing the entire world to ruin yet.

\--

“It’s you, Nick. You’re chosen.”

Nick starts, breathing heavily.

Sarah’s face looks back at him. Bloody. Focused on him in a way that didn’t feel quite right.

Nick covers his face.

When he looks back, Sarah is gone.

Lucifer lets himself be a little overdramatic. Humans tend to buy into dreams when they’re more than life usually throws at them, and he needs this to work fast.

After all, he has a hot date to catch.

\--

Sam is still reeling when Bobby joins the fray.

Tries to distract himself any way he can.

**Michael does not look anything like Cate Blanchett, Dean. You aren’t even trying.**

It doesn’t really help.

Ever since Lucifer got out he’s been feeling like a shorted out maze of electric wires all crisscrossed.

Like a flower waiting to bloom, except there’s ice rushing in, numbing everything from afar.

He can still taste Jess… Not Jess… after the Seal-

**No.**

And then there’s the massively crushing guilt, almost as much as the heady feeling that’s been building and building and building despite the hex bags keeping them off the grid.

And these are not feelings Sam considers normal at all.

Sam refocuses when Bobby explains Michael’s Sword can be used to take down the Devil.

Maybe when Sam comes face to face, it will stop Lucifer in his tracks enough to keep him from immediately jumping into whatever designs he has for him.

Because Sam knows, on some level, there’s some connection there.

Doesn’t think past that, because past that is the darkest depths of the ocean. Not a road Sam wants to even touch with a ten-foot-pole.

Maybe Michael’s sword will even let them kick Lucifer’s ass long enough to give Sam answers before they throw him back to stop the end of the world.

Oh, God, who is Sam kidding?

The wave of crushing, lung-shattering guilt and exhaustion and knowing that Sam has been heading towards this and walked right into it finally breaks him.

Denial and shock are temporary stopgaps for that sort of thing.

“Kid, you alright?” Bobby’s gruff voice washes over Sam, and with a heave of his shoulders, Sam forces himself to talk, because not talking about this was worse, so much worse-

“No, actually.” Sam breathes. His eyes dart, watering. “Bobby, this is all my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Sam-” Dean’s annoyed, exhausted voice tries to stop him, but Sam needs to get at least one thing on his mind out of the way.

“Lilith did not break the final seal. Lilith was the final seal.” Sam admits, shaking his head, unable to stay still.

“Sam, stop it-” Dean commands through gritted teeth, promising hurt.

Sam keeps going.

“I killed her, and I set Lucifer free.” Sam says, and saying it is what matters, because if he doesn’t everything else he’s trying to ignore will tear him to pieces.

“You what?” Bobby exclaims, eyes narrowing.

“You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, but I didn’t listen. I brought this on.” Sam adds. He needs to confess to someone. Owes Bobby the truth, whatever may come after.

Dean looks down, fuming, silent, then glances to Bobby.

Bobby doesn’t take the news well at all.

And Sam thought he could handle it after everything else today, but turns out he can’t, because the look Bobby is giving him is a look like Sam is nothing, like he’s been disowned, like he’s not family-

Sam can feel his own breaths, too shallow.

“You’re damn right you didn’t listen.” Bobby starts in, voice shaking. “You were reckless and selfish and arrogant.”

Sam’s can feel all the taut muscles in his face as he tries not to break down. He needed to say it, because even if he didn’t there would still be all this hanging over him, would still be the electricity and ice and whispers in the back of his mind, would still be the echo of the family he made for himself risen not from the grave but from Hell, ghosting over his lips and every heartbeat, and Sam needs to counter that somehow, he doesn’t know what else to do-

“I’m sorry.” Sam’s voice breaks.

“Oh, yeah?” Bobby whispers as he steps closer. Sam thinks he might actually shake him and tries not to flinch, because Bobby wasn’t like John, never has been, this was not a “You walk out that door, you don’t come back” scenario-

And Bobby’s voice grows louder, rougher. “You’re sorry you started Armageddon?”

Sam looks down, nods and swallows. Keeps himself upright because it’s all he has. All he can do.

“This kind of thing don’t get forgiven, boy.” Bobby chokes out.

Sam’s heart breaks all over again.

**I know, I know, I know that I messed up beyond any possible mess up, that I’m unclean and a freak and not what you want me to be-**

_Sam, that’s not true. You’re better than them. You’re proving that right now. You don’t need them. You don’t need to follow orders, to fall in line, to earn love. Their love is poison._

Sam ignores the icy whispers shooting through his nerves. The same whispers he’s been ignoring ever since the Seal broke, the same ones in his dreams even earlier than that. It’s not as easy as he would like.

“If by some miracle we pull this off…” Bobby’s voice softens, and Sam looks up, hopeful, maybe, and then looks down because what if that ruins it, like Sam ruins everything-

_Oh, Sam. What have they done to you, while I was gone? You couldn’t ruin anything if you tried._

“I want you to lose my number.” Bobby’s voice sounds far away. “You understand me?”

And another part of Sam breaks again. Has always been broken, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and here it is.

_You have me, Sam. You will always have me. I’m all you ever needed. And I’ll take care of you. Love you like you were meant to be loved, just like I always have. Don’t waste your heart on them. They don’t deserve you._

There’s a sharp pain in Sam’s throat.

All he can do is nod once. Then he can’t stop nodding.

Dean won’t look at him.

Sam tries to keep it together. He is. Really.

His lip twitches, face still too tight, every ounce of held in abandonment and tension and fear and exhaustion and rejection and pain, the pain Sam can’t get away from-

“There’s an old church nearby.” Sam manages to say, not looking at anyone, looking almost at them but not head on. He licks his lips, face twitching, raises his eyebrows to keep his eyes from screwing too tight, from letting the tears manifest. And Sam doesn’t think about the fact that he’s running to the closest building closest to where he’s been last, closer to the whispers, even if it’s not the same place, “Maybe I’ll go read some of the lore books there.”

“Yeah. You do that.” Bobby’s voice brooks no argument.

Sam flees with as much broken composure as he is able.

The whispers follow.

Sam can almost feel fingers sliding through his hair, like a gust of wind. Can feel lips pressing against the nape of his neck.

_Oh, Sammy. I’ll hold you close, more than soon, I promise. Don’t mourn them. They don’t deserve your tears. You’ll be home, safe, and wanted. I’ll find my way back to you._

And the Sam hears commotion from upstairs. Smells demon blood humming close by.

Goes back, faster, frantic-

_I’ll admit, I did not see that coming. They found you faster than anticipated. Morale must be at an all-time high if they’re being this expedient. Brings out the best in even the lowest of the low. Still, on the bright side, I have a higher opinion of your father-figure now, so when you take me home to meet the family, I’m sure we’ll get along as best we can._

Then Sam gets greeted with a phone to the face, courtesy of Meg. There’s a huffy sigh in the back of Sam’s head even his ears keep ringing.

_Oh, come on. I told them you’re off limits. But does anyone listen to me like this? Noooo. Guess I’ll have to make sure the lesson sticks in the future. But don’t worry. Once I get a body again, I’ll make sure they feel every second of the pain I have in store for them. Preferably after I pay you a visit, if you aren’t still playing hide and seek._

\--

After Meg’s fuck-up, Lucifer ups the ante. Best to get a body back as soon as possible, if his unruly and imperfect children can’t even get rule one right.

Blood and infants always stir up emotions in apes. Should work well.

Now if Lucifer can just get this to go faster.

\--

All of Sam’s hopes that the Michael sword might be a solution vanish the moment Zachariah strips the wool from their eyes.

_You know, if you have questions, I'm only a prayer away. I’d be happy to answer. I’ll even pay you a visit!_

Sam keeps ignoring the whispers as best he can.

Files away the information that Dean is Michael’s vessel with increasing layers of dread and even more denial for what that might mean for him. Is finally distracted by Dean’s quip.

“Yeah, life as an angel condom. That’s real fun.”

Sam swallows and shifts. Pretends he doesn’t feel the level of disgust radiating from the whispers brushes against him, thankfully still far away and mangled, like a bad radio signal.

_That is the worst possible analogy, thank you very much. I’m almost offended on Michael’s behalf. Almost. Still, I’ll give your brother that one. Way to stick it to the man._

Then Zachariah breaks Sam’s leg.

_I’ll kill him._

Sam can feel the blood boiling from the viciousness of the statement even as a disembodied whisper. It almost distracts from the pain.

_Tell me where you are, Sam. Let me make them pay for daring to come near you. Please._

Dean and Zachariah argue.

Sam only pays attention to the relevant facts as Zachariah explains Lucifer’s body count compared to Michael’s.

_Okay, that is complete and total slander. Don’t believe that liar. I’m not roasting anything. I’m keeping this planet pristine. If anything, I’m pest control. Keeping the vermin population from making this place a barren husk. Weeding and pruning back the overgrowth. Besides, I know you don’t believe them. You know those used car salesmen for what they are. And you know me, Sam. Besides, look how they are threatening you. Look what they’re doing to Dean. I know you aren’t buying it. Now. Tell me where you are, Sam, before they hurt you again._

Sam loses his lungs. Focuses on that and the whispers because there isn’t much else he can do.

_Sam, Sammy, no. Stay with me. Sam. If you die I am going to collect you myself, and when we’re done, I’m killing anyone who so much as looks at you wrong. If I wasn’t destroying anything that could be a hazard to your health anyway, I would have to wrap you up and hide you somewhere so all the bad things out there can’t find you. Sam. Please. Give me an address._

Sam prays to God and God only.

\--

The guilt eventually bites Chuck in the ass.

He remakes Castiel.

Partially out of necessity, partially because he feels bad, and partially because he really does feel like Sam Winchester and his brother have had enough of a bad day thanks to his children.

Lucifer, especially. He hasn’t wasted any time.

\--

Castiel comes to the rescue, all shiny and new.

_Remind me to send him a postcard for saving your ass. I swear, Sam, your stubbornness is going to be the end of you._

Sam is grateful at least one thing worked out today. Although, he can’t fight the lingering, bitter questions that dregs up, that if God is listening, why are the whispers still coming for him? Why did Jess have him, why are the angels acting as they are? Why did Sam have to be the one to break the last Seal-

Then Sam’s ribs are carved, and the whispers aren’t so charitable.

_That sneaky little… Oh, well. Just means I have to work a little harder. Isn’t foolproof, not when it comes to how close we are already, Sam. Good news, though. I found someone I think you’ll really take a shine to. So here’s to hoping we catch up, hopefully sooner rather than later._

\--

Bobby’s injury and the fear and everything eats at everyone, just one more thing personally tearing them to pieces on top of the steaming pile of Apocalypse that’s been tossed on their plate.

Sam doesn’t know what Bobby is going to do after this, how best he can help him, but he can be there for him, knows at least how to be there for people. It’s not other things, not Michael, not angels, not the End of the World, not Other Things Sam won’t think about.

And Sam is grateful for Dean’s pep talk, that “Give ‘em Hell attitude,” as he so nicely put it.

Helps him feel like he can actually do something.

Doesn’t help with the things lurking beyond denial, though.

That’s Sam’s burden to bear.

Sam tries to be all there for Bobby. Being there for other people is always easier than focusing on himself.

And when Bobby tells him it’s the demon talking, says, “I ain’t cutting you out, boy, not ever,” it’s the best feeling of safety Sam has felt in a long, long time.

\--

The feeling ebbs when the smokescreen falls, and all of Dean’s fears come crashing over him.

Sam keeps the denial in place.

Someone has to, between the two of them.

And then Sam asks the question he’s been meaning to ask for a while.

Dean answers what Sam feared he would, that he’s pretending things between them are alright.

Says, “Because it’s not. And it’s never going to be. You chose a demon over your own brother, and look what happened.”

Once, Sam would have told Dean he was wrong. That his heart was in the right place and even though he fell off the bandwagon and messed up, there was still good to be found there.

Not now. Not anymore.

Because the truth is worse. Sam chose something else over his broken, battered family, over his absent father who never saw Sam as he truly is, who used violence and intimidation and rules to keep Sam in line, over his brother who took that same bottom line and internalized it even if he did see Sam for what Sam is in the ways that mattered most more often than not…

Sam could never really choose that over what he had chosen, never again. Once you get out, once you really escape, you don’t really want to come back, because freedom is something you cherish once you have it.

And Sam chose Jess, and Jess was back now, only not Jess-

Sam doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Sam hasn’t felt free in a long, long time.

“I would give anything, anything, to take it all back,” Sam argues. And he would. He would never have met Ruby, would have never taken on Lilith, would run back to Jess in a heartbeat and swear off the life and never do any of this so Sam can be good and safe and free, if it was possible, if there was a way to go back…

“I know you would.” Dean answers. Sam knows he has no idea what he truly means. “And I know how sorry you are. I do.”

That, at least, was accurate.

“But man, you were the one that I depended on the most.” Dean says, and Sam fights his gut reaction. The feeling: I am not someone for you to use. I am my own person, with my own life, I didn’t owe you anything beyond what I can give, you’re my brother, you should know this, I had a right to make my own choices, to make my own way, even if I was wrong, and God I wish the price wasn’t so high-

_It’s not worth it, Sam. He doesn’t understand you like I do._

Dean keeps going. “And you let me down in ways that I can’t even… I’m just. I’m having a hard time forgiving and forgetting here. You know?”

And Sam wants to be trusted. Wants to be believed in. But not at this price.

But that won’t solve anything. Not with Sam being a mess now.

Not with all the things Sam can’t even handle, now that the Devil has come out to play.

And Sam needs anything, anything that can fix this. And Dean is just about the only other person he’s got who is on board to fix this mess, too, aside from Castiel, but who even knows, with Castiel, since he’s an angel and Sam doesn’t know him, not like he knows Dean.

“What can I do?” Sam asks, too quiet.

Dean laughs a pale imitation of a laugh. “Honestly? Nothing.”

And that solved absolutely nothing at all, and Sam’s mind starts going into overdrive, because it’s all too much, all at once, all over again-

“I just don’t… I don’t think that we can ever be what we were. You know?”

Some things don’t change. And Sam should have seen this, knew it was coming, one way or another-

_Sam. You ran for a reason. You know why already. That’s why you’ll come back to me. I know you will._

And then Dean goes for the thing that hits Sam hardest. “I just don’t think I can trust you.”

Everything hits Sam then. It all hurts.

Sam wishes he could say the same, **because how dare Dean say that, how dare he** , and because Sam knows that’s still true, that he’s right, but those words won’t solve anything, and Sam needs to trust someone, anyone that’s not himself, no matter how much he wishes otherwise.

But what can Sam do, in the face of all this?

_Sam, you’re only human. You don’t need to take this on alone. I’m here now. I’m here._

That night, Sam hides somewhere, alone, where he hopes nothing can find him.

Hides under the covers like he’s a child.

Because it doesn’t matter, nothing will help anyway, so what’s the harm?

Alone, but not really, Sam chokes on all the emotions he won’t let himself show.

\--

Lucifer talks the talk. He’ll admit, it’s good practice, even if it is a little melodramatic. But that’s what humans must expect from angels, Lucifer can’t seem too acclimated. It’s not as direct as he would be with Sam, since Lucifer doesn’t feel like wasting time, and he’ll say whatever he needs to get Nick to say the magic words. Doesn’t care about lying, especially to someone he’s going to burn out in a heartbeat.

Besides, burning him out will be a mercy. Nick doesn’t even want to be alive. Not really. He’s lost everything. And Lucifer isn’t going to bring them back, there’s enough apes crawling around already.

Lucifer can almost sympathize with the emotion if he pretends it’s like Sam. That is, if he cared, and wasn’t already on a tight schedule. Every minute he wastes some stupid two-bit demon or angel could be hunting Sam down, and Lucifer has had enough of people touching the one human he’s already laid claim to.

Still. The best sales tactics incorporate real emotion. So real emotion it is.

“You people misunderstand me.” Lucifer starts, “You call me Satan and Devil, but do you know my crime? I loved God too much. And for that, he betrayed me. Punished me.”

Lucifer will admit, if he were more human, the admission would almost be a bit cathartic, after being alone and unable to talk about it for so long.

Good thing he isn’t human in the slightest, and has better, loftier priorities to focus on.

Lucifer moves on from himself to Nick, knows he needs to build rapport, “Just as he’s punished you. After all, how could God stand idly by while that man broke into your home and butchered your family in your beds? There are only two rational answers, Nick,” Lucifer makes Sarah sound more desperate, maybe because he is growing a bit desperate, and he can’t really let out the anger of being made to wait, “Either he’s sadistic… Or he simply doesn’t care.”

Lucifer knows the answer to that one: it’s both of the above.

Nick isn’t exactly buying it, but in all honesty, dreams are easier to write off than reality. Humans take more risks then, so it serves his purpose just fine.

“You’re angry. You have every right to be angry.” And Lucifer pretends he isn’t using the same gig to calm himself, knows the value of using this, squeezing out every drop of pathos he can, “I am angry, too. That’s why I want to find him, hold him accountable for his actions.”

Lucifer doesn’t even need to lie anymore. The script writes itself.

“Just because he created us doesn’t mean he can toy with us like playthings.” Sarah’s voice is righteous and holy with the wrath of all the Archangel God made Lucifer to be.

That finally gets a response.

“If I help you… Can you bring back my family?” Nick’s trembling voice asks. He starts crying.

Lucifer smothers the need to crush Nick’s skull and roll his eyes. He does still need a yes, when all is said and done.

Lucifer uses the rage and channels it into an approximation of extreme regret. He is sorry, after all. Sorry Nick is being so damn slow on the uptake.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” Which is true. Lucifer can’t be bothered. “But I can give you the next best thing.”

Lucifer stops himself from laughing. This would be more than funny, if it wasn’t so time consuming and frustrating.

Time for the final curtain call, the final sales pitch.

“God did this to you, Nick. And I can give you justice. Peace.”

My special brand, the secret homemade recipe I coughed up, just for humanity. The justice and peace all humans deserve. Except for Sam. Never Sam. Sam is mine.

“How do I know you are telling the truth?” Nick asks, voice gruff from too much desperate, resigned hope borne out of too many years of wounded suffering with no reprieve.

“Because,” Lucifer leans in close, voice ringing and clear as churchbells. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t lie. I don’t need to.”

Lucifer knows how to spin the truth so it serves his purpose just as well.

“What I need,” Lucifer adds, finishing, his voice a desperate plea, every bit of Sarah he can infuse begging and plaintive as its brought to the surface, “Is you. Nick, I need you to say yes.”

Eventually, too long for Lucifer’s taste, Nick bites. Says that formal little word Lucifer has been gunning for since he got there.

There are wings and light and bright and cold.

And then Lucifer is back in rotation, Nick burned out like a bug in a bug zapper.

The first thing he does is worm his way into Sam’s dreams properly again, full force of his grace and self intact, hex bags and engraved Enochian be damned (to the lowest circles of Hell, preferably, since then Lucifer can keep them as far from Sam as possible).

“Hi, Sam.” Jess’s voice whispers. "I'm back."

The Archangel cradles Sam using her arms, kisses him, as Sam stares, bewildered and afraid and wanting and too knowing, despite his own denial.

Sam wakes up in a cold sweat, Jess’s voice still humming in his ears.


	22. Calling All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s5e3 free to be you and me
> 
> chapter title a song by phantogram

Sam can’t sleep, feels a muscle crick in his neck, and when he tosses himself upright Jess is there, right next to him. He shouldn’t be surprised but he always is, because she’s been next to him every night for weeks and weeks and weeks, so close but not nearly close enough and Sam finds he can’t quite care what that means. He can’t let this be taken from him, not again.

A smile lights up her face, the sight a lightning strike seared into Sam’s eyelids.

“Hey Baby.” Jessica’s voice is all sugar, all airy, and her face is exactly as it was, untouched by pain or fire or death.

Sam is speechless, as always. He swallows and forgets how to breathe.

_Oh, Sam._

“I missed you.” Jess continues, gaze moving from Sam’s mouth to his eyes.

Sam regards her with a frantic unmade suspension of disbelief with a faint trickle of **how-are-you-here-what-does-it-mean?** that soon morphs into pure heart-stricken love so bright and wide and endless it rises in his throat, chokes him out like paralytic venom coursing through his veins. His heart thrums, too fast but not enough, because Jess is here. Here, with him.

(Sam ignores the knowledge that he knows is folded over in his brain, that Jess is different, that Jess is Jess but not-Jess because he raised her up, that Jess is a caged animal made free, because he can’t bear anything else right now, because he just wants her back. That Jess has a different name, an older name that has been haunting Sam’s steps for eternity, a name Sam and Jess won’t say in case it breaks the fragile peace they pretend lies between then).

**I missed you, too. I missed you more than I could bear. How..?**

_You know, Sam. And it will take more than a little warding to keep me from the best parts of you, believe me. Although I see you keep adding more. What a masochist you’ve turned out to be, seeing how much you want me here. What would you do if they somehow worked? Welcome me in your front door?_

Sam lets the mildly frightening intensity go. Doesn’t let panic choke him because he doesn’t have any energy or want left to endorse being afraid right this second. The fears snuffed out like a burned out candle, smoke on the wind, nothing in the face of all of the feeling rushing out to meet him.

_Do not be afraid, Sam. You have nothing to fear from me. I love you. I’ve always loved you._

**I love you, too.**

“Jessica… I’m dreaming.” Sam answers his own question. He’s not hunting. He’s asleep. He always forgets that, because she just feels so real and solid and alive-

And dear God and all the angels and demons in Heaven and Earth and Hell, he misses the love of his life more than the world right now. And it’s not like he can get Jess out of his head, not like this, not after all the other dreams he had before he drove Lilith to ground.

Sam can afford to be weak in his sleep.

He is, after all, only human.

"Or you’re not,” Jess answers, contrary for the sake of it. “What’s the difference? I’m here.”

_Isn’t that enough? It’s been too long, Sam. And you ran so far away. But I don’t blame you._

There’s a pressure around Sam, warm and protective and cold and all he wants to do is lean into it, to accept whatever feeling it is humming between them again. To take whatever this is and melt right into it because he misses Jess, misses this, too much.

“I miss you.” Sam admits aloud, because if he doesn’t he’ll do whatever ‘Jess’ wants. “So much.”

And Sam knows all that feeling makes him an open book, easily read. Sam can feel that knowledge, that assurance. That same ache singing all around him, mirrored in his every heartbeat.

“I know.” Jess assures him. She lowers her gaze and reaches out, hand clasped in Sam’s. “I miss you, too.”

And Jess… Jess feels so real. Smells like vanilla and ozone and apples and the absence of smell, of icicles and water, like chipped ice splintering over the ocean. Her touch softer than velvet against his skin. And Sam wants to kiss her senseless, wants to hold Jess tight and never let go.

There’s another feeling, then. A quiet probing, ageless and wanting and cold. So cold it burns.

“What are you doing, Sam?” Jess asks, and she doesn’t mean just that question but a billion more, and her gaze dances over Sam’s face like she’s memorizing him, like Jess can find the answers and can pluck them out of his head because she can, but would rather kiss and fuck them out of Sam, easy.

_You don’t have to hide anything from me, you know._

A coldness, too bright and wonderful, makes Sam pause. And he reigns in his own want, as much as he doesn’t want to. Sam lets caution peek through, because he hasn’t lost all sense of self-preservation yet.

_I just want to be with you, to be near you again. Oh, Sam._

“What do you mean?” Sam forces the words out.

“Running away?” Jess answers, and she chases down Sam, freezes the caution in its tracks. “Haven’t we been down this road before?”

_You tried running from your past and your family before. And you ran straight to me, keep running into my arms again and again. Why keep running?_

Sam feels the memories well up from the past, from skinned knees and a black eye and Jess ushering him into her apartment off the tarmac, safe and concerned and kind, followed by all the history they shared thereafter.

“No, it’s different now.” Sam counters, lets the distance steal across his face and scrunch up his forehead, just for a minute. Ignores the hum in his bones and his desperate need to say **“Yes, yes, take me back, please, I miss you, I would do anything-”** because he has to, because as divorced from his fear and revulsion and pain and self-hate as he is, right now, in this moment, Sam still has his pride and standards and lines he will not cross.

Jess nods her head and lets some of her own caustic rejection bleed into her disbelief.

“Really?” She says, both eyebrows raised.

_Lying, Sam?_

**I’m not, but not for the reasons you think.**

_Let’s hear it, then._

Sam still cannot quite meet her eyes, but tries anyway.

“Last time I wanted to be normal.” Sam grits out, the admission a bit too full of irony, of abandoned goalposts long left to rot, before he adds, “This time, I know I’m a freak.” And Sam’s nostrils flair and the bitter smile twists Sam’s face, turns it ugly because the truth is worse.

**This time I broke the world.**

_You were never a freak, Sam. Just meant for greater things. If you don’t believe anything I’ve ever said, believe that. And the world isn’t broken. I’m just here, finally right here, like we’re meant to be._

Sam can feel wingtips softly press around him, tracing the outline of his cheekbones. A quick kiss brushes his lips, attached to something almost invisible, but not quite.

“Which is all a big ball of semantics.” Jess decides to answer, playful disregard and too-knowing gaze staples in her demeanor, a familiarity so close it almost rips Sam’s heart in two all over again. “You know that.” She smiles at him again, one hand squeezing Sam’s briefly. A human reassurance Sam wishes he didn’t need.

“No.” Sam’s response is too-quick because if it isn’t, he would roll over right now.

“Even at Stanford, you knew.” Jess illuminates, gives voice to the truths Sam is still too-scared to fully accept. And when Sam doesn’t bite, her voice grows sharper, colder, still probing too deeply because if she does maybe Sam will stop fighting her off and just let go, would give them both what they need right now, would at least just give them this, right now. “You knew there was something dark inside of you.”

_Dark and wound up and heavy so I can set you free, so I can rest in your shade to bring you into my light and take every burden off your shoulders. Let me give you this, Sam. Let me help you. Let me love you. Let me in._

And Sam’s soul leaks molten pus from all the places it’s fractured, from the places he needs that cold to desperately fill and patch up.

**Some things can’t be fixed. And I didn’t, I didn’t know that all this… I…**

_Sam, Sammy, you’re making yourself sick. Let me ease this fever, this pain. Let me bring you back to life._

And the thing taking the face of Jessica hugs him close, too gentle and electric and needy (because it's not enough, not yet). But Sam still isn’t caving, bites his lip inside his dream as he pretends to mull this over.

_Sam, I know you feel this between us. What are you so afraid of? Why does the truth hurt you?_

**It doesn’t-**

_Don’t lie._

The other voice picks words out carefully, too precise and too wary to be human anymore.

“Deep down, maybe. You knew. Maybe that’s what got me killed.” And that is the Devil talking, pure and ringing and clear.

_You knew but you didn’t want to accept what it meant. What it means. That denial breaks things, Sam, not you. Never you._

And that is too much for Sam right now, with the tangle of arms and limbs and wings and mouths between them, still holding Sam up as he forgets just how to move.

**No, don’t say that, no-**

_Sam, I did not say that to hurt you. I am not blaming you. I’m trying to help you. Please._

And Sam looks up at Jess’s face, throat too tight and expression too pleading.

“No.” Sam’s rote denial burns.

**I would never hurt you like this-**

_I know._

“I was dead from the moment we said hello.” Jess keeps going, insistent, but still not blaming Sam, not really.

_You had no way to fight it, Sam. No way of knowing. This is the only way I could come back to you._

Sam’s voice chokes off too-high, his eyes watering as a muscle starts ticking in his jaw. “No.”

“Don’t you get it? You can’t run from yourself.” And Jess’s voice is still cold but in a crying, mournful, _why-would-you-hurt-yourself-like-this-Sam?_ -way, endless and wanting and gathering Sam up like she can keep him from feeling all the hurt in the world, “Why are you running now?”

And that breaks Sam out of whatever illusion of sleep all this pretends to be, sends the exhaustion and fear hurtling back at breakneck speed.

“Why are you here, Jess?” Sam begs, and his throat bobs as he looks back at Jess, arrested and burning from all the light and love and agony pooling around him, rising level with his neck as he almost starts to drown.

**What do you _want-_**

_I want you, Sam, you-_

“Would you believe I’m actually trying to protect you?”

“From what?”

“You.” And Jess is matter-of-fact, the words music on her tongue.

Sam flinches.

_I always have, Sam. Will you ever believe me again? You know I love you. Why are you pretending that I don’t?_

**That’s not-**

_Isn’t it?_

Sam doesn’t argue. His lip trembles. ‘Jess’ takes his silent “no” for what it is, and the pressure and so-cold-it-is-almost-warm eases off slightly.

_You don’t have to be afraid of me, Sam. You don’t have to be afraid of yourself. Please, Sam, please._

“Sooner or later the past is going to catch up to you like it always does,” Jess adds, “And you know what happens then?”

_Soon I will have caught you. And you can’t keep yourself going like this forever. Sam, there are so many monsters out there want to hurt you. The least I can do is keep you safe. Keep you from hurting. But if nothing else, Sam, please don’t hurt yourself because you are scared of what we have. Of me. I can’t bear it. And I know you can’t, either. Please._

Sam looks down, his teeth grinding together in a nervous tic he thought he’d fought off.

**This is not about me-**

_Yes, it is._

**I can’t let it be about me-**

_You can. Please, Sam. You have to._

“People die. Baby, the people closest to you die.” The Devil takes no prisoners.

_But I won’t leave you, Sam. I won’t._

Sam’s eyebrows raise because he finds he can’t quite move anything else.

“Well, don’t worry, because I won’t make that mistake again.” And Sam’s voice is too raw, the raw nerve too flayed and beaten.

**Are… are you threatening me? Because I won’t let your people hurt anyone else, I won’t-**

_You know I’m not. You want to protect everyone, Sam, but you can’t. It’s not possible. You are setting yourself up for failure. Why are you so addicted to pain?_

“Same song, different verse.” Jess’s voice is all ice.

**I just want, I need, this isn’t-**

And Sam is frozen, every muscle in his body wanting to just let go or run or hide or give in right then and there.

_Give yourself a break._

“Sam, things are never going to change with you.” Jess’s voice is jarring, two frequencies singing the same tune.

_I know you know it. I know it. You don’t have to fight a battle you can’t win._

And Jess’s face grimaces in pain and fear. “Ever.”

_Let me save you like I always do, Sam. Please. I love you too much to let you hurt yourself like this. It’s too much._

And Sam doesn’t answer. Nods his head and chokes the pain sharp against his throat and looks down like everything isn’t shattering into a billion panes of glass.

But Jess doesn’t leave.

_Oh, Sam._

She just gathers Sam in her arms, hugs him close, all human and real and with a cold warmth so soft it always feels like Sam has finally found his way home.

_I love you. Let that be enough, right now._

And Sam can’t hold on to anything else anymore. He gives himself over to the Devil (and the Devil gives itself up to Sam) until daybreak drags them out of each other’s tangled embrace.

Sam doesn’t try to win the arguments.

There was no winning.

Only love too bright and beautiful and violent, too full of a promise Sam isn’t ready to believe but that Sam feels with all his heart, anyway.


	23. Matches to Paper Dolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s5e3 the sequel
> 
> chapter title a song by dessa

“Come on, you know you want it, Sam. Just reach out and take it.” Tim steps closer.

And then Sam is fighting Reggie and Tim off, but it’s not a fair fight, and he smells hellfire and blood and sulfur as the cap opens.

The demon blood gets forced down Sam’s throat.

They leap back and Sam rises, and then he spits it most of it back in their faces.

But with the small amount that went down, well…

Every particle of Sam sings with it.

And something else sings back in answer, a bright line stretching out from Sam's soul that only Sam can see.

There’s a blond haired, blue eyed man in a green shirt entering the bar now, hands in his pockets of his jeans. Reggie and Tim stand frozen in place, as does Lindsay.

_Sam. You are a sight for sore eyes. Although, I wish it was under better circumstances. Still, the real thing always beats seeing you behind prison glass._

Sam stumbles backwards, his breath frosting over. The line keens between them, bright and tangible and so cold it's burning. Sam almost collapses from the feeling right then and there, wants to throw himself in the arms of the stranger who is not quite a stranger, not really.

All of Sam's willpower focuses on not moving an inch, because any moment he might make is suspect at this point. He can heart every one of his heartbeats pounding in his ears.

“You really have a thing for blondes, you know. Jess, Brady, Amy, Will, Rachel, oh, that tall one, Eli from middle school, this one,” The new voice cuts in, pointing at Lindsay, and his voice is the only thing that feels tangible and is thrown into sharp relief. 

_And me, if you don't mind me saying. I know your type._

Sam's thought swim so hard he can't quite string them together.

The being behind the blue eyes of this man that keeps haunting Sam's dreams gives the room a cursory glance and a small, disingenuous smile to the bartender. “Lindsey, right?”

"Don't hurt them." Sam's voice is too tight once he finds it. It sounds miles off, his mouth a disconnected part of him.

Blue eyes look at him, like Sam is a sunset a blind man can see for the first time.

The hairs on the nape of Sam's neck rise.

"You don't have to be afraid, Sam. I just popped in to make sure you are holding up okay. And what do I find? These two, roughing you up and threatening damsels in distress." His tongue clicks, disproving. "Silver lining, though, I found you. So it all works out, in the end."

Sam knows this feeling is more than fear and love and terror, but still somehow notes the convenient evasion where he didn't actually say he wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Who are you?" Lindsay asks shakily. The stranger Sam remains steadfastly in denial about tilts his head.

"You can call me Nick. How's that sound?" And then he winks at Sam. "Sam here knows me by other names, but we can keep that between us. Old friends, and all that."

"You should leave." Sam's voice is shaky. He can feel himself shivering, the goose-flesh prickling over him. The smell of ozone and apples and ice wafts by.

"Oh, but Sam, I'm trying to be a good Samaritan here, and I promised I'd keep you safe."

_And I'm not one for what I should be doing, if you get me?_

He points to Lindsay. "Besides, this one shouldn't walk home alone in the dark. Nor should you, in your condition." A few fingers rest and tap lazily over 'Nick's' chin as he adds, "There so many things waiting out there to take advantage. What do you think, Lindsay? You want a safe ride home? Don't worry, you don't have to answer, I can hear your prayers to get out of here clear as day."

Then "Nick" waves, and Lindsay is gone.

_She's safe at home and unharmed, Sam. Don't need to worry your pretty little head._

Tim and Reggie are still frozen.

Sam takes the chance and lunges, then grabs the knife from the table as if it will do anything at all.

"Stay back."

'Nick' stops short, arms crossed.

"Sam. What exactly do you think I'm going to do?"

 **I don't know. That's what scares me**.

_Relax, Sam, I would never lie to you. I'm here to protect you. And I told you who I was from the beginning, remember? Not that you took it seriously. But all that's ancient history. No need to become all suspicious on me now._

Every nerve of Sam's keeps singing, chords slowly building to a crescendo, drawing out the feeling so Sam can't help but pray never ends.

"How did you find me?"

'Nick' gestures between them. "Do you really have to ask?"

And Sam licks his lips, almost falls to his knees as the line hums and keens and chimes between them, strumming at the attention, filling Sam with a feeling he'd only ever felt around Jess, only more, so much more...

All of Sam aches with ice and heat and blood and something so animal it makes his teeth ring, shuddering with adrenaline and ecstasy and something so bright and frozen his eyes and mouth and body almost can't take it in. Feels something soft hug around him, light and airy, barely glancing over his skin.

Sam's composure rebuilds itself too slowly.

At Sam's newly accusatory expression, 'Nick' sighs, his hands falling to settle at his waist. "As you wish. The blood ties us together, Sam. And now that I'm out, well, every time you take a drink, we grow closer. Think of it like..." And 'Nick' waves, all motion, always moving, except when he isn't, "Instant GPS."

Sam's voice goes off-line as his brain shuts off again. Another wave nearly sends him sprawling, his heart pumping the blood faster and faster. Sam can almost feel invasion spreading like a virus, infecting each cell one beat at a time.

"Anyway. You could use some TLC. So, I'm going to handle these two, and then walk you home. Sound like a plan?"

"Don't kill them." Sam's scratchy voice grates out. The posture of his spine wavers.

Something old and beautiful and terrible stares back at him from those bright blue eyes.

Sam keeps shivering as he tries to plant his feet.

'Nick's' voice is still melodious, but Sam hears an undercurrent he's never used with Sam before, more than reproving, promising bloodshed. "Sam. They attacked you. They hurt you. And after everyone keeps ignoring my wishes to the contrary, there needs to be some consequences. This is just me, being... proactive. Otherwise, how else will anyone take my orders seriously?"

_Unnecessary oversights have put you in jeopardy, Sam. It's gone on long enough already._

Then he twists a hand. Reggie and Tim cough up their guts and fall to the floor, eyes blank.

Dead.

**Oh, God.**

_Not quite. Deep breaths, Sam. It's not like they didn't have it coming. And I have a right to judge them. It's practically my job description._

**That's not-**

_Isn't it? Search your feelings, Sammy. You know it to be true._ 'Nick' quotes as he steps closer.

Sam starts drowning, can't quite hold himself upright without the table he's stumbled into.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Sam's voice is more raw and less composed than he wants. The table shudders and breaks apart from Sam's strength, from the shaking.

The line is the only thing keeping Sam upright now.

"Well, I hate to be a downer, but you're currently under the influence, so you can't really make that call right now. Let me be your designated driver for the night, baby."

_I'm all you have on retainer, Sammy. You've been avoiding everyone else._

And Sam keeps shaking even more, dizzy with need as the full force of the blood and the light crashes over him like a tidal wave. It all hits harder than usual, after Sam's gone so long without.

'Nick' is suddenly standing right in front of him, arms holding Sam upright, and Sam's quite not sure when he got there. Blue eyes look Sam up and down. Can see just every feeling Sam's trying his hardest not to feel.

"Don't worry, though. I won't try anything. I would never do that to you, Sam. I'm not Ruby, and quite frankly, that's the last thing you need right now, after what those two did to you."

And then the knife is being gently pulled out of Sam's hand, and there's another hand walking him out the door, and Sam's feet are following, following, Sam isn't sure if he can quite move his legs on his own...

"I'd fly you home to your motel, Sam. But I need to name to match the destination. You mind if I take you somewhere else? Somewhere fancy while you recoup?"

Sam's mind whirs, miles away.

His mouth speaks the name of his motel on autopilot, not wanting to be taken anywhere out of his element.

And then they're there.

Lucifer guides Sam down on the bed and tucks him under the covers, fully clothed. Although, he does clean off the blood.

"You sit tight, Sam. You want some water?" A hand rustles through Sam's hair.

"Why are you doing this?" Sam manages to ask, still overwhelmed.

_I'll take that as a maybe._

"Because I love you, Sam. And I want to take care of you. Now, rest up. I'll be right here if you need anything."

Sam passes out as the feeling gets him and becomes more than anything he's ever felt before-

This time, no one visits him in his dreams.

\--

When Sam wakes, he can smell something cooking from the small outcropping that was almost a kitchen.

He dozes, comfortable, and then everything floods back and he's jerking back the covers only to get more tangled when leaping up and-

'Nick' is right there.

There's omelet on a skillet in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.

"Sleep well?"

Sam crawls backwards over the bed.

"You're real."

"Yes."

"This isn't a dream."

"Not at all."

Sam's brain shuts off again as he huddles under the sheets.

'Nick' sighs. "Sam, you are being deliberately cruel to yourself again. Stop it."

_Sam, you've been lonely and alone and starving for any physical contact or kindness for MONTHS. Let us have this. I promise I'll only stay as long as you need me. I'll play by your rules. Won't do anything you don't want. Deal?_

And then 'Nick' sits down next to him.

Sam doesn't say anything. His mouth, his tongue, won't move quite right.

And that chiming, blissful feeling of _Sam, Sam, Sam,_ still shorts him out from sheer proximity, just like it had felt when Sam stood arrested and motionless as the last seal broke and-

**No. Not thinking about it.**

The omelette is on a plate now and being shoved into Sam's hand, a fork clinking as it shifts across the ceramic.

"It's your favorite recipe. The way you always like it." 'Nick' encourages.

Sam takes it and puts it on the side table, same as the glass of water.

"It's not poisoned."

"I know." Sam whispers. Sam inhales the smell of fire and smoke and ice and dirt and ozone, and Sam's not sure if that's him or 'Nick,' as Sam keeps trying to center himself.

**You're really real?**

_Absolutely 100% here, Sam._

There's a hand rubbing Sam's back. Solid. Real. As human as anything Sam could crave, even while Sam feels more than that.

"I should go." Sam manages to say.

'Nick' looks at him and withdraws his hand as Sam attempts to get up, expression unreadable. "If that's what you really want... But you should still rest, Sam. I can mute some of the effects, but the withdrawal will take a lot out of you. Best to wait 'til it's all out of your system."

Sam stumbles, and 'Nick' catches him. Helps him back down to the bed.

Sam tries to remember why he should be fighting.

**I... I can't do this, you killed them, your disasters and demons are still killing people, and it's all my fault-**

_No, Sam, no. The other side has just as much blood on its hands. Besides, Sam, I can make a few calls. Grant my children a few vacation days, if that's what it takes to get you to calm down. I'll do it right now, if you like. And stop mourning those who don't deserve your consideration, Sam. Those two hunters, who, may I remind you, accosted you and a relatively innocent woman (by your standards), got what they deserved._

Sam tries not to pitch forwards into 'Nick's' chest. Can barely stay upright.

"What are you even doing here?" Sam finally lets out all the emotions he's been trying to reign in. "What do you want?"

'Nick' doesn't touch him except to hold Sam steady, although one thumb does brush across Sam's hand.

"Like I said. I'm trying to protect you, Sam. And right now, I'm just trying to keep you company. I miss us. And you need me. Think of it this way: all the time I spend with you, I'm not getting down and dirty with the End of Days everyone's been so focused on. That put things into perspective for you?"

Sam nods.

He can do this. He can.

'Nick' wordlessly fluffs the pillows and readjusts the sheets as Sam settles back down.

There's a hand guiding Sam's head upright as it keeps him from slamming back into the headboard.

Sam pretends this entire concept is more unpleasant and as awful as he wishes it really felt like.

But it all feels like Jess.

**Like home.**

'Nick' smiles like the sunrise reflecting over a still pond, bright and endless and clear.

"Okay." Sam starts, gathers his too scratchy voice as he sits upright, still trembling.

His hand shakes as he picks up the fork and plate.

Two hands clasp together as blue eyes watch Sam scarf down the eggs. Then an arm reaches out, and Sam chugs the water like he's downing shots.

**Can you not watch me so...**

_Intently? Sorry. I'll try to reign it in. I just missed you so much, Sam. You have no idea._

**I sort of do. You remind me all the time.**

_Okay, fair. Can't help it. Sue me._

**I might take you up on that.**

_You can still take the bar exam, you know. Probably won't be too useful, when all is said and done-_

**Hard pass**. Sam feels something bitter filter through before its gone. Then there's a gentle feeling of something else, something melancholy, that floats in to replace it.

_If you didn't go back into the family business, I wouldn't be able to see you again, Sammy. Is that what you would have really wanted?_

And then reality settles fully over Sam, and he mourns for what he wishes this was. What he pretends this could be.

He pushes those thoughts aside. They aren't helping.

"So." Sam says once he finishes, willing to do anything to change the subject. 

**What now?**

'Nick' shrugs, just as eager to move on. "You're going to feel it hit you harder again in another 20 minutes. I can tone it down through proximity, but it's not foolproof... unless..." 'Nick' trails off, for once looking less than certain.

"What." Sam doesn't like where this is going.

'Nick' hunches over himself.

"I can give you my blood."

_Sore subject, I know._

Sam freezes, mouth dry.

"It won't hurt you. Will cancel all those nasty aftereffects out. But I don't think you are in a place to be on board with it-"

"You thought right." Sam's voice is more than derisive.

**I've already been down that road. No thanks.**

_It's not the same, Sam. But you'll come 'round when you need it. No need to rush things along._

**That's not ominous or threatening at all.**

_It's really not meant to be, Sam. Time... the concept, the way I see things, it's a tricky thing for us to be on the same wavelength. Cut me some slack. I'm trying my best._

**I think you forgot some things while you were gone.**

_You can re-teach me._

**I doubt that. You were never on time even when we set alarms.**

_Fair._

They sit in silence, whatever this is humming between them.

"Am I just sitting in this motel room while you just... stay here?" Sam asks, shifting. It was easy just to get lost in... whatever the whispers and singing around him is. Easy as floating away.

'Nick' shrugs again, face still unreadable.

"I can leave, but then the hallucinations are going to hit you with a vengeance."

"Let's test that."

'Nick' flies off to prove his point.

Sam goes under immediately after, but it passes a second later when 'Nick' flies back, impatient, not willing to draw this out longer than necessary.

The whiplash between agony and ecstasy makes every part of Sam ache.

"You okay, Sam?" 'Nick's' voice is too soft. Intonations too much like Jess.

**What do you think?**

And then there's a hand rubbing his shoulder. Sam's feels the fingertips glance over his neck slightly, and tries not to lean into it.

"Dealing." Sam voice still drips with suspicion.

'Nick' gives him a crestfallen look.

_I told you I would never lie to you, Sam._

**I heard you the first time.**

_It would be nice if you actually believed me._

**Once bitten, twice shy.**

"That wasn't me, Sam." 'Nick' says quietly. "I'm not the one who hurt you."

And Sam lets some of his frustration out.

"Not directly. But you hurt other people. That hurts me. And your lackeys. They worked for you. They hurt me."

**Everything they did was on your orders.**

"I don't know if you noticed, but demons don't listen very well."

"Then you should have been more specific-"

"Sam-"

**Don't make excuses.**

_I'm not._

**You set this up. Set me up.**

_I_ _ache for the pain inflicted on you, Sam. But I don't regret anything that brought me back to you. Don't you understand? There was no way for Jess to last forever, I couldn't stay there with you no matter how hard I tried, she would have burned and I would have been trapped forever. Knowing that, wouldn't you do the same, in my position?_

Then Sam's lurching away again, still tangled in the sheets.

Anytime he loves someone, it's always too good to be true, whenever he lets people in. And Sam can't keep doing this, he can't keep feeling this only to have the wool ripped from his eyes again.

"No! What do you really want? Why are you doing this to me?"

Sam feels the tears well up and starts collapsing in on himself despite everything, the physical strain of the past few months and the isolation and yesterday hitting him like a riptide. There is too much exhaustion, too much guilt, too much anger and need and loneliness weighing him down, crushing him...

_Because I love you, Sam, more than anything. More than the world._

'Nick' hugs him close.

Sam feels the softest of wings curl around him. He nestles closer.

Deep down, he wishes for it to never stop.

"I never meant to hurt you, Sam. I'm just doing everything I need to win. That's all. Once we win, we'll be together. That's what I've always wanted."

Sam doesn't pull away.

**No matter what it does to everyone else, right? Like the person you are possessing right now? No price too high to pay to get what you want?**

_Sam, there's no one in this body but me. I gave the previous tenant peace. They just wanted to be with their family, in Heaven. I just answered their prayer._

Sam can't quite keeping fighting the feelings off now, and he kisses him like the weak, starving failure he knows he is.

**Fuck.**

'Nick' doesn't kiss back.

_You're not all there yet, Sam. I promised I wouldn't take advantage, no matter how much I want this, too. Please don't feel bad. We have time._

Sam isn't sure there is enough alcohol in the world stronger than the force of his own denial.

And damn it all to Hell, Sam wasn't supposed to feel this, he told himself he wouldn't let this happen again, but here he is-

_Stop it, Sam. You can't control your heart, anymore than I can control mine._

Sam pulls away.

"Sorry."

"Don't. You needed this. I'm here. I'm told you. I'm able and willing to give you anything you need."

"Except not end the world." Sam accuses. 'Nick' brushes the hair out of his eyes.

"...Sam, you know why that can't happen. I can't protect you, can't save you, if I don't win."

Sam looks away.

_Hey, maybe when the shakes wear off, I can take you out, just like we used to. What do you think? Should be over with in 6 hours. Or maybe we can take it easy. Go slow. Whatever you need, Sam._

"Can I have more water, please?"

'Nick' obliges, and Sam drinks.

**Let's say I take you up on the offer. What did you have in mind?**

_Dinner and a movie? I just like being near you again, Sam. We can do whatever you want. We could watch Princess Bride, again. I liked that one._

It's official. Sam's life has completely gone all the way off the rails.

Still, anything to put the Apocalypse on hold... At least, that's what Sam keeps telling himself.

The irrational thought to call Bobby, to pray to Cas, to talk to Dean and say, "Hey, my almost fiancee isn't human and is really behind everything and right now they're putting off the end of the world because they miss me," crosses Sam's brain, hysterical and intrusive.

Sam doesn't know where his phone went.

He doesn't really care, right now.

He just needs someone near him again. Someone who doesn't look at him like he's a monster or a bomb about to go off or like a speck of dirt.

Like he's just Sam.

Like Sam is good enough.

Just like Jess and Nick, and the consciousness inside them, always does.

\--

Six or so hours later, Sam leans into 'Nick's' embrace, the glow of the television flickering over them.

'Nick's' arm wraps under him, arms keeping Sam as close as possible, their heads brushing together.

Nick's hair is soft, his stubble almost clean-shaven when Sam feels it flit over the back of his head.

The green hoodie feels soft and warm, despite the cold.

Sam wonders if its so cold that the warmth is an illusion.

\--

'Nick' ends up staying for a week.

Sam sobers up by day two.

And Sam doesn't let himself feel guilty for taking this, for every touch and kiss and moment.

Besides, there have been no infernal omens on the news, nothing except for what 'Nick' says are not him, not his people, and he will prove it any way he must.

Sam believes him. Checks Revelations. Knows the signs that crop up are all Heaven.

Wishes he wasn't grateful, knows he's praying to something he probably shouldn't.

\--

Messages light up Sam's unanswered phone as it buzzes on the bedside table.

'Nick' keeps fucking Sam into the mattress without regrets.

He isn't entirely gentle, not like he had been their first time like this on the third night, and he hasn't been holding back ever since.

Sam melts into the fervent need and furious pace without restraint. He feels no shame for begging, for asking for it, for initiating to begin with.

Doesn't scream any names. (That would break his carefully crafted denial, would bring all of Sam's safety nets tumbling down.)

Just cries out, "More. I need you, please," Until he's inarticulate.

And then Sam undoes 'Nick' himself.

Sam doesn't know when he'll ever have this again. But doesn't want to give it up.

'Nick' is all too happy to oblige, because he missed Sam. Missed their physicality outside of dreams.

(Unbeknownst to Sam, the inhuman thing he loves wants to be even closer, but this is the closest it'll get for now, so it takes what it can get. And it did like having Sam like this, seeing Sam from the outside in. His body, their body, was a work of art, was gorgeous, and Sam's expressions and human weakness awoke something else in the Archangel, something he would almost miss, even if he'd never admit it.)

Sam pretends he allows this for unselfish reasons. That every night he gives up is another piece of the Apocalypse driven off-track. 

It's nothing like Ruby and not the same as anyone else, never has been, because 'Nick' is more than that, and he knows Sam inside and out.

And he doesn't ask for anything Sam can't give. Not like this. (Not yet, anyway.)

It's almost like Jess, the same feeling of rightness, but otherwise entirely different.

But it is always bright, and cold, and good.

Their closeness fills Sam up like nothing else. He wonders if love, too bright, too alive, can be considered worse than addiction.

'Nick' doesn't let Sam dwell on the concept.

\--

Sam flips open his phone with fumbling hands when he sees the caller ID light up again a few hours later.

'Nick' still nestled against him, arms and legs tangled around Sam's, as quiet as the grave.

Doesn't make a move to stop him. Hasn't every time the phone rang.

"Hey, Sam."

It's Dean.

"Hi." Sam;s voice breaks, too quiet. He tries not to let all the abandonment, how much he misses him, out. Tries to keep a lid on the still-festering despondence that Dean still didn't trust him, the doubt that Sam's heart is in the right place, but he doesn't entirely succeed, because Sam still doesn't trust himself, although he knows he has the best of intentions.

And 'Nick' can only assuage so much loneliness, because Sam won't let him be everything, won't let him take too much, because that was too dangerous, too close to falling off the cliff Sam's been trying to claw his way back from this entire time, ever since Ruby broke something Sam pretends isn't broken. And it's not the same kind of loneliness, there's more than one eating Sam alive. And the bonds of family are one of them.

Sam misses home, misses Bobby's, hell, even misses Castiel sometimes, standoffish as he is. But he'd be lying if he didn't admit he misses his life with Jess more.

"You doing okay?"

"Yeah. Better than usual." Sam admits. It's not a lie.

"That's... that's good." Dean's voice is grainy and far away. "You hear the news?"

"No. I've been off the grid for a week, Dean. Researching the lore to try and see what will come next, lying low, that sort of thing." Sam's voice remains steady even when there's a kiss being pressed into his neck, long and soft suction that Sam's body trembles with from head to toe. "But I've been avoiding the TV, papers, everything. I just... It felt like the right thing to do." Sam settles on.

"Well, that's probably for the best. Because, uh, word on the street is, the Devil's been keeping a lid on things. Hasn't been raising Hellfire and Judgement down. The angels have been freaking out about it so much Cas has been getting headaches, and demons won't say anything, although the few we've been able to summon say they've been allowed a break, whatever that means. So you're probably better off hiding from him until we figure out what he's up to."

'Nick' keeps playing with Sam's hair, fingers stroking down Sam's torso, rubbing circles into Sam's back and legs and chest and-

Sam intakes too much air.

"Sounds like a plan."

"Oh, before I forget. We found Raphael. Got him to talk. He thinks God is dead. Not trying to be the bearer of bad news. But we trapped him in Holy Fire. So that's... something. Figured you should know."

 _Ooooh, I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that one._ _And ha! God. Dead. As if. Raphael never had much imagination. Always needed instructions down to the letter. The truth is worse, Sam. Much worse. But if you don't mind, I'd rather not think about that, while we're like this. Just an idea._

**I didn't say anything, did I? That was all you.**

_True. My lips are sealed. Well, except for what they're going to be doing to you, Sammy._

"That's... that's something, I guess. Thanks for telling me." Sam's not sure when his tone became so stilted. "I'll see if I can find anything that might keep him off your trail, something that might help us see how long he'll be trapped..."

_I take it I'm your resource, Sam?_

**Don't.**

_I'm only playing around. But you're right. Let's not spoil the mood._

"Well, good luck with that. Man, he gave me the creeps. Don't tell anyone I said that." Dean's voice keeps going as 'Nick' bites Sam, lightly, then resettles, his head resting in the crook of Sam's neck. Hands wandering other places, much lower.

 _No one has done anything so bad that they can't be forgiven_ , Sam hears Lindsay's words echo inside his head.

Sam had started to believe it, just a little. But now, not sure that applies to everyone, when all is said and done.

"Um, Dean, I have to go. Stay safe."

"Sam... you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I promise." Sam's voice is stronger, this time.

"...Okay." Dean definitely doesn't believe him.

"It's just... I'm not alone, at the moment. Can't be researching all the time." Sam tries to break the news as discreetly as possible. "But I didn't want to ignore your call."

"Oh. Oh! Well, I'll leave you to it. Have fun. Um. You check that they aren't-"

"They are not a demon, Dean. Or a monster. Farthest thing from it." Still not a lie, if Sam's technical about it. He doesn't feel guilty, because saying otherwise would be a lie, would hurt the being lying next to him. But he does feel a bit more unclean for leading Dean to his own conclusions.

"Okay, okay. Just checking. Don't want another recap of Ruby, am I right?" Dean's joke doesn't hide the real fear and bitterness well. Never has. Dean's not one to hold back.

Any feelings of impurity or doubt Sam has disappear abruptly at the words.

"You and me both." Sam's voice is a bit sharper than intended.

"Well... You take care of yourself, Sam."

Dean hangs up.

'Nick' doesn't hold in the laughter and draws Sam in close again.

\--

After the week, 'Nick' doesn't apologize for what he's going to do. He never does.

But he does say other things, make other promises, tells Sam any pain he might feel is something he wishes was avoidable, but that he'll make it up to Sam by the end.

Says he has to win this, for them, that he can't hold this off any longer.

Excuses it all on the basis that he can't jeopardize even the possibility of losing Sam.

There are other reasons, less unselfish ones that they both don't talk about. Sam can guess them well enough.

And Sam vows he'll stop him. Whatever it takes.

_I know you'll try your best, Sam. But I won't lose you, Sam. I won't._

'Nick' kisses him goodbye.

They both know the parting is temporary.

_Next time, Sam, please don't think less of me. I meant every word I said._

\--

Jess and Nick never stop visiting Sam in his sleep, even after Sam meets up with Dean again.

Sam knows he can't hide much longer.

Can feel the future closing in on him, rumbling closer, just like Jess predicted.


	24. Rickrolled By The Devil And All I Got Was This Awful T-Shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S5E3.
> 
> Also this is still the best chapter title I have ever written.

When Sam hears Jess’s voice and she is back with him, he doesn’t want to let her go. He just feels the burning of her presence, the cold but distinct weight of her next to him, the softness with which she carries herself with, all regal and solid and not like a dream at all.

But when Sam hears her speak, he can feel a line of steel running through it all, and he knows that this time it’s different, that this time there’s no hiding from what’s out there, from what’s next to him, from what’s been dogging his steps this whole time, Sam's whole life.

No hiding now, not after those nights they shared, when Sam wasn't with Jess or Nick but still pretended otherwise.

And 'Jess' had kept visiting him for weeks still, as had Nick, maybe trying to ease into this slowly, maybe as reluctant to give up what they had as much as Sam. Neither of them have ever wanted Sam to run, have always believed in him, and still confide in him, but Sam doesn’t want to acknowledge the rest.

But both of them know that this time is not the same.

Sam still pretends. He doesn’t know what he knows. He doesn’t want to.

Not quite yet.

Not if it means he actually has to fight someone he's loved for too long, despite the reality of the situation.

Sam would give that love up, if push came to shove, because there were no other real options, and no other way to protect everyone else because Sam already knew that what he had sprung from captivity was out for blood.

But not yet. Not if he could do something to fix this.

“Sam, this is your life now?” Jess starts, eyes not leaving his. Sam almost thinks there’s sadness there, but there’s a note of triumph, too, and Sam doesn’t know which is worse. But he agrees. He did not see his life ending up like this, either.

Jess strokes his face with familiarity, with ease, and Sam leans into it. He wants this back more than anything in the world.

“Do you think you can just live forever with your head buried in the sand?” Jess whispers, one finger glancing off Sam's collarbone. She won’t let him forget, won’t let him hide, and the feeling between them just grows stronger and stronger.

He leans down and kisses her, and she kisses back feather-light, then harder.

Sam pulls back and sighs. He swallows, and then the guilt and fear starts to rebuild itself up again. It’s still held back, though, because Sam knows what he needs to do. Jess pulls away, mindful of his discomfort. Reassuring, but waiting, all the same.

He can believe enough for the both of them, can’t he?

And Sam, he knows one thing for sure.

“I love you, Jess.”

And Jess knows it, savors it, looks at Sam like he is something above everything else, like he’s just Sam, as if being just Sam is enough, is worthy of that love.

Sam turns, can’t look at her anymore, can’t say what he needs to say when that love is nakedly staring back at him. She rises with him, following, always following.

“God knows how much I miss you, too.” He continues, unable to shake the feeling that whatever was coming next, he had to let the dream go. Jess was gone except she wasn’t and he knew that something was going to go wrong, just like it always did. Maybe it was the latent precognition, maybe just Sam giving himself the right to let go, but he could feel a room as well as anyone else. He can feel her kneeling right beside him, eyes at his back, waiting.

Sam takes a breath and gathers his thoughts anyway. “But you’re wrong.” He feels Jess stiffen and it almost tears his heart apart, but he keeps going, “People can change.”

 **I can change. And everything changed so much already. How do I know you haven’t changed, too?** He doesn’t say. **How do I know this change will be any good?**

The rest of his words are resolute, but still wooden.

“There is reason for hope.” If only Sam really believed that, could really endorse what he was selling. But he had to. He had to believe. He had to make himself believe or all of this was going to be so much harder. He hopes it is enough.

But somewhere, his soul knows Jess and Nick and the being they truly are, and Sam isn't too sure of his own convictions anymore. He buries those feelings down deeper, too.

Jess’s fingers card through his hair, and Sam re-centers, is more than glad she isn’t angry, grateful there is still something comforting despite the ice he can feel heading toward him.

“No, Sam.” Jess’s voice is precise, and her hand is heavy on his shoulder, possessive, yet deceptively light. “There isn’t.”

And just like that, the ice settles. No running from the truth anymore.

Sam still isn’t ready, despite everything he knows. Despite the sunbursts singing around him, _Sam, Sam, Sam,_ the heady feeling suffocating him with feeling too alive.

“How can you be so sure?” He hears himself answer.

And Jess’s voice changes, because “Jess” isn’t Jess at all.

“Because you freed me.” Lucifer breaks the news gently, as if the moment wasn’t sudden enough, hand pressing tighter around his shoulder, one small intended comfort still gone horribly awry.

With pretense of “Jess” gone, the blanket of denial leaves Sam fast as a lightning strike. It's not that he's Nick, either, Sam knew that already, and Hell, Sam would pretend for "Nick," too, if that would help.

It's the fact there is no more hiding from the truth. That now, Sam has to face reality head on.

Sam turns and freezes, hyperventilating as his body keels off-balance, subconsciously not ready to reconcile the three-that-were-one the whole damn time. All the familiar things are familiar but not quite the same; not enough to quell the fear that been threatening to drag him under since this whole doomsday plot began.

He backs away slowly, as far as he can.

“That’s right. You know who I am.” Lucifer says. He doesn’t pull punches, doesn’t let the pretense stand.

 _Sam. You’ve always known._ The grace purrs, and Sam almost caves, but he can’t bear something so close to betrayal, not now.

“Lucifer.” Sam answers. The Devil’s true name sits heavy on his tongue, full with the fear of a lifetime, too alien to the name he was wearing not-so-long before. The name of the thing that loved him for so long only to be lost and then found in the worst way Sam could imagine.

Lucifer doesn’t let him fall into shock, not when they have so much to discuss.

“You’re a hard one to find, Sam,” The Devil sounds proud of the fact, as if this was expected. Jokes, as if he didn't already know where Sam had been a few weeks prior. “Harder than most humans.” He adds, as if Sam wasn’t, in fact, one of them.

Sam doesn’t say anything. It’s all too much to process, now that it’s all real. Lucifer picks up on it, infusing his next words with more quiet.

“I don’t suppose you’d tell me where you are?” And the hopeful playfulness is back, still infused with some irony Sam can't ignore, an unintended mockery of what Jess once was, once upon a time.

_Want to grant me another night?_

The similarity of both jolts the silence from Sam and mute shock gives way.

“What do you want with me?” Sam asks too quickly, and ignores the proposition. He doubts he’ll like what he hears, all things considered, and Sam doubts that's all Lucifer is after. 

The Devil takes his time, although the his answer still bites.

“Thanks to you, I walk the earth.” He says evenly. His eyes rake over Sam, as if drinking in every inch of him.

_Isn’t that not reason enough?_

Looks at Sam as if he hasn't truly seen him before. Although he has, so many times.

 **What changed?** Sam's prayer is immediate. **Why now?**

_We couldn't avoid discussing the obvious forever, Sam. And you deserve proper answers for once, don't you think? There are plans set in motion, plans you are a part of no matter how much you try to hide._

Sam swallows, and the Devil doesn’t move his eyes from his face, still unflinching, uncowed by the change in whatever this was. Maybe he thought things hadn’t really changed, for them, despite this.

 **Try again,** Sam thinks. Lucifer takes the hint.

“I want to give you a gift.” Lucifer continues, tender, half-begging, as if he knows he’s what Sam fears most and he’s trying his best not to scare him away, “I want to give you everything.”

_I want to give you more than I've ever given you, Sammy._

The feeling like static and ozone and the deep cold of the sea, of a billion fingertips and fronds and the unwinding of the cosmos, an unseeing energy like the colors dancing below one’s eyelids, swells and fills the room, not accustomed to resistance.

Sam had grown used to the ghosts of it, of the grace he pretended was anything else. The feel of it had never felt so strong as it did now, except when Lucifer held him and never asked for anything but Sam's love.

As if Sam will accept that. Accept this "gift," and all its consequences. As if he would make the rest of this easy.

Sam is not going to help Lucifer win this war, and he knows Lucifer doesn't really believe him. Sam has guessed enough despite the denial he's let grow inside him. And now he lets the smaller rages, the other betrayals, out to play, now that his only way of coping has been torn down.

“I don’t want _anything_ from you.” Sam spits. He lets the righteous, bitter, fervent rage in all over again, because every time he thinks he’s found someone who loves him, there is always a price-tag attached. Hunting, demon blood, and all the rest – Jess was supposed to be different. **No, you were different,** Sam prays, because the haziness of the delineation was slowly eating him alive.

_You really are human, Sam. You take to lying like breathing. I haven't lied, Sam. I love you. But you can't stay on the sidelines anymore, no matter what you think._

Otherwise, the Devil doesn’t take the bait, and looks back at him skeptically. The look is all Jess, all patience and acerbic stubbornness. It stops Sam in his tracks, and his heart skips a beat. Then another, and another.

Sam doesn’t know how to fight that. He gears up for a fight, anyway.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I really am. But,” Lucifer cuts in, motioning to himself, “Nick here is just an improvisation. Plan B. Can barely contain me without spontaneously combusting.”

Lucifer talks as if it’s a minor inconvenience. Sam’s fight gives way, just a little, to make room for confusion.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asks.

The Devil rises to his feet. Sam starts to back away.

“Why do you think you were in that Chapel?” Lucifer asks him, unhappy with the distance and no longer willing to play along. The distance was a formality, a way of easing the news gently, but now that it was broken, there wasn’t much holding him back.

The Devil steps closer and closer, deliberately slow, as if cornering an already frightened animal, which wasn’t too far off the mark. He puts his hands together as if in afterthought, as if praying, as if that makes this any less terrifying. As if this hasn’t been what Sam has been running from his entire life, subconsciously or no.

“You’re the one, Sam.” Lucifer breathes, unquestioning, certain, halfway worshipful.

 _You’re mine. All mine._ Sam flinches, but the words keep swirling anyway. Sam can’t shake the possessive, familiar voice of Jess combined with Nick combined with Lucifer, a more-than-tritone reverb of a fallen archangel in all its keening glory, each part caressing every inch of him like invisible folds of wings. Content and hungry and teething with emotions Sam can scarcely describe. The whispers and essence of the Devil tempt him through their own want for home, for him, for every inch of his being.

“You’re my vessel.” Lucifer clarifies, stalks forward, then pauses in his advance. “My true vessel.”

“No.” Sam answers. Immediate. Unyielding.

The Devil raises his eyebrows. The cacophony of his presence peals even louder.

“Yes.” Lucifer’s voice brooks no room for argument.

Sam keeps fighting all the projected feelings as they keep washing over him.

**You can take your war and your conditional love and shove it-**

_My love is not conditional, Sam. Never has been. This is just the next step in our relationship. Us, joining together, in a way far beyond flesh and blood. And I promise, it will feel better than anything else we've shared before._

Sam shakes his head. He can’t get enough air anymore, can’t bear any of this, and there is nowhere else to go when trapped inside your own head.

Lucifer’s presence withdraws, taken aback, as if only now realizing its mistake, eagerness scaring Sam more than if Lucifer had just left it alone.

**I am not a body for you to just take control of-**

_It's not control if you're willing and along for the ride, Sam. And it won't be like you're thinking._ Lucifer's grace pauses, trying to find the best equivalency. _This is a union of everything I am, and everything you are. Like a intertwining of souls. Together, like we've always been, as close as we were made to be._

“No. No, that’ll never happen!” Sam repeats, vehement. He can’t seem to look away.

“I’m sorry but it will.” Lucifer replies. He strides forward, and the feeling of cold and bright and omnipresent curls out further around the two of them, as the Devil gives himself permission to invade Sam’s space, to breach the small breadth of emptiness between them all over again.

“I will find you. And when I do… _You will let me in._ ” Lucifer shoots Sam a knowing look, “I’m sure of it.”

_There’s no need to fight me, Sam. I know you’re not ready, not yet._

Lucifer places his hands on Sam’s shoulders, but Sam shakes him off and circles back around. They keep orbiting each other, the bed a silent observer at the dance they’ve begun, and Sam knows it’s not just his body on the line.

_You can’t fight this, Sam. You won’t even want to, when the time comes. We can be together, like we’re meant to. It will be good, and right, and everything you’ve ever needed. Trust me._

Sam stops the sound ringing in his ears dead in its tracks.

“You need my consent.” He interrupts, voice breaking.

The noise and icy fire become discordant, chime echoing away in surprise. Clarity fills Sam with a sense of relief, for one small victory, and he allows himself to crack a small smile despite himself. The demands wouldn’t hold, and this dance wasn’t so different from the others after all. He could still win this.

The Devil crosses his arms, nonplussed, gentleness yielding to an edge before it smooths over. “Of course. I am an angel.” And the wry amusement was back.

_You know that already, Sam. I know you don't need that reminder, not after everything we've shared. Why deny me now? Can’t you feel how we’re already drawn together? After all, we've always been close. And I won’t force you, Sam. You will come to me. Like you always do._

Sam takes a deep breath, not daring to guess his luck. He can still fix this. He can. The Devil can think whatever he damn well wants.

Lucifer waits, and knowing Sam, he’d still encounter some resistance, but Lucifer does not allow himself to grow impatient. He has waited this long. He can wait a bit longer.

“I will kill myself before letting you in.” Sam challenges. It’s not an empty threat. His heart might be breaking, but he didn't have to be what everyone expected, an abomination complicit in the end of the world.

The thought sets Lucifer on edge, makes his blood curdle at the ways Sam has internalized his shame. He reels his disapproval in, but it’s a near thing.

“And I’ll just bring you back.” Lucifer scoffs, as if it were nothing, as if it were an unfortunate, predictable roadblock that would be overcome with a snap of his fingers.

 _Nice try, Sam. No dice._ Sam still feels the unvoiced displeasure, the disgust at the idea that Sam would ever hurt himself, would deny himself the best thing he’d ever be. Would even want to deny the wholeness their union would bring, or compromise their gift of long-earned peace, justice, and absolution.

There was no need to be offended, but Lucifer was still offended, on Sam’s behalf, of course. The Devil knew Sam would come into the fold one way or another. Sam just wasn’t taking the news as expected, wasn’t willing to swallow the destiny he could see webbing out before him. Denial was a human thing, and Sam, for all his virtues, was still frail with his own humanity. He hadn’t had a chance to have it scoured and sanded and freed by the rest of him yet. Time would disabuse him of his pathetic need to punish himself for sins that were never his, for the blame foisted on him by imperfect apes not worthy to kneel at his feet, and then he would welcome Lucifer home, as was always meant to be.

Sam could feel himself careening, the rug pulled out from under him, and his heart shatters all over again. **I don’t need to fight you, we don’t need to do this** _._ He thinks, he prays, internally. **Don’t ask me to provide you with what I can never give.**

_I have no wish to fight you, Sam. You will come to me all on your own. Besides, why would you want to keep us apart? We've always had a good thing, Sammy. We can be good again._

Sam looks like he’s going to collapse, and his forehead gleams with sweat.

“Sam,” The Devil sighs, and looks down almost as if he was regretting all this, for pushing, “My heart breaks for you.” He meets his eyes again, and continues, “The weight on your shoulders.”

Sam could taste the absence of a lie, but it did not stop the metallic taste of existential, animal fear from advancing any further.

“What you’ve done, what you still have to do.” Lucifer keeps going, as if his heart was breaking, too. And perhaps part of it already had, with the Devil prepared to slaughter his fellow angels. “It is more than anyone could bear…”

And isn’t that the truth. Aiding in the genocide of an entire people you belonged to was not something Sam had consciously signed up for, and the feeling of betrayal was still raw and new. Yet Lucifer had resigned himself to the inevitable long before, had eons and eons in confinement to make his peace with the concept. To feel it’s justified.

“If there was some other way… But there isn’t.” The Devil whispers. His certainty chills Sam down to the bone.

_The cold, hard truth of the matter is, our love is still part of this war. And we can't have our victory, not really, unless we fight to win._

Lucifer steps forward.

“I will never lie to you.” He says, unyielding. “I will never trick you.” Lucifer stops, overcome by the weight of that promise, of selling the deal he wants to seal, the complete dominion and suffusion with the entity had been craving for so long. “But you will say yes to me.”

Sam’s voice breaks. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” The Devil growls, “I think I know you better than you know yourself.” He adds, clinical, dry, no more attempts to sugarcoat it.

_You missed me. You said so. Let me have you. Let me keep you safe._

The despair threatens to yank Sam under. All the energy drains out of him like a sieve as he slumps, overcome with a burden he never wanted to endure.

“Why me?”

“Because it had to be you, Sam.” And Lucifer worms back in Sam's space again, his hands settling on Sam’s shoulders, as if he knows this is just going as expected. He finishes, voice softer now, “It always had to be you.”

The cold hard facts of the matter are a hard pill to swallow. Only, Sam still does not accept. Will never accept.

“Get off me.” Sam says though gritted teeth, shaking off Lucifer’s grip. The Devil lets him.

“You have no right!” Sam yells, turning. Not able to look at him anymore. **No right to my body, no right to me,** he thinks, screaming it in his own thoughts, even as he wants Jess back, wants to let the Devil in as badly as could be.

He doesn’t want the Apocalypse, doesn’t want the war Lucifer is waging, doesn’t want the hangman’s noose of his destiny tightening around his neck. But he did not want to lose what he knows was there, that love, that endless feeling of completeness. What the Devil appears to now make conditional. Has always made somewhat conditional, with Sam just too blind to see.

 _Sam, you can’t be angry. You knew, I know you knew._ The Devil’s being hisses at him, nips softly in his brain. As if it can soothe the barb-wire hurt, the nauseous tang of loss, away. _And I know you're not angry at me._

“Sam-”

And Sam can’t stop the tears, now. Can’t stop the world from spinning out from under him any longer, even if he knew this was coming. It's too much, he knows he needs to stop this, but he doesn't quite know how.

“No. No! Who do you think you even are?” Sam yells, and then his legs give out, and then he’s fighting the Devil who was trying to cradle him, to calm him, off with tooth and nail.

“I’ve already told you, Sam. I’m the one who’s going to give you everything.” Lucifer glares at him, as if that wasn’t obvious, as if he could feel Sam’s hurt and rejection and pain, as if it’s not Sam being threatened with the destruction of everything he’s ever believed.

The Devil's grace whispers, _If only you would let me._

**No, no, I can't-**

_You've let me in before._

**THIS IS NOT THE SAME-**

_No, it isn't. But our love is, Sam. Never doubt that. I meant it, every word. Same as you._

But the stakes are too high for Sam, now. He can't sacrifice the world for something Sam probably doesn't deserve, if he really thinks about it. There is too much blood on his hands, too much Sam can never wash clean.

_No, Sammy. You deserve love. You deserve to be safe. You deserve everything I can give you, everything in the world._

**Not at the price of everyone else. I won't do it.**

Lucifer knows he’s lost something this time, but he’s always been an opportunist, always been ready to slither in when someone’s desperate. And Sam’s as desperate and alone as they come, save for his brother who would turn on him, easy. It was all inevitable. All known. All part of God’s design, when he wanted the Devil and threw him in the pit.

_I love you, Sam. Let us have this. Or at least let us keep you with all you're willing to give._

Sam goes limp. He lets the Devil pick up the pieces, lets him kiss him. Lets him carry him back to bed.

But when he wakes from the dream, Sam knows he'll kill himself first chance he gets, even if it's just to throw this pain back in the Devil’s face.

He swears he will not yield as long as he lives. Whatever it takes.

\--  
The next day, Lucifer brings him back.

The Devil doesn’t say anything. Just watches him in the motel room, silent, one part fascinated, one part resigned, and one half horrifically afraid. His grace murmurs around him, _Sam, there’s no running from me, don’t do this to us, don’t do this. All you’ve ever needed was me._

 **I am not you.** Sam whispers to the Devil. **You are not entitled to any part of me. And I will not let you take anything. You hear me?**

Lucifer, predictably, doesn’t take Sam’s words to heart. After all, Sam will come round. He has to, because Sam still loves him, has always loved him maybe just as much as he hates himself.

As each night falls, Lucifer doesn't visit Sam in person anymore unless Sam slips. But Sam avoids the blood anyway, because he's clean now, he's going to stay that way, and anything else gave Lucifer a road-map right to him. The only other chances Lucifer gets to be with Sam in person is when Sam offs himself, and then Lucifer brings him back, following his soul back to his body so he can convince Sam to stop doing this.

Sam does stop trying after a while. There's only so much failure he can take, and Lucifer always uses the time after his resurrections to win Sam over, does so when Sam is too drained to fight him, too overwhelmed by the love he wants to let in so badly, and Sam can't give the Devil that advantage, either. And he can't quite do it, not once he's back with Dean and Cas. They need him, and he doesn't want them to see that, and Sam doesn't want Lucifer to find them, either.

Otherwise, Lucifer visits Sam's dreams like clockwork every night, in the weary, dozing exhaustion once Sam can’t keep himself awake, and that is almost worse. Sam doesn’t tell anyone, doesn’t keep them in the endless loop of his nightmares gently couched in the cure for loneliness and self-hatred, doesn’t tell Dean or Cas or Bobby of yet another thing he should be ashamed. Sam might feel pure from the angel but he was tainted to the core. The Devil disagrees, but doesn’t hold it against him, not really.

And Sam… deep down, he can feel that love he's always held for Lucifer, if you could love something celestial and cold and alien as an archangel, could love something that wanted to slip into your skin and keep you complacent with need, could compromise the deepest parts of yourself that only want something to care, just a little, for what Sam wished he could be. Someone that could drown out the screaming and addiction and solitude and the fear and pain as it cloaked you in its light and wrath and certainty.

If you could love something convinced you’ve only ever belonged to it, a kind of love for something that loves you right back, even if it wasn't human love at all.

Sam has never needed much, yet the toll for a scrap of something always yields a high price to pay. Why would these stolen moments be any different?

If Sam didn’t know better, he’d say the Devil reveres him as much as God, without the disappointment trailing behind him for the betrayal still fresh from Heaven, from his brothers and his father and the other angels. Sam doesn’t let that hit too close to home, even though he understands. But the Devil wants to take all his anger and unleash it on every human and any resisting angel the world. Sam can feel for the Devil, yes, but will not be complicit in his flawed methodology, in his entitlement to destroy everything Sam works to preserve and create.

No, Sam won't let him. He will not be a slave to something ageless and endless and just as broken as him, will not surrender his heart and mind further to what still was another enemy who wanted to raze and unmake and destroy, a monster he loves and loathes and craves and can’t wring out from beneath his skin.

Sam will defeat that, too. He promises himself he will, before the end.

\--

On good nights, Sam tries to reason with the Devil, hoping maybe he can change this, can get Lucifer to want to break the script, for Sam’s sake, for his own. But most nights, Lucifer is too far gone, too broken up and absorbed in his own sense of vulnerability, too certain he is right and that Sam will follow his lead eventually.

Sam knows whatever this is, it isn’t going to last. There is only one way this ends.

And the Devil is not one to gracefully lose.

Jess hadn't been, either.

\--

For Sam, some things change after Carthage, but even then, the Devil only keeps watching, waiting for Sam to fold like he’s knows he will. Sam only feels more disgust for himself, but Lucifer promises, promises him everything.

_I'll bring them back for you, Sammy. When this is all over, you can have your family back, those you’ve lost. But you won’t want them, won’t need them anymore. You’ll see. I know you’ll see._

Sam doesn’t believe him, because he’s knows a trap when he sees it. Knows you can’t reason with something too broken, too angry.

But it is never a choice, for Sam. Never has been. He is not a prize to be won, a piece to be used.

Lucifer almost admires it, that stubborn denial, even if it ends up being a liability. For Lucifer, this war was always a waiting game, and soon, everything wrong will be won, everything properly scoured clean.

Sam will not assist Lucifer in the deaths of hundreds of people. He will not be the abomination others swore he would always be. Sam is a human who believes, and prays, and hopes his humanity, his love, will be enough to save him.

Sam will only give up himself if it meant keeping everyone else safe.

And Sam will always find a way to be free. Even if it means he loses a part of himself, even if he is so far gone from being afraid. A choice is a choice, and that saves the rest of him, keeps his soul beating, because even if he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to say yes to the Devil, he will do what he had to do to re-seal the evil he’d helped unleash.

\---  
Sam did, in the end.

Lucifer always thought Sam would get better with time. With hindsight, it was clear he wouldn’t, but it’s hard to accurately predict the future when you are supposed to have it crushed in the palm of your hand. The knowledge fate was nothing did not comfort the Devil, not at all. It left him listless and broken and uncertain and he hated it, hated it more than anything, because why could everything else grow while he remained broken and angry and caged?

After Sam threw them both down into the depths in the Cage, all bets were off. The Devil’s last expectations turned to ash before his eyes, an accumulation of too many broken promises and violence and hatred trailing in his wake.

It didn’t matter that Sam never really belonged to him. Lucifer did not accept it, would not, because that meant the one person who was made for him, who loved him, who was destined to say yes to him, had betrayed the Devil, too. The world left him with nothing except Sam.

So Lucifer took everything, every piece and scream and moment, because every piece of Sam belonged to him now. It was only fair. Sam died and rose and died and rose again, at the mercy of Lucifer’s every single whim.

Sam knew that no company, no prevention of abandonment, would ever redeem himself in Lucifer’s eyes. His fate was a one way ticket, binding him to the being who God let him be made for, and the only path to forgiveness, to love, was Lucifer never letting him be free again.

Lucifer could not handle any rejection again.

It was not Sam’s responsibility, but what did that matter? Sam was still trapped with the Devil as long as he breathed, and even if he trapped him again, once he died, he’d be towed right back down to where the Devil would be waiting, because Lucifer would not allow anything else.


	25. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> major tw for this chapter for suicide attempts
> 
> chapter title a song by nine inch nails

The first time Sam kills himself, he uses a gun, nice and simple.

By the third, his wrists aren't looking too good, at least until Lucifer heals them while Sam tries to yank out of his grip.

The tenth time he slits his throat.

Three minutes later, Sam rises with Lucifer kneeling next to him, fingertips brushing his face, giving him more time to come back to himself.

Sam still doesn't call anyone.

He doesn't even pray to Cas, to God, to anyone, all save one.

 **Let me go**.

_I know you don't really want this, Sam. But even if it worked... Do you think it's over? Do you think, in all the ways your soul persists, that the afterlife would keep me from you? I could keep you with me, you know. I don't want to. I want you to be happy, Sam-_

**Stop saying that, JUST STOP-**

_I'm not lying, Sammy. Stop hurting yourself. Stop acting like-_

**Like what, Lucifer? Like you haven't been manipulating everything from the start-**

_Sam. This was going to happen no matter what. Let me help you. And if you can't do that... Just accept yourself. No matter how much you try to take yourself out of the game... It's not going to stop me, Sam. I'm fighting for you. I'm fighting because I love you. And I need you to see that-_

**This isn't love.**

The sixteenth time, Sam finally gets Lucifer to let him go, so long as he promises to stop and calls Dean once he manages to steady himself inside a vintage Volvo he's carjacked, because whatever rental car Lucifer left for him certainly can't be trusted. (There was no sulfur to be found, but that mean's jack shit, with all the ways Sam's been pushed and pulled ever since the universe decided this was what he was made to be.)

Lucifer even has the gall to sound put-out about Sam avoiding his gifts.

 _I'm not trying to bribe you. Just wanted to give you a five-star safety rating,_ until Lucifer's grace turns ice-cold and shrill, _-Seeing as you're just as likely to wrap yourself around a tree. You know you deserve better-_

Sam knows better than to respond. Breathes in. Breathes out.

He's halfway down the highway and Lucifer has finally decided to give his brain some rest by the time he even can hold the phone without his hands shaking.


	26. Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by halsey

"Go away." Sam grumbles, hiding his head under the pillow. He knows it's useless to try and roll out of the damn bed in the dream. Lucifer always just sticks around anyway, and he's been insufferable about trying to coddle Sam and clean him up after Sam's tried to eat lead the past three days, seeing as even in his dreams the feeling sticks.

It hasn't stopped Sam yet, though, even when he's retching on his own spit and his head pounds like a hundred tons of steel have collapsed his skull.

What's one more try, right?

Nothing does anything to scrape away the feeling of empty, scabbed out loss and the taste of blood, and nothing Sam does makes Lucifer go away.

Quite the opposite.

And none of it makes Lucifer any easier to deal with.

"Sammy, I just want to talk." Lucifer whispers, "Please."

"What's there to talk about?" Sam growls as he turns, throwing the pillow in Lucifer's too-concerned face. Lucifer catches it, but Sam rolls over and hides his face. Even in his dream, his scalp is sticky with blood. Lucifer can't scrub off Sam's subconscious, although it hasn't stopped him from trying.

The grace feels cool against Sam's brow, but Sam ignores the featherlight touch and soldiers on.

"All you want is to end the world," Sam argues, "And to use my body to do it."

Lucifer tries to lean over and clean Sam off, to ease the pounding of Sam's head, to heal every wound or wet reminder of Sam's own self-destruction, even the split lip Sam is sporting from his own body not being in control of it's own reactions to trying to end it. Apparently those instincts don't turn off even when you're trying you're best to ignore the Devil who has too many ways of snuggling closer, anyway.

"Sam, that's not what I really want, and you know it. All I want-"

"If you wanted me to be happy, you would leave." Sam mumbles, curling up smaller under the blankets. He regrets it almost immediately- they're too heavy over his body, over his head, and it reminds me all too much of all the drowning he's been trying to pretend isn't happening.

All he wants is to let go and float away and let Lucifer make things like they were, and he can't do that.

They are never going to get this back, no matter how much Sam prays-

_I hear you. I hear you, Sam, loud and clear._

"You don't want me to leave, Sam." Lucifer says softly. There's a hand in his hair again, even when Sam flinches, but Lucifer only pauses, then keeps smoothing out the knots as his grace washes out the flood of red and sticky pieces of brain matter Sam keeps pretending aren't there.

Sam cleans up nicely and hates the Devil all the more for it.

"Just like you don't want to die." Lucifer announces, drying Sam's clothes and wringing out the blood with a touch, brushing up against Sam's mind like a small flame that's so cold it feels warm. Lucifer doesn't even pretend to breathe as he adds, nose scrunching, "You're just taking this too personally."

"Oh, am I?" Sam growls, and then he does sit up and turn to glare, like Lucifer knew he would. Engaging against his better judgement. What else is new?

_I thought we'd gotten past this, Sam. If I knew you'd react this way..._

**You'd what, Lucifer? Because from where I'm standing, there was only ever going to be one way this ends, and-**

There's a hand on Sam's own, intertwining fingers with his, and Sam starts back as if burned and looks down again.

His eyes sting.

His throat still feels too tacky and warm and his stomach swoops, uneasy and weightless. Must be from the blood choking down his lungs and being hacked up again. Has to be.

Sam can't let the feeling mean anything else.

_And it ends with us, Sam. That's why you've been so damn terrified. You can't hide it from me, Sam. I know you. I know you better than anyone._

"And you know me. You know I'm not lying when I promise you the world." Lucifer says, always persistent.

Jess always got that way too, when Sam couldn't calm down.

Sam ignores the memories of every nightmare, of every patient look-

"I don't want the world." Sam hisses, the admission like gargling tacks and a fever he pretends isn't real. He keeps glaring back into two eyes and a solemn face that has no right to be looking so hurt and so unaffected and so inexorably patient all at the same damn time.

"I know." Lucifer answers, so certain. Then there's two hands around Sam and wings pulling Sam closer and Sam slumps as if he's dead weight all over again, forehead against Lucifer's own. Lucifer continues, and keeps staring into Sam's eyes, "That's why you won't forgive yourself. That's why I'm here. Be as angry with me as you want. But stop hating yourself. This was always going to end with us, Sam, and I wouldn't change us for anything. We already have what we need-"

"Then come home." Sam interrupts, straightening as he clutches Lucifer's shoulders, and begs, "Stop fighting."

Shock stops Lucifer in his tracks for once. 

Sam clutches Lucifer's hand and tries to ignore how he shouldn't be getting any closer. How he should still hate him.

The problem is, he doesn't. Not enough.

He's looked down at his own pistol too many times this week, and the only thing he can even muster for a feeling is exhaustion and disgust and loathing at himself, for being this weak, for just wanting what he had back-

He hates it, because every time Lucifer shows up, he keeps craving something that died the moment their home burned, the moment Sam was slated to be his and everything around him caught fire-

"Sam. This is all that's left for me." Lucifer pleads. "You're the only thing I won't give up, and I have to fight, I have to-"

"Then if that's how it's gonna go," Sam grits his teeth and places Lucifer palm over his heart and manages to half-stop the sob in his throat, "Just let me end it."

**Don't act like you didn't plan this from the start.**

"I didn't plan this part, Sammy." Lucifer starts bargaining, starts weaseling his way back in, and Sam tries not hear the earnest thread of desperate truth woven into his carefully picked battles. "I thought..." Lucifer runs a hand throw his own hair, looking flustered, slight sweat on his brow, eyes blinking as if he's tired and his posture slumps, too. "I thought you'd take the news differently."

Laughter bubbles up in Sam's throat, low and desperate.

It dies quickly.

"I thought..." Lucifer trails off and hesitates, "I thought you could learn to be kind to yourself, Sam. You were doing so well, before..."

"Before Azazel?" Sam slings back, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Before you died?"

Lucifer blinks, but his expression turns more blank and alien in a way that felt like home, too. Sam's used to that expression.

Jess wore it when she was being honest or feeling particular emotional, or both.

"I thought you loved me enough to see that what I want is what's best for everyone." Lucifer's voice is like a ghost, echoing and cold, and his free hand runs over his jaw for a second. A false self-soothing gesture that Sam recognizes, because he can tell the Devil is trying to remember how to feel grounded. How to explain things in a way he could without turning to an unintelligible language full of the barest emotion and half-inarticulate promises Sam remembers from when Jess was at her lowest, and he was the only one left to dig her out of the dark place she found herself in.

"Oh, this what's best for everyone, funny, I can't seem to find the damn memo-" Sam shouts, but Lucifer cuts him off, still calm and relentless.

"Every human on this planet is meant to die except you, Sam." Lucifer's voice is unforgiving. "Anyone I spare is thanks to you alone, because I'm doing what God intended when he made me. And if he doesn't want me cleaning up his mess and doesn't see it the same way, that doesn't mean I'm forsaking my love and devotion I've kept for him, even after all this time. You should be proud, Samuel. You were made to be the one to make the final call. God made you to uphold his vision, and for all his mistakes, still, God made us to be together, and it feels right, you know it does, because it always has been-"

"Screw God." Sam hisses. "Screw destiny."

**And screw whatever excuses you're making for us, for this, when we already had everything-**

_We can still have that, Sam. You know we can. You know we will. You will choose this of your own free will. That's what destiny is. Choosing the right path, the path that would always be chosen because it's written in your heart, in your decisions._

"Sammy. If nothing else..." Lucifer's foot bounces on the bed as he sighs, "I thought you loved me enough to see how much you meant to me. That-"

"Of course I meant something to you." Sam challenges, finally letting one sharp tendril of betrayal flare, more personal than the rest of the world quaking and catching fire, both literally and figuratively.

Lucifer's expression turns into bristling reproach, the glint of his eyes hard and blinding, but Sam keeps talking anyway.

"You want to _wear_ me." Sam insists, glaring Lucifer down until he can't look at him any more.

**My body is just a tool for you.**

_No, it's not. It never was and never will be, Sam. Your body and your soul were made to coexist with mine, and I know you know it._

Lucifer's posture deflates at Sam's displeasure, but he doesn't give ground or let go.

There's a thumb tracing Sam's jawbone. It slides down his throat and settles on his waist.

"Sam. You aren't an accessory. You're mine. You're everything." Lucifer's tone is cold and clipped, and there's light now, flaring all over Sam's vision, a burning light from all sides, practically annihilating the dream and the false facsimile of a hotel room except for them. "You're the only human worth saving. And I'm going to save you," Lucifer whispers, all promise with grasping, shaking hands, and his tone turns sharp even as it pitches lower and lower, "Whether you like it or not."

The words die in Sam's throat.

He should be protesting. He should say... Something. Anything.

But what is there to say?

He's tried to float off and not exist and looked down the barrel of a gun at least five times the past two days.

He keeps coming back with Lucifer hovering over him, trying to undo the damage, trying to smooth something over when all Sam wants to do is sit in a corner and not move for forever if it means everything around him will just come to a standstill.

Sam hates looking at him.

Hates seeing the resignation and hurt and anger and fear, and the love, always there, trying to smother him.

"Sammy. You've... It's been a long night. But we'll talk more tomorrow." Lucifer assures him, as tired spots start digging into Sam's eyelids and he starts to sway. "You just rest."

_Everything will work out, baby. I promise._


	27. Pretty Little Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s5e14 because s5 ain't in order for the purposes of this timeline and the way I twisted things
> 
> chapter title a song by eliza rickman

A few weeks after Lucifer officially revealed Sam's status as a true vessel, Sam takes a chance and eventually caves enough to tell Castiel about the grace being sent over inside Sam's head. Just that, though. Nothing else. He prays and gets the angel to join him, alone, when Dean is asleep, and they both walk outside in the dark where hopefully no unwanted eavesdroppers can hear them.

Lucifer tries to dissuade Sam from the endeavor, which is almost half the reason Sam does it. But Sam is also so tired of secrets, of jumping at shadows, at wondering at all the things that might come back to bite him, considering how badly his choices have gone before. He still can't tell Dean, though. That would be practically suicide. Although, he doesn't know why Dean hasn't been wondering about it, if it's been happening to him, too... Unless he's been keeping it under wraps as well, and doesn't want to admit it. Or maybe it hasn't happened to him at all?

Castiel isn't surprised, although Sam's reaction to Castiel's reaction undoubtedly is.

"Really? I wasn't-"

"You expected I would force you not to be a part of the team and maybe quarantine you in an isolated location?" Castiel asks in his typical, gravelly, matter-of-fact way.

"Well... yes." Sam admits, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sam. You are Lucifer's true vessel. It makes sense he would have a direct line to contact you. More importantly, hiding you in one place only makes Lucifer's job easier. It is more likely he would find you then, and that would be highly irresponsible of me. And it doesn't matter if he can overhear us more often than not, since he's already spying on us anyway. In addition, you are a valuable part of the team."

"I am?" Sam asks, caught off guard.

Castiel stares at Sam like he has two heads.

"Yes, Sam." Castiel assures, expression stony. Blue eyes remain unblinking as Castiel continues to carry himself with quiet and resolute stillness.

"I'm not a liability?" Sam's voice is soft as he keeps going. He can't quite help himself at this point.

"Sam. You are not a liability. You are a good person, and while I have no idea if that will help in the end, I believe you are worth more and able to do more good when set free, much more than if you were kept apart to sit on the sidelines."

Sam exhales a heaviness he didn't know he was carrying.

"Thanks, Cas. Um... Is there any way to stop it? Maybe break off the signal?" Sam asks, although he's fairly certain he already knows the answer.

_No, Sam, there isn't. You can stop hoping, now. I thought we had handled this already._

"No." Castiel admits. "Vessel and angel interactions are not based on neural or psychic links, although your body does process them on some level like that while awake. It's a direct line between soul and the angel itself."

Well. So much for that idea.

_Sam, I'm wounded. I thought you liked talking to me?_

**Only sometimes.**

_I see. Anything I can do to remedy that?_

**Give me some time alone to think once in a while?**

_Duly noted._

Castiel keeps going even as Sam works out some boundaries he knows Lucifer won't entirely respect right out the gate.

"And based on what you described... If anything, you are helping this way."

That startles Sam out of his reverie, too.

"I am?"

Castiel nods, decisive.

"If anything, Lucifer's obsession with you and continued need to engage in conversation distracts him."

_I can multitask._

"So if I talk to him he might make mistakes?" Sam clarifies, latching on to the idea with a vengeance.

_Sam, I'm most certainly not against you engaging more in any capacity, but your reasoning does hurt my feelings._

**Tough. Next time consider mine when you decide to invade my mind and send unavoidable psychic IMs.**

Lucifer is both amused and almost contrite at that.

_You drive a hard bargain, but I will buy at the sticker price._

"Precisely." Castiel's voice brings Sam back from his other discussion. "Although, I have to ask. Has he been visiting you in your sleep?"

Sam looks down and scuffs some gravel at his feet. "Yeah."

"I thought so. I'll see if there is anything to help. But if nothing has worked, not even the sigils..."

"Yeah, Cas, I get the picture." Sam murmurs. Castiel flies off, leaving Sam alone in the motel parking lot.

_You certainly jumped at the chance to trust that one, Sam. What gives?_

**Are you kidding me? Does I look like I have any other options?**

Lucifer doesn't have anything to say to that, only sends over some self-assured acquiescence that Sam is right about that.

**This is your fault.**

_All is fair in love and war, Sammy. I'm a pro at both, if I do say so myself._

\--

“Like Thanskgiving dinner full,” Dean just keeps going with the description Sam really doesn’t need until he finally wraps it up. “Talk about co-dependent.”

“Well,” Sam starts as he sits with a sigh, placing his coffee on the table, “I mean, we got our feelers out. Not much more we can do tonight.” Sam hopes he isn’t too obvious, but keeps talking anyway, anything to stop the unwanted commentary still going in his brain, “All right. I’m just gonna go through some files. You can go ahead and get going.”

Dean looks at Sam at that. Sam keeps his eyes on the screen.

“Sorry?” Dean asks, lost.

“Go ahead,” Sam adds, bobbing his head as the sarcasm comes easy, “Unleash the Kraken. See you tomorrow morning.”

Dean still doesn’t move from his spot, head tilting as he blinks. “Where am I going?”

Sam speaks too quickly, his tone obvious in a how-are-you-not-following sense. “Dean. It’s Valentine’s Day. Your favorite holiday, remember? I mean, what do you always call it? Uh, unattached drifter Christmas?” Sam doesn’t bother to sound amused at that.

“Oh, yeah.” Dean scoffs as he rises from his seat, beer in hand. “Well, be that as it may, I don’t know.”

Dean twists the cap off the beer, stares Sam down with a cavalier look as he tosses the cap behind him into the sink. “Guess I’m not feeling it this year.” Dean finishes, voice deepening.

Sam eyes Dean with concern.

“So you’re not into bars full of lonely women?” Sam clarifies, skeptical.

“Nah, I guess not.” Dean makes a face and drinks.

Sam doesn’t stop staring at Dean, brow furrowed in his telltale analytical expression.

“Ah… what?” Dean grunts when he catches the look aimed at him.

“It’s when a dog doesn’t eat.” Sam answers, nodding. Still deadpan, “That’s when you know something’s really wrong.”

Dean doesn’t find it as funny as Sam does. His eyebrows raise.

“Remarkably patronizing concern duly noted.” He answers, raising the glass as if he’s giving a toast before Dean’s voice grows gruff. “Nothing’s wrong. We gonna work or what?”

Dean sits back down, a bit too blustering in his movements.

Sam nervously brings a hand to his face.

_No such luck getting us some alone time, huh, Sammy? Think big brother suspects something?_

Sam ignores Lucifer’s laughter inside his head.

\--

The next place they hit, Sam can feel the demon walking past him and almost bites.

Dean notices the look, even though he doesn’t know what it means.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sam grits out. He reels all the hunger in and sends his own prayer over the link because it’s almost the only thing stopping him from jumping the demon right here and now.

**You did something, didn’t you? You’re behind whatever it is we’re looking at?**

_I thought we agreed not to mix work and pleasure, Sammy?_

**Cut the bullshit.**

_Look, Sam. I have an Apocalypse to run. I’m not going to give you hints on how to stop it unless I have extra decent incentives. So unless you want to invite me over right now, you just keep at your little detective work. I know you’ll figure it out._

**Sometimes, I really hate you.**

_But Sam, it’s Valentine’s Day. You can’t hate me today._

**Wanna bet?**

_Sexual frustration really isn’t something you handle well, is it?_

**Not a big fan of stalking or sleep deprivation, either. Or murder. Particularly the premeditated murder of every human on the planet.**

_Almost every human, Sam. Don’t go counting yourself or anyone I might deign to spare on your behalf. And we all have our vices._

Why, Sam thinks to himself, did I have to get stuck with Satan?

 _I heard that, and I take offense, Sam. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you_.

**You wish. Not even close.**

_Lying again? Good thing you’ve got a long-standing appointment with the Devil, Sammy. I know just how to take care of you._

Sam still can’t help looking back down the hallway one more time. Wonders, if he bit down, if Lucifer would just swoop in and abduct him right then and there.

\--

After the coroner leaves and they get to work, Dean sends over the heart, with the quip, “Hey, be my Valentine?”

Sam is disgusted (and Lucifer too appreciative at the handiwork for Sam’s liking).

But then Sam catches the markings on the two hearts and freezes. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. These hearts both have identical marks… Check this out.” Sam trails off.

_You see something you like, kiddo?_

“It looks like some kind of letter… Oh, no.” Sam growls as realization hits him like a brick to the face.

**Please tell me you didn’t do this personally.**

_Ew, no. What do you take me for? Those humans are not worth my time. Probably are carriers for something. And I have so many more fun things I could be doing. Like you, for one._

“What?” Dean prompts, bringing Sam back to the present. Sam pushes the magnifying glass away with as much tense energy as he is able, because otherwise he might just break something.

“I think its Enochian.” Sam says, looking back at Dean.

_Okay, I can give you this one. It definitely is. You get a sticker._

**Stop being a dick.**

_I mean, are you sure, Sam? You certainly enjoyed it enough when I was inside-_

**Don’t you dare finish that sentence.**

_Taking control, Sam. I almost feel wanted._

Sam doesn’t know when the whispers became normal by now. It wasn't at first, that's for sure. But he's had time to get used to them, to get acclimated. He thinks the humor and the ease of it might be part of coping with the impossible nature of the situation, although Lucifer is quick to go down the whole made-to-be route before Sam can blink. Sam is still surprised Castiel went along with hiding it from Dean, though. He hadn't been banking on that.

“You mean like angel scratches?” Dean asks.

_Mm, not quite. Then again, how would he know? He doesn’t know what I’ve done to you-_

**What did I say about talking?**

_You’ll have to kiss me to shut me up. Serves you right for not getting big brother to bounce. Could’ve put this on hold for the day. Had some alone time, me and you._

**You’re the one who made our plans fall though, considering you’re the one behind all this** -

_Wouldn't need to be nearly as ostentatious about it if you would just get with the program, Sammy._

“So you think it’s like the tagging on our ribs?” Dean’s voice cuts off Sam’s train of thought.

“Dean, I don’t know,” Sam tries to play it casual, although he does know for certain. Answering the affirmative would bring up too many questions.

“Ah, hell.” Dean decides, and picks up the phone to call Cas.

Sam keeps poking at the hearts to try and distract himself from Lucifer’s increasingly vivid descriptions of all the things he’ll be doing to Sam the moment he gets his hands on him. Sam focuses on anything that will serve as a distraction. Dissected body parts kill the mood pretty well.

Cas arrives while Dean is still on the phone, and the sight is almost hilarious enough to drown Satan out and derail both Sam and Lucifer from whatever standoff this counts as.

“I’m there now.” Cas says, two inches from Dean’s face, phone still held to his ear.

“Yeah, I get that.” Dean answers, also still holding the phone.

“I’m gonna hang up now.” Cas clarifies. The phones echo.

“Right.” Dean answers.

_The two of them should just kiss already. It’s not like they are going to have a lot of chances. Besides, then they'll be distracted and I can get you alone._

**Lucifer-**

_Would you prefer I went back to earlier subjects?_

**No.**

_Then suffer._

“You are right, Sam. These are angelic marks.” Cas confirms, and Sam tries to look like he isn’t unfazed with the realization. Cas keeps going, instructive, “I imagine you’ll find similar marks on the other couples’ hearts as well.”

**What, do you have something against other couples because I’m not saying yes fast enough or giving up my location?**

_Colder than the Artic. Guess again!_

“So what are they? I mean, what do they mean?” Sam asks as he does everything he can to ignore Lucifer’s nonstop commentary.

Cas explains the marks as a tool for showing unions by cupids. Sam still finds the concepts unsettling, particularly the knowledge that cupids are real and apparently 3rd class cherubs.

**We don’t have that, right?**

_Definitely not. Cupids are small fry, like krill, Sam, although if you prefer specificity they look more like a mix between a comet, a falcon, and a pig, and that’s me being more than charitable._

**And you’re what, a blue whale?**

_If we’re going with that analogy, yes. Certainly big and blue enough with how much of a tease you are..._

**You're the worst and that was beyond unnecessary.**

_You walked right into it. More importantly, what we have couldn’t be contained by something as shallow, pathetic, and insignificant as that._

**I thought you were into brands and that sort of thing-** Sam can’t help needle. He doesn’t bother bringing up the fact cupids are technically Lucifer’s siblings, because sibling murder is something that doesn’t faze Lucifer in the slightest and he doesn't like most of them.

Lucifer’s tone becomes pure ice.

_I don’t joke about what matters most, Sam. And a cupid’s marks are an insult to everything we have._

Sam backs off. Still serves Lucifer right, though, and it got him to shut up. Temporarily, but Sam would take the win for what it was.

Castiel and Dean keep talking about cupids, and Sam has to refocus, asks, “Okay, anyway. So what you’re saying is-”

“What I’m saying is a cupid has gone rogue.” Castiel’s voice gets heated, his hand punctuating his statements. “And we have to stop him before he kills again.”

“Naturally,” Sam scoffs, nose scrunching. Because this is his life now, on top of everything else.

**Okay, I’m officially lost. What do you get out of this, particularly if you hate cupids so much?**

_Maybe I want you to kill them all. Saves me the trouble._

**Ha, ha. Very funny.**

In the interim, Sam sees how Dean says, “Of course we do.”

How he doesn’t stop looking at Cas.

_Talk about getting a room._

\--

It all gets worse at the damn restaurant they have to stake out.

**I blame you for this.**

Sam prays. Sees how Cas stutters as he talks about pollinating, as if he doesn’t know if he wants the hamburger or to look at Dean but can’t.

**And I am never forgiving you.**

_Strange hill to die on,_ Lucifer answers, deadpan, _considering everything else._

Sam would strangle him if he showed up anywhere near him at this moment.

Then Dean pushes the plate of hamburger away.

“Wait a minute,” Sam notes, “You’re not hungry.”

“No.” Dean answers.

Sam shoots him a skeptical look, wondering if Dean’s caught feelings and can’t hide them now, too. He hates third-wheeling.

“What? I’m not hungry.”

Skepticism turns into very real concern.

**Please tell me you didn’t do something to my brother-**

_I didn’t do anything, remember? And what did I say, Sam? You’ll figure it out. You’re a smart cookie._

**Stop giving me half answers-**

_I don’t kiss and tell. But tell you what, Sam, if things haven’t gone the way I think they will by the end of the night, I promise I’ll make it up to you._

**What does that mean, Lucifer?** Sam’s prayers are deadly.

Lucifer stops answering.

Sam wants to punch something.

Then Cas, of all people, jumps in. “Then you’re not going to finish that?” He asks, very quickly, very eager, as he points to the hamburger. Doesn’t wait for an answer as he takes the plate and picks up the burger.

Sam is more than close to panic now.

Before Cas can take a bite, he pauses. “He’s here.”

Sam might just settle for punching out the cupid before he gets his answers. Would make his day a whole lot better.

\--

Dean's the one who ends up punching cupid, when all is said and done. Sam's more distracted by what they learned from it. Aside from that, he’s also grateful the cupid in question took one look at Sam’s face and decided not to hug him. Sam has enough on his plate right now, and he’s pretty sure if he did, Lucifer would have killed the cupid as soon as he got the chance.

Plus, the cupid was almost pitiable, in a sort of pathetic sense. Made Sam slightly less inclined to punch him, when all was said and done, particularly since the cupid was clearly traumatized by whatever Lucifer has his people doing. Sam finds that sentiment relatable, if nothing else. Besides, Sam didn’t feel like breaking his hand like Dean did, although he doesn’t argue that the cupid probably deserves it, even if more information might have helped.

_I still think you should have stabbed him when he got close. Pity._

**Shut up, Lucifer. What did he mean Heaven set our parents up?**

_Someone feeling a bit more generous now that he knows I wasn’t pulling most of the strings?_

Sam resists the urge to ram his head into a wall. The cupid’s words about, “certain bloodlines, certain destinies,” still rang bitterly in his ears. He’s had enough with angels talking his ear off about those. That and the whole “meant to be,” spiel. Sam’s pity for the cupid only extends so far, and wanes easily the more he thinks about it.

Sam also ignores how the cupid told them their parents couldn’t stand each other at first, even if that’s almost the reverse of Sam’s situation with Jess, with Nick, with Lucifer, even if Sam’s still putting up a fight.

But knowing Heaven just decided to play with their minds and their lives and their choices…

That wasn’t… Sam didn’t want to think about that, with everything that happened to Mary and to John afterwards...

With what is happening to him and Dean now.

_Okay, fine. I’ll be nice. Any specific questions you had in mind?_

**Why would they want me to be born? Dean, I understand. But why would they want-**

_Me to have a proper vessel when they want to beat me back into the dirt all over again? Simple, Sam. Arrogance. They need someone to contain me properly because they think Michael is destined to murder me. They need to make Michael seem infallible, and if I don’t have a proper vessel when he does attempt to strike me down, it would interfere with that image. With the narrative they are trying to push. Heaven’s PR team is a slimy bunch, don’t get me started. Not that it matters, in the end. You are made for me, Sam, properly and without any tricks, no matter what Heaven thinks they had a hand in. God showed me. God made us for each other. So you don’t need to feel like your birth was manipulated by those hacks. You are more special and important and of value than they’ll ever be._

Sam digests this with a healthy dose of exhaustion.

Decides to refocus on Dean, who doesn’t want to talk about whatever his damage is, still.

Sam’s tired of getting nowhere with everyone. It’s like repeatedly crashing a car on repeat, only to start all over again.

\--

So Sam goes off alone and does what he does best: Keeps working the case, because someone has to, and he needs to figure this out fast.

The next body is plain nasty, in more ways than one.

_I really feel like this mystery is showcasing the worst side of humanity, Sam. I mean, Twinkies, really. Tacky and horrible taste all in one._

It’s not a cupid’s handiwork, though. Sam is back to square one.

_Don’t sweat the small stuff, Sam. You’ll get there. I know it. Things are only going to get more interesting from here on out._

**Say something like that again, and you won’t be getting anything from me the rest of Valentine’s Day.**

_Oh, fine. Have it your way._

Lucifer doesn’t make any more smartass comments about the deaths he’s indirectly responsible for after that.

Sam doesn’t think he can take any more of it, not after Dean reads the death count since Wednesday.

And then Sam catches the demon leaving the building, and gives chase.

**Did you send him?**

_Not directly, and not after you._

**Too bad.**

_Sam, you’re not you when you’re hungry._

“I know what you are, dammit. I could smell you.” Sam growls as he corners the demon in the alley. And boy, does it feel good to let some of the rage out, until Sam wants the blood, wants even more, knows the danger of falling off the bandwagon-

Sam draws back, and the demon takes his opportunity to escape.

Sam has its briefcase, though. One small victory of the day.

_Oh, Sam. Just one a sip, and then we could’ve caught up, gone on a date night, maybe grabbed some margaritas. But you’ve got your little clue now. Won’t help with all the other things you could use some relief with, but maybe self-inflicted asceticism will make you appreciate all I’m going to do for you when you finally take me up on my offer._

Sam wipes the blood off his knife, doesn’t take any chances.

The pressure of the grace he can feel singing from miles off still seems too muted, not close enough-

Sam’s craving for blood pales in comparison to what he wants from Lucifer. It’s the difference between a torrential lightning storm and static electricity.

Today definitely wasn’t on the top of Sam’s list. Not by a longshot.

\--

“What the Hell does a demon got to do with this, anyway?” Dean asks.

“Believe me, I have no idea.” Sam sighs, irritation visible. That’s not even a lie.

He just stares at the suitcase like it might yield answers. He hopes it does, because Lucifer sure isn’t.

_You’re getting so close now, Sam. Don’t worry. It won’t bite._

“You okay?” Dean asks.

**No. Not at all.**

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be alright.” Sam assures.

Dean doesn’t believe it. Hell, Sam doesn’t even believe it. He doesn’t even try.

_I could fix that, if you’d let me._

“Let’s crack her open.” Dean starts in as he takes the situation for what it is. Doing things are the only things that will help anything now. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

_Yeah, Sam. What’s the worst that can happen? What do you take me for?_

**Do you want an itemized list of why you won't like my answers?**

They click open the locks on the case, which snaps open with a whoosh!

Blinding, bright, bright light glows back at them.

It feels… warm. Kind of like an overheated lightbulb.

“What the hell was that?” Dean exclaims. Sam is numb with the fact that this didn’t answer anything at all.

_Really, Sam? No educated guesses?_

“It’s a human soul.” Castiel provides as he comes back with more hamburgers. “It’s starting to make sense.” He bites into a hamburger with reckless abandon, blue eyes intent.

_The little engine that could to the rescue. Looks like you’ll get your theory, Sam._

“Now, what about that makes sense?” Sam asks, deliberately ignoring the voice nestled smugly in the back of his awareness.

“And when did you start eating?” Dean adds on, oblivious.

“Exactly,” Cas says as he points with the half-eaten hamburger. “My hunger, it’s a clue, actually.”

“For what?” Dean and Sam ask in unison.

“This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect. It’s suffering from hunger. Starvation, to be exact. Specifically, Famine.”

**Oh, no. No, no, no, no.**

_What, you don’t like my Valentine ’s Day gift, Sam? I’d have thought you’d be grateful. Gives you a chance to derail this whole affair. Prove yourself, and all that. And if not, well… You have such an appetite. I would hate for it to go to waste._

“Famine? As in the horseman?” Sam asks, even though he doesn’t need to. Every denial he makes is one stacked against the Devil.

_Besides, I have so much planned for us._

**You-**

_Look, I promised I wouldn’t take advantage. And I’m not, you won’t get any tricks from me, even if you end up feeling even just a fraction of what I’m feeling. But don’t go kidding yourself, Sam. The Horsemen have to be released periodically. Did you think I would waste time? The longer I draw this out, the longer it takes me to get back to you permanently._

“Great.” Dean groans, and keeps stuttering, “That’s freaking great.”

“I thought famine meant starvation, like as in, you know,” Sam pauses, pointing to the burger. “Food.”

_Not all the other cravings and temptations you steer yourself away from? Oh, Sam, why wouldn’t I use something that brings out the worst in your species? It’s only fair they crucify themselves with their own nails and hands. And you, well… I’m sure we both know what you want most. Don’t you agree?_

“Yes, absolutely. But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something.” Cas says, as he munches away. “Sex, attention, drugs, love…”

He meets Sam’s eyes. Sam looks down.

_He’s got your number, Sammy. Remember, I’m only a sip and a prayer away._

“Well, that explains the puppy-lovers that cupid shot up.” Dean concedes.

Sam’s mind is static, lips numb, and his teeth feel on edge, like there’s a shockwave he can’t quite hear ringing through his jaw and skull. He can feel the phantom touches of lips, of wings and claws, and of tongues and teeth.

“Right. The cherub made them crave love, and then famine came, and made them rabid for it.” Cas turns his attentions to Dean and takes another bite of burger.

_Know what I’m rabid for, Sam? Because I know what you’re always after._

“Okay, but what about you? I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?” Dean asks, walking closer.

Cas stares at the burger in his hand like it holds all the answers.

“It’s my vessel, Jimmy. His, uh, appetite for red meat has been touched by famine’s effect.” Castiel turns to the side as he admits it. Then he takes another bite.

“So, famine just rolls into town and everybody goes crazy?” Dean posits.

Sam watches, arrested, but only because his mind and soul is more than a minefield. By now, it’s turned into a full on massacre.

_You going boy-crazy yet, Sammy? I know how touch-starved you get._

Sam swallows. Then he forces himself to listen to Cas and Dean, to stop rewarding the Devil’s frantic compulsion to take up Sam’s attention and time.

“And then will come famine riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty, and great will be the Horseman’s hunger… For he is hunger.” Castiel recites the verses, but Sam still isn’t fully listening, he can’t help it.

**You egotistical, manipulative-**

_Wait until you see what people do to themselves, Sam, when they let all their weaknesses and inhibitions go. It’s a sight, let me tell you. Famine brings out the animals hidden inside humanity so easily. Sure, he’s a little infantile and ugly, but it’s just so rewarding, being proven right. But enough about that. You should listen to Castiel’s PowerPoint presentation. I’m sure you’ll find it very enlightening._

“He must devour the souls of his victims,” Castiel keeps going. Sam’s head swims.

_What do you think happens when he eats them? I’ve been trying to figure that out myself._

“So that’s what was in the briefcase?” Dean asks, his voice muffled and far away, “The Twinkie dude’s soul?”

Castiel pauses, then admits another zinger Sam has already seen coming. “Lucifer has sent his demons to care for Famine. To feed him, make certain he’ll be ready.”

_Eh, half right about that one. Mostly did it to shut him up and keep him out of my hair. Doesn’t matter. I told you that little speck of brimstone wasn’t meant for you. Glad you crossed paths, though. Made my day so much more interesting._

“Ready for what?” Sam cuts in, although he has his suspicions.

“To march across the land.” Castiel intones, grave as always.

**You son of a bitch. If you think I’m going to go along with this, that I’m going to let you-**

_I’m not doing anything, Sam. I just set the cavalry loose. Watch them go on their merry way. And I’ll let you in on a little secret. Except for one of them, well, I don’t care what happens afterwards. You can kill them, maim them… Do whatever your heart desires. I might even give you tips. At the end of the day, I’m just going through the motions, because that’s just how this goes. Part of the process, the ritual aspect of it. No use tempting fate, am I right? And quite frankly, doing so brings us closer, Sam. You tend to withdraw when I’m not setting off any fireworks. And I quite like keeping your attention on what matters most. Namely us._

Rage chokes Sam out so much so words can’t quite cut the Devil down to size.

**And you say I don’t have impulse control-**

_On the contrary. I take what I need, Sam. And I don’t pretend to be something I’m not. But we can talk shop later. I’m sure I’ll see you before the night ends._

Even Lucifer feels Sam’s warring desires, wordless and horrified and still wanting.

_What? Did you think we didn’t have a raincheck in place? Dean might have derailed our initial plans, but I know your schedule. Mainly because you have to arrange it around me._

Sam is definitely going to punch the Devil the next time he pays him a visit.

It doesn’t cancel out all the sensations Lucifer sends over, the Devil’s own feelings Sam can’t ignore even if he wants to. Nor can he erase his own, however damnable they are.

Sam can feel the waves pulling him under, the sensations that have been building all day getting worse and worse.

Sam walks stiffly into the bathroom. Runs a cold compressed towel over his too hot and sweaty limbs as he tries to calm his hammering heartbeat, to soothe his too-dry throat and shaking hands… To quell all the other feelings in other places Sam will not let himself think about. He doesn’t have time for a cold shower. He has an apocalypse to avert.

“Famine.” Dean’s voice sounds like he’s in a tunnel from here.

“Yes.” Castiel answers as he chews.

“So, what, this whole town is going to eat, drink, and screw itself to death?” Sam yells from the bathroom, desperate to talk to anyone else, to do anything, than focus on this. His hand digs into the tile of the bathroom to try and feel pain, to feel anything that isn’t this-

_Mm, not all of it, Sammy._

**Fuck you.**

_Oh, I know how much you want to, Sam. I can feel it all the way over here._

“We should stop it.” Castiel suggests, still eating.

Dean and Cas mutter some hurried words about the game plan. Then it devolves into Castiel’s own weak protests he can stop eating hamburgers anytime he likes.

But Sam can’t focus anymore. Every nerve is screaming, skin too blistering hot. Sam starts feeling the tremors and shakes hit him, worse than any withdrawal, like Sam’s soul is a parched husk, like an alcoholic forced to keep dry in a desert without any water or moisture to speak of.

He needs cold. He needs skin. He needs that feeling of completeness wrapped around him, melting inside him-

_Starting to hit you real hard now, Sammy?_

**You did this-**

_I promise I’ll kiss it all better. I’ll do even more, if you ask nicely. After I snap you out of it, that is. Don’t want you to feel coerced into anything. Still. Now you know how it feels, being kept apart from you for so long. It’s the worst torture, baby. It made those last few years in captivity so hard compared to all the rest, when I already had so much to look forward to._

“Sam, let’s roll.” Dean calls from the other room.

Sam can’t stop breathing too heavily.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice is a desperate croak. “I, um. I can’t.”

_That’s right, Sam. You get them out of here. Then we’ll catch up. Just as planned. Had to get you alone somehow, and since you weren’t taking the lead-_

**I’m not going to be a part of this, I don’t want anything, especially you-**

_Don’t bother lying, Sam. It’s not worth it, the empty posturing. It's just us, here. Besides, I can give you what you neeeeed. And I think by the time I get there, you might even be willing to kill for it._

Sam stumbles out of the bathroom. If it wasn’t for both his arms pressing against the doorframe, he’d have collapsed to his knees already.

“I can’t go.” Sam reiterates.

“What do you mean?” Dean demands.

“I think it got to me, Dean.” Sam whispers, eyes darting up to meet his, then back again. “I think I’m hungry for it.”

“Hungry for what?” Dean asks, blinking.

“You know.” Sam coughs, eyebrows raised and lips trembling. His tongue is too dry and his bones are too heavy and his skin is too rough and every nerve is electric and singing and Sam’s blood is on fire-

Castiel gives Sam a look he’d rather not be scrutinized with.

“Demon blood?” Dean affirms.

Sam looks down and doesn’t say anything. Let’s Dean draw his own conclusions.

_Demon blood is barely even a craving next to all the love and lust you have bottled up for me. Right, kiddo?_

**Stop. Just stop. Please.**

_Alright. I’ll zip it, with one last caveat. I haven’t quite pinned down your location yet, but I’ll get there. Eventually. You enjoy your long-suffering solitude. Will make it all the sweeter when we’re finally reunited again. Until then…_

That’s the Devil for you. Always has to get the last word in.

“You got to be kidding me.” Dean growls, and turns to Cas. “You got to get him out of here. You got to beam him to, like, Montana. Anywhere but here.”

Sam’s head starts leaning into the doorframe as extra insurance. It feels too rough against his forehead. Nothing like a bed, or wings, or hands, or tongues, or stubble brushing his face-

“It won’t work. He’s already infected.” Cas answers, and Sam’s eyelids flutter, lips pressing together as he bites down to try and quell all of it, still failing. Castiel adds, “The hunger is just gonna travel with him.”

Sam stops his head from lolling and snaps himself out of tuning in to the singing, the keening, the heartbeats and breathing he can feel strumming between him and Lucifer, wordless and echoing and bright.

“Well, than what do we do?” Dean yells.

“You go cut that bastard’s finger off.” Sam grits out. His voice is breathy, uneven. Sam inhales too quickly.

Dean’s eyes dart to back to him, expression more than concerned. Dean swallows.

“You heard him.” Dean answers.

Sam’s fist tightens around the damp cloth he’s been holding too tight this entire time, the muscles and veins in his arms too noticeable, too tense.

“But Dean…” Sam says, this time meeting his gaze head-on as he shakes the rag in front of him. “Before you go, you better…” Sam exhales, then keeps going, “You better lock me down.”

Sam bites his tongue, then licks his lips. “But good.”

Sam almost smiles, but it’s not a happy one. Almost a snarl. It’s everything he can’t hold back, everything he can’t keep in, can’t keep from crashing over him.

**Or Lucifer is going to find me sooner rather than later, and I might just make it easy for him.**

Sam doesn’t say.

Dean nods.

Then Sam’s being handcuffed to the pipes under the sink, cramped and tucked in over himself.

“All right. Well, just hang in there.” Dean starts in on his goodbyes. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Be careful.” Sam answers, then his voice breaks. “And… hurry.”

Dean taps Sam on the shoulder and leaves.

The door closes with a decisive click! Then Sam hears something being pushed in front of the door as a barricade.

Good call.

Lucifer is silent, as promised.

Sam leans his head into the sink to try and steady himself.

It doesn’t work. He can’t stop fidgeting.

Any other time, and Sam would have been grateful for the solitude and peace, the lull of the buzzing in his brain. But now the silence and the loss of that feeling between them is almost enough to drive him crazy, enough to make him tug at the restraints, twitching and dizzy and hot and wanting.

A muscle jumps in Sam’s neck. Sam can feel his heart beating out of his chest.

And Sam is hungry, so hungry…

Now it’s just a waiting game.

\--

Five minutes in, Sam is practically trying to saw himself out the restraints to try and summon a demon to drink and call Lucifer to him.

Lucifer keeps their connection closed on his end, a blank wall Sam can’t penetrate. It’s unfair it works for him but not the other way around.

Time stops feeling real after that. It could have been ten minutes. It could have been a whole day. There’s no windows in the bathroom. No way to keep track, and Sam’s so out of it he wouldn’t have the will to care.

Sam keeps trying to break the pipe he’s connected to. Tries to move it with his mind, but has no juice for it. Keeps trying and hacking away manually, his wrists blistering as they chafe. Sam doesn’t even feel it, not really.

He’ll do anything, anything, to get out. To slake the thirst, to taste and take in all the soft-bright-cold Sam’s craving.

Sam roars from frustration and strain. He’s like a shark in a feeding frenzy with no way to swallow any of it down.

Sam hears a door open. Pauses, head slammed back into the tile.

“Guys?” Sam yells. His lip trembles, and his heart beats too loud in his ears.

Wood scrapes against the floor as whatever barricade is removed from the doorway.

“Guys, what happened?” Sam gasps, inhales, sniffing, as if it will make any of the need fade, “I don’t think it worked."

Then another wave hits Sam, cramping and painful and white-hot, and Sam screws up his eyes and pants. “I think I’m still-”

The door opens, doorknob clicking.

It’s not Cas, or Dean, or Lucifer.

It’s two demons.

A muscle jumps in Sam’s jaw as Sam’s heart jumps in his throat. It’s all too tight, too much, all of it, and Sam is so close-

His voice is barely there. “-Still hungry,” He trails off. Sam stills, a predator transfixed by its prey.

“Look at this.” The female demon with long black hair says in a too-high voice. “Someone trussed you up for us. Boss says we can’t kill you… But I bet we can break off a few pieces.”

The other demon nods and steps closer.

The handcuffs rattle, Sam grasping for something he can’t quite reach.

_Okay, I know I promised I’d keep quiet, Sam, but for the record, I did not send these two louses. This one’s not on me. If it was, I’d have gift-wrapped them nicely, made them easy to access for you to drain. Lesson learned. I really need to send out a company-wide missive. Have some extensive employee training. Because I keep telling everyone no one is to fucking touch you, to lay a single fucking finger on you, and they keep experiencing selective hearing. I am so, so tired of lesser demons, Sam. We’re going to slay so many together by the time we’re done._

The ringing of grace in the reopened floodgate is like a drop of water against the sand.

Sam keeps breathing heavily, closes his eyes, and inhales. The craving for the blood is practically nothing, it’s drowned out by all the other need Sam feels, but they're his ticket to his own personal Promised Land, a yellow brick road to the one Sam needs-

_Still. I know you can handle yourself. Wish I could see it firsthand, it would be a magnificent sight to see. Those two don’t know what they’re in for._

Sam lunges the moment the second demon snaps the handcuffs in two. He slams the first demon into the air, sends him flying into the bathtub, the shower rod and curtain falling over him.

Sam tackles the first one into the glass table.

It shatters. Sam stabs her neck with a shard of nearby glass, shaking hands ripping it just as fast out so he can get enough purchase to lick and suck out a vein-

“Get him off-” The demon screams. “Get him off.”

Sam’s shirt rips, but he throws an arm out and sends the other demon flying.

“Wait your turn.” Sam snarls, just as he gets one gulp down, lips licking at blood slathered all around his mouth-

And Sam ducks down, drinks deeply, finally.

Sam is on top of the world, can feel the bond between him and Lucifer keening louder than the ocean, than a hurricane, ringing like a bell, humming louder and clearer than anything-

“Knew you’d get there eventually.” Lucifer says. Sam cranes his neck, sees Lucifer behind him, his fingers looped over his belt.

Sam totters to his feet and throws himself at the Devil. The Devil catches him halfway, and doesn’t shy from his frantic embrace. Lucifer still doesn’t kiss Sam back, though, and with an icy surge stops Sam from ripping and clawing off his clothes ineffectively.

“Not like this, Sammy.” He whispers, and Sam trembles, feels the wings and grace and everything pressing into him, still not close enough-

_You want blood, Sam?_

**I want you, please, please-**

“Have to get you clean first. Remember, I don’t want to take advantage. But first, you drink deep, Sam. Gotta get you all ready for me. You think you can do that?”

Sam nods.

Lucifer guides Sam back down to the floor. He kneels down with him, one hand splayed over the back of Sam’s hand. His other arm cradles Sam’s hunched form as Sam sucks both demons dry, right down to the bone. Lucifer helping speed up the process, moves the bodies over without having to vacate his position, half-force feeding Sam the drops he can’t quite get easily.

When the blood is gone, Sam stares up at him, wild and dazed. Lucifer turns him over, straddles Sam’s abdomen, Sam’s lower back and pelvis pressed into the floor. Sam’s lets himself be guided but still grips Lucifer tight, white knuckled and pleading.

“You want to get sober again, Sam, so I can fuck you with proper permission?” Lucifer purrs, and Sam agrees, begs, and tries to pull him closer.

Lucifer bites his thumb open and presses the blood to Sam’s lips, other hand cradling Sam’s head so his throat is at a high enough angle to swallow.

Sam licks it clean. And it’s like Lucifer is inside Sam, then, and he feels cleaner, purer and lighter and brighter than anything-

Even with that small amount, Sam’s head starts to clear, and he starts floating-

Then Lucifer bites his lip open and kisses Sam, and Sam kisses back, rougher, sucking the blood down as long as he can, rocking into Lucifer as he rubs against him, the waves of cold still seeping through despite the friction and fabric, both of them hard as a rock.

Sooner rather than later, Sam’s head clears as if the demon blood never touched him. As if Famine’s virus hasn’t been pulsing through his veins.

Sam’s body still shakes, though. Can’t stop trembling from the suddenness of it all, from the remainder of all the things Sam would feel anyway, never mind Famine or the demon blood or anything.

Sam looks up at Lucifer, wide eyed and dazzled. Still not close enough. Sam can’t even feel anything concerning the other blood, the new blood that’s better than the old stuff, purer, because his eyes are dilated and Lucifer is all he can take in right now-

Lucifer beams. An oasis in a desert, ready to drown Sam in his own want.

“Now that I’ve got you all sober and free of any outside influences, Sammy, you ready to spend some proper quality time together? I know you’ve been patiently waiting all day. So have I.”

_And I have eyes on Cas and your brother. The moment they even get close to harm, I’ll zap you over to come to the rescue. Famine can’t touch you, not when you have me in your corner, and maybe, if you pray enough, I’ll even kill him for you. Does that make up for some of the rough treatment you’ve had today?_

He rises to his feet, extends an arm to help Sam up.

Sam takes it, wordless. Mind blank except for the feeling of Lucifer so close and cold against Sam’s body, still too feverish, too hot-

And then Sam’s throwing himself at the Devil, and kisses him, open-mouthed, and Lucifer responds in kind as Sam tries to tear his clothes off all over again.

Lucifer flies them somewhere else, Sam doesn’t know or care, even as he pulls Sam’s shirt over his head off, unzips Sam’s jeans and pulls them down with Sam’s boxers because Lucifer likes the struggle, likes the feeling of it, and Sam wants that roughness, wants to fight for this, kicks off his own shoes-

And then Sam melts because Lucifer is stroking Sam all over, sucking and biting and dragging his nails down Sam’s back as he drapes him over the couch. Lucifer never stops kissing Sam, again and again, keeps them both breathless and slick and lubed up in the bathtub as he fingers and fucks Sam against the tile, and the floor, and the bed-

Sam takes what he wants from Lucifer as he lets the Devil have his way with him, every particle and neuron and wave making up his being screaming for this, settling for nothing less even though it’s still not enough-

If Lucifer asked Sam to say yes, in that second, he would have. But Lucifer doesn’t, and even if he did, he wouldn’t take Sam up on his offer. Defeats the purpose.

 _I know it was a little touch-and-go there for a while, but what do you say? Was the foreplay worth it, in the end?_ Lucifer teases.

Sam turns around and shuts him up with his own fervent need and calculated movements. He feels Lucifer up, kisses him up and down, sucks him off, and then jerks him off, and Lucifer just keeps going, can bring them both back to the point before they are both overcome, and then they do it all over again.

Lucifer gets him back afterwards, his tongue doing things to Sam longer than he’s ever done before. Lucifer then turns him around and fucks him for whatever round they are up to, and then Sam goes down on the Devil, and the Devil doubles down on Sam, and they keep taking each other apart because it’s still not enough for either of them.

Sam gets rougher and needier as time goes on, and Lucifer responds in kind. Eventually, Lucifer just turns him around and keeps fucking him, hands wrapped around Sam’s own, stroking him even as he drives the pace, rocks Sam into the mattress slowly and then less so, until Sam cries and wails Lucifer’s name so much he loses his voice.

And then, midway through another round, Lucifer stops. Cocks his head and listens.

Sam trembles underneath him, gasping. Every limb feels elastic, like half-melted rubber. Lucifer finishes Sam off so he isn’t left wanting, at least physically.

Then he snaps! And their bodies are both cleaned off. Another snap! And Sam is clothed, immaculate except for the bloodstains and rips Lucifer left there, exactly the same as Lucifer found him. Like he hadn’t been within three feet of Lucifer. Like Lucifer hadn’t fucked him senseless.

“Time to rescue the other two musketeers.” Lucifer says. He summons some demon as he puts on his own jeans manually.

One hand waves, and the demon is cut up, dead. The Devil smears the blood over Sam’s mouth for authenticity, and sucks the remainder off his hands.

Lucifer pulls over his hoodie right before he zaps Sam right outside Famine’s location.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sammy. I hope it makes up for all the others.” Lucifer winks, and kisses Sam’s mouth and neck, both of them still hidden in the shadow of the building.

Famine is in the middle of his anti-pep talk with Dean when Sam strides in.

“-Inside, you’re already dead.” Famine hisses.

**Not if I have anything to say about it.**

“Let him go.” Sam commands.

Famine turns his electric wheelchair around like some cardboard cutout movie villain.

Sam is more than ready to grind the second Horseman into dust, shining with a mere slice of the purpose and power he’s been promised. His brother needs him, and he would be there. And he would stop this, one way or another.

“Sam,” The Horseman wheezes.

Sam stares him down.

“Sammy, no.” Dean projects, his own voice rough. The demons start to walk toward him, but Famine stops them.

“Stop! No one lays a finger on this sweet little boy.” He orders.

Sam cricks his neck, silent.

**Oh, you are going to suffer slowly, just for that.**

“Sam, I see you got the snack I sent you.”

“You sent?” Sam inquires, a model actor. He knows it wasn’t Lucifer, but he has an image to keep up, and doesn’t want Famine catching on.

“Don’t worry. You’re not like everyone else. You’ll never die from drinking too much.” Famine reassures him. “You’re the exception that proves the rule. Just the way Satan wanted you to be.”

**Oh, you have no idea what Lucifer has planned for me, none at all.**

_Defending my honor, Samuel. I’m touched._

**Still haven’t forgiven you.**

_I’ll live._

Sam refocuses as Famine’s arms open wide, his reedy voice grating, “So, cut their throats. Have at them!”

“Sammy, no!” Dean yells.

“Please, be my guest!” Famine bellows over him.

Sam trembles, but not for the reason Dean thinks.

Famine can feel that Sam is starving, never sated, yes. But Sam has had his fill of demon blood, craves something else, something more, now.

And Sam wants to smite, wants to purge, wants to rip out all the filth he can feel seeping over this place like a rotting out backwash, wants to make Famine scream for what he did to Dean, to Cas, to this town, for what he thinks he holds over Sam-

Sam inhales and throws up an arm. Can feel Lucifer’s chiming grace laughing and melding with his own heartbeats as Sam’s hand splays.

And the demons are choking up smoke, choking up their being, as they get sent back to Hell, where they belong.

Sam closes his eyes and relishes the sound with a smile.

He opens his eyes when he finishes and everything goes silent, breathing heavily.

“No.” Sam answers. That would always be his answer, when push came to shove. When it really mattered. To Famine, to demons, to anyone. Even to Lucifer himself.

“Well. Fine.” Famine huffs, “If you don’t want them, then I’ll have them.”

Famine inhales all the demons inside himself as the demon’s essences’ come back, shrieking as they are consumed.

Sam walks forward and puts his arm out again, ready to end the pathetic display. His teeth grimace in a snarl as he pulls-

“I’m a horseman, Sam. Your power doesn’t work on me.” Famine sneers.

Sam isn’t aiming for him.

“You’re right.” Sam answers. “But it will work on them.”

Sam’s hand closes into a fist.

And then every single soul Famine consumed is sent to Heaven or Hell or in-between, wherever it is bound to go. Sam sets them free.

Sam holds him there, weakens him, drains Famine down to nothing. And Dean cuts the ring from his finger, and Famine is gone, but Dean and Cas stare at Sam and don’t stop staring, not once.

Sam breathes heavily, shoulders heaving deep shudders, his hands trembling and nerves still shorted out like blown fuse.

Sam still can taste Lucifer’s lips and tongue and saliva and blood and grace and every other fluid inside him. Can feel the power rampaging through his system, pumping through his bloodstream. Can feel the memory of the overlay of the Devil’s heads and mouths and wings and teeth and fingers and everything almost inside him, but not entirely.

Famine had nothing on him, had nothing he could offer, because Lucifer is the only one who can give Sam what he needs.

\--

Cas and Dean lock Sam back in confinement to ride out the aftershocks of the withdrawal from the demon blood.

Lucifer flies in after they leave. He covers Sam's mouth and presses him into a wall.

Sam freezes, his hands still trembling.

_Let’s blow this joint, Sammy. Go on a proper date for once, like old times. I promise I’ll keep a hold on the Apocalypse if you really, really want me to._

**How did you find me? How are you here? I’m clean, I'm not even going through withdrawal because of whatever your blood did to me-**

_I can find you any time I want when you drink my blood, Sam. You took me in. Still have some of me inside you._

And then Sam is flown away, some paltry imitation or illusion the Devil made screaming in his place inside the panic room. The same spell will magically drag Sam back the moment the locked door opens.

But in the meantime...

“I have you all to myself for the night, Sam.” Lucifer whispers, hugging Sam close. “How should we spend the rest of it? I’m sure you are full of ideas.”


	28. Wild Horses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by bishop briggs

After Valentine's Day, things alternate between better and worse on all fronts.

Sam still can't stand to look at himself in the mirror for caving so easily, for wanting Lucifer, for missing him, for still being in love with him when Satan still wants to wear his skin and while Sam keeps hearing the body count rise day after day.

Lucifer hasn't been idle, even if he does put things on hold whenever he visits, which is the only reason Sam lets him get away with it. Although Sam knows Lucifer won't outright abduct him indefinitely and will happily fuck or cuddle with Sam when he does find him all alone, with Sam not knowing what else to do except acquiesce, since he's not asking for a yes those nights, only for company, only for Sam, but a preoccupied Devil is better than a Devil on the loose, and that is the only way Sam can ever justify it. Sam tries not to slip, but sometimes he does, anyway. Or Lucifer just shows up where Sam sleeps at Bobby's and steals him away, and Sam allows it only with extensive discussions of what is and isn't allowed with this arrangement.

Sam still can't quite live with himself for giving in, though.

It's enough to send Sam seesawing back and forth between exhausted acceptance of what this is, snarky responses courtesy of pain and denial and Lucifer wearing Sam out, and persistent, malignant self-hatred Sam can't stop himself from directing at himself like a cocked gun propped against his head that he doesn't quite let go off.

Tonight is one of the worse nights.

"Sam, look." Lucifer sighs and rubs his face. "You aren't holding up well."

"Whose fault is that, I wonder?" Sam grates out.

"Please, Sam. I know this isn't easy, but... Let me make this right, Sam. Let me help."

Sam's anger sparks to life, faster than a lit cigarette takes to gasoline. "I already told you, I don't want-"

"Anything from me. I heard you the first time and all those times after."

"Then maybe you should listen, for once." Sam hisses, then turns away.

Lucifer tilts his head at him and smooths down the sheets, voice too gentle. "Sam, just because I'm not doing what you want doesn't mean I'm not listening."

After fidgeting, Lucifer finally makes his move and sits down on the bed.

Sam just hugs his chest and scoots farther to the side.

"Sam. Please?"

"What do you hope to get out of this?" Sam sighs, finally, still not looking at him, head still turned away.

Lucifer's gaze darts around, then he slowly slides to touch Sam's hand.

Sam doesn't pull away and looks back at him.

"I just want what we still have, Sam. And I know I've been very..."

"Migraine-inducing. Evil. Unreasonable. Immune to criticism." Sam pointedly snipes.

"I was going to say persistent to the point of insensitivity, but I suppose that's fair. Evil, though, really?"

Sam snorts. "Murder tends to go under that umbrella, yeah. That and you broke my heart and keep manipulating me into trusting you when I know it's a bad idea. And to add insult to injury, you won't let me die to fix my mistakes and not have any part of this whole business."

"Letting me out wasn't a mistake, Sam. I know you don't really believe that... As for you dying..." Lucifer's voice breaks, and he does not have the right to look like he's about to cry here. He doesn't. "Sam. You dying won't stop this. You are just another player on the board, not the one driving it forward. It's Heaven's fault. And you don't deserve to die for anything."

"Well, I disagree."

"That's your stubborn denial talking. Besides, I can't leave you in Hell, unless... Look, I know you don't want that." Lucifer sees Sam shutting him out, and then changes tact, "But who made you think that you deserved to die, Sammy? Who? Because I will end them, here and now."

Sam hisses a guttural growl, "I don't want you to hurt anyone. Why do you think I'm fighting you so damn hard, Lucifer?"

"Because you want there to be a kinder solution to this situation. And there isn't." Lucifer insists, lips pursed.

Sam huffs out, "What do I have to do to make you understand that this isn't something I want?"

"I don't want to have to do this, either. But I'm not going to let Michael kill you-" Lucifer starts in on a familiar topic as he gestures and his hand twitches, the fervent extremism starting to ice over in his gaze.

Sam finally breaks down, head bowed and voice shaking. "That doesn't mean you have to keep going. If you still love me-"

"I will always love you and will never stop-" Lucifer assures, body instantly going still and tone too soft.

"Then let it go." Sam answers, cutting Lucifer off. 

**Call this all off and just let us figure this out on our own, no Apocalypse necessary.**

"I can't. I can't, Sammy. I have to keep you safe and we have to win this for both our sake's-" Lucifer's wings close in on himself as he argues.

Sam shoots up and shoves Lucifer down on the bed, Sam straddling him. "YOU KEEP SAYING THAT! STOP IT! STOP ACTING LIKE YOU DON'T HAVE A CHOICE HERE."

Lucifer lets him and just looks up at him, pleading.

"But I don't." Lucifer answers. As if it is simple as that.

All at once, all the rage just leaves Sam's frame, replaced with frazzled, candle-burnt-at-both-ends exhaustion and shaking need and loss and pain.

"Do you really think that, Lucifer? Is that what being locked up did to you?" Sam asks, and then he slumps down next to the Devil and doesn't move. "I thought you were all about rebelling and thinking for yourself?"

Lucifer doesn't budge, either.

This is the closest proximity Sam has allowed in weeks.

"I know I don't have a choice." Lucifer repeats, too shaky. He keeps staring at the ceiling in Sam's dream, empty.

"Yes, you do."

"Not if I want you alive and with me, Sam. Not if I am going to keep you safe. I would change this, if I could. But the other angels don't change, Sam, and it's their actions that necessitate mine."

Sam damns himself and rolls over to look at the Devil.

"Look, do you want to talk about it? Would that... Would it do anything?" Sam asks, very tentative and stumbling, but honest and trying to help.

Lucifer looks back at him, for once not cajoling or smug or imploring.

He's just broken.

"I don't know." Lucifer answers, lost and aimless.

He reaches for Sam, then stops short, looking at Sam like he's going to cry.

It's just like Jess would get in their apartment.

Sam closes the distance, giving permission for the contact.

Everything Lucifer hasn't been dealing with washes over them both as Lucifer holds on to him for dear life, muffled voice still audible enough for Sam to hear against his chest.

"I never wanted to hurt you. I just can't move on and I can't win without you and I won't give you up and I know you're scared and I hate it, Sam, but I don't know what else to do." Lucifer's words all run together. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"You could stop." Sam says quietly. "I'd welcome you back. We could... just travel around. Live our lives."

Lucifer's looking back up at him, blue eyes all desperation and fury to the point Sam can see the red lurking behind them.

"I can't just let it all go, Sam. I can't. And even if I tried... Then you die, Sam. Then Michael finds us and he tracks us down and he kills me and kills you and we die."

Lucifer hugs Sam's chest again, voice going back to being hysterical.

"I'm not letting my brother kill me or your brother kill you or-"

"Dean isn't going to-" Sam interjects.

Lucifer's words are all vicious and deep, voice raw, "You don't know that. You can't, Sam. You haven't seen it all go bad like I have. You don't see how alike they are, because he's your brother, and you love him. It... It was like that for me, too. You just... You haven't lived it, Sam."

"I'm not going to."

"I'm not going to let you!" Lucifer's voice grows louder, and then he regains his composure, however briefly, before it devolves again, "I believed in Michael just as much as you believed in Dean. You need to believe me, I'm not trying to hurt you-"

And Lucifer is too far gone and inconsolable again.

"Lucifer... This is going nowhere. I believe you think it's the same. It isn't." Sam's voice is a husk as he keeps going. "So what else. What else do you want me to say?"

"Say you won't kill yourself." Lucifer demands.

_I don't even care if it's a lie, I can't take it, Sam, I can't..._

"Fine. I won't." Sam concedes. It hasn't been worth it, not for a while.

"Thank you." Lucifer holds Sam closer, listens to his chest rise and fall inside the shared dream like he used to.

Sam lets him.

They stay quiet for a long time.

Lucifer's voice is almost inaudible when he looks back into Sam's eyes.

"What can I do to make you love me again?" He whispers against Sam's lips, close but not touching.

"I still love you." Sam admits. His eyelids flutter. "I never stopped."

Sam kisses Lucifer, and Lucifer kisses back, for once hesitant and scared and not anything except something stuck in a Cage for too long, convinced he'd been imprisoned for all the wrong reasons.

Lucifer licks his lips as they pull back, and then stutters, "But... But you are hurting, Sam." Then his voice steadies, grows stronger, as Lucifer reaches for Sam again, pulling him closer, "And you won't let me help, and I want to, I need to-"

**You keep asking me to give you things I can't.**

_But what about the things I can give you, Sam? Why won't you let me in that way, if nothing else?_

Sam holds him off, trying to keep his tone level, but not willing to hide the exhaustion from all of this. Lucifer can't pretend he hasn't been doing what he's been doing, to Sam and everyone. "Kind of hard for you to help when you are half the engine that's running everything currently causing me pain. And you won't back down because you don't see any other options."

Lucifer doesn't look at Sam and shivers, something alien and warped and winged held in Sam's arms as fragile as glass that's been shattered and not quite glued together right.

"Then I'll... I'll stop pushing, I'll leave you alone as long as I can-" Lucifer chokes.

"Lucifer-" Sam says as he presses his head into Lucifer's shoulder, their heads touching.

"I can't promise anything else." Lucifer sobs, and then he's burying himself against Sam's chest again. "I can't, Sam, I won't lie, not to you, never to you-"

Sam holds him close until he's composed again, let's Lucifer huddle against him, just repeating brokenly that he "loves him, he does, really," while Sam rubs his back near his wings.

Lucifer might not admit he's wrong, but he does admit he's more compromised by this than he lets on. That's also what makes him dangerous.

Sam sighs again. It was almost easier to forgive him, to forget exactly what Lucifer is, on nights like these. To forget exactly what he was capable of because he was just too much Jess, too much Sam's other half, too human despite the fact he is anything but, and Sam needs to remember that.

"Damn it, Lucifer." Sam finally concedes. "If you need to bother me all the damn time to keep yourself from going off the rails, fine. I can live with that. But just... let's just not talk about it right now, okay? I'm tired. Just... just stay here and let me sleep."

Lucifer takes the offer for what it is and stays curled up in Sam's arms, until Sam shifts, and Lucifer is holding Sam instead, and they both can't stop wondering how they could love each other so much and understand each other and still have everything go so wrong.

It's the most they've met in the middle now for a while, and a first for Sam feeling like he's finally made headway meeting the Devil halfway to maybe find a way out of this.

It doesn't last.

Sam knows it won't.

Still. Sometimes, he knows Lucifer wants to run away as much as Sam does.

\--

The next time Lucifer comes to Sam's dreams, he's shy, but not a wreck. He doesn't say much, and Sam stays... relatively composed, and they pointedly avoid anything that might set the other off. Lucifer just holds Sam close, breathes him in, tangles his hands in Sam's hair, and then they hold each other and then Lucifer begs Sam for anything he will let him have.

Sam lets Lucifer fuck him the whole night and doesn't hate himself for it.

He's too tired to feel anything except exhaustion and the small amounts of frantic, conjoined relief Lucifer can give him.

\--

Things are almost peaceful for a while.

The mood dips again a week and a half later when something else happens, because there is always more waiting, always more plans and deaths and rituals.

Things take another turn when Lucifer puts back on the false confidence and rough bravado, and Sam wonders if Lucifer learned that trick from him or if they both are too similar to begin with.

He doesn't try to convince Sam of anything, though.

Doesn't ask for a yes.

He just asks to take care of Sam, hums and whispers, eyes too bright, as he reaches for the only human he's ever considered worthy.

\--

Sam decides that three weeks is long enough to wait for Lucifer to calm down and get himself back to his normal levels of insufferable, but he isn't going to let all of it go. Not one bit.

That's when Sam broaches the subject again, mostly for his own sanity and because if Lucifer is going to needle all of Sam's weak points, he can't afford not to strike back if he wants to survive. That, and he's worried. And he feels for the Devil still, even though that helps nothing.

"Look. We... We need to talk. About you and about... About the Cage. Will you let me talk to you about it?" Sam starts, tone inquiring but not condemning.

Lucifer paces aimless about the room, not sure how to settle, hands shaking a little, as he grinds his teeth and then veers off and stops.

"If that's what you want-" Lucifer answers, inhaling too sharply, rubbing his neck to soothe himself, wings hunched, as he stares at Sam's feet.

"Look, just ignore that for a second. This isn't about me right now. Lucifer, do you even... Want to talk about it? I mean, you always clam up and..."

"What's there to talk about?" Lucifer laughs some shallow noise, but his face is all pale and sharp edges as he looks back into Sam's eyes. "My family locked me up and you saved me. Now I'm free and they are going to pay for it and everything is going to be fine. The end."

Lucifer finally makes up his mind and sits cross-legged on the floor, arms crossed, pointedly not looking at Sam.

The writing on the wall is clear. No talking about the Cage, not tonight.

Sam walks on over and sits next to him, hand rubbing the Devil's back. Lucifer starts and looks at Sam like he's surprised he's initiated, but then turns into grateful reverence as he leans into Sam's touch.

Sam forces his voice to remain level and gentle and not to betray the emotions he's been treading water with. "What happens afterwards?"

Sam shouldn't encourage this, but he needs to know.

Lucifer tilts his head and looks at Sam, eyes not comprehending.

"What do you mean?" Lucifer asks too softly. His eyes are too bright, too hopeful.

"Let's say I say yes, and we win, and everything happens like you say it does." Sam clarifies, voice so very careful. "What happens then?"

Lucifer looks... hesitant and dumbstruck but then it's like pure calm and ease smooths away all his rough edges.

He smiles a little, then cups Sam's face.

"Then it's just you and me... And whoever else we tolerate and... The whole world and everything will be safe, and we'll be free, and have the whole universe at our feet to do whatever we want with." Lucifer says unevenly. He keeps looking at Sam's face, but he's not seeing him, not really.

"Won't we get bored? Or lonely?" Sam tries.

Lucifer looks back at Sam, completely serious. "I'm used to eons of solitude and limited company with only three brothers and Dad. And I promise, I have never been bored or lonely when I'm with you, Sam."

He means it wholeheartedly. Sam can read it in his face.

"But what would we even do?" Sam leads, trying not to flinch from all the things he doesn't want to think about happening.

Lucifer shrugs, and his expression goes into some kind of alien blankness Sam recognizes as all Archangel. "That's the point. We could do anything."

Then Lucifer looks back at Sam likes he's everything and whispers, "And we won't ever have to be afraid again."

Sometimes, Lucifer makes Sam's heart race in fear for reasons other than he's the Devil.

This is one of those times.

And with a sinking feeling, Sam realizes Lucifer really doesn't have a plan for afterwards, only this time the feeling isn't fuzzy, it's pure concrete. He's been too lost and holding on to the few things he's been able to hold on to, and Sam's not sure even his companionship will be enough when the smoke clears.

If Lucifer had a plan, Sam could work to dismantle it and talk it down.

But it's not about any ideology, not at the core.

It's just feelings and pain and fear that won't get fixed and hasn't been fixed any time soon.

So. New tactics.

File that away and pretend that doesn't scare the ever-loving shit out of yourself and hope grounding the Devil is enough to make him see your side. Because that works so well.

Still... He doesn't want to cause Sam pain. Problem is, he feels like either way he causes Sam pain, and that his solution is the only way to stop it.

Sam pushes those thoughts away, too. They are only useless right now. Only lead to one-way streets Sam doesn't want to walk down right now.

Sam stands and holds out a hand to help Lucifer to his feet, even if he doesn't need it.

Lucifer takes it because he will take anything Sam offers, because he missed being close, missed being hand in hand-

"You could let me visit you in person-" Lucifer tries, but Sam shakes his head.

"Not tonight." Sam is certain.

Lucifer's face falls, but it isn't in rejection, more just puzzled. He can feel Sam's emotions buzzing on over, feel the line swell with his love and exhaustion and wish to help and feelings of uselessness, but there is resolve and purpose there, too.

Sam's voice quavers, then steadies itself. "If Michael and his forces were neutralized and no longer a threat, Lucifer... Would it be so awful to let it all go?"

Lucifer freezes at that.

"Would you even be able to?" Sam is surprised at his own daring, but the words keep coming out.

The silence Lucifer doesn't want to give but can't break is all the confirmation Sam needs to hear.

Sam still crumples, despite his best efforts not to. "I'm not going to convince you, am I?" He chokes, eyes looking Lucifer up and down before he has to look anywhere else.

Lucifer hugs him and buries his face in Sam's neck. 

"We can pretend we don't have to convince each other tonight. We could do that." Lucifer suggests.

Someone else isn't so good at avoiding denial, themselves, it seems.

Sam still caves, though. He's just as worn down.

\--

Two weeks later, and it's Sam's turn to break. "Why am I not good enough for you on my own?"

Lucifer is genuinely thrown and tries to smooth things over, caressing Sam, kissing him, "But you are good enough, Sam, I told you-"

Sam chokes and pulls away and turns to face the Devil at his side, "No, I'm not. Why do you need to take away everything else? If I am enough, if this is enough... Why can't you just let it go, let everyone live, let the world be, if I am good enough? Why do you need revenge or bloodshed or anything? I don't... I want..."

**I just want you and you want me, why do you have to fight, why do you need to prove this-**

_You know why, Sam._

And then Sam is crying and Lucifer consoling him and hugging him into his chest as he whispers, oh-so-softly, "Sam, Sam, it's all going to be okay."

"No, it isn't! It hasn't been okay! It hasn't been okay since I let you out and all those people died and everyone keeps dying and since you died and burned up and since you got locked up and everything is all wrong." Sam sobs. "It's all wrong all the time."

Lucifer kisses him, kisses the tears as they fall from Sam's eyes, replying, "I know. Sam. I know. But it will be okay. You'll see. I promise you. I'll make sure we are. I'll take care of us."

"Maybe I don't want you to." Sam argues, looking down.

Lucifer tilts Sam's head back up to meet him. His answer rumbles in his chest, "I know. But you'll change your mind."

"Why can't you change yours?" Sam accuses, and stares him down. Lucifer's wings wrap around him, the echo of mouths and teeth and lips lighting over Sam's soul.

"I am trying, Sam. I am. I just haven't gotten there."

**Then I'll just keep praying. But I will stop you. I have to.**

_I know you think so. Still. Our resolve is the same, Sam. One day you will see that._

**No. You said it yourself, I'm stubborn. And I promise you, Lucifer. I will outlast you.**

Lucifer only kisses Sam full on the lips again in answer. Sam kisses back despite his better judgement.

Then Sam lets Lucifer fuck him again, because neither of them have anything else to say to that. Not tonight.


	29. Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S5E10. chapter title a song by halsey

Sam tests the gun on Crowley, to see if it has any bullets. Also because he doesn't trust Crowley as far as he can throw him. Farther, actually.

Crowley looks after his own skin, although he does give them the damn ammunition.

The Colt feels odd in Sam's hand, despite everything. He doesn't know if he'd be able to pull the trigger on Lucifer, when they get there.

Knows he can't.

That's why Dean's doing the honors.

_It's not going to work, Sam. I know your little ploy. I'll pull through, I promise. Not one to get waylaid by the likes of that one. But you can think I'm lying all you like. Still. Trying to kill me, Sam? What would you do, if it worked? Jump off a bridge yourself?_

Lucifer goes quiet after that, has been quiet for days otherwise.

Sam isn't sure what that means, but can't quite tell anyone except Cas in confidence that he doesn't think this is going to work.

Cas says they have to try anyway. They don't have anything else.

It isn't reassuring at all.

Explains why drinking copious amounts of alcohol seems the way to go, after that.

"It's got to be a trap, right?" That's the only way Sam can warn Dean, because he knows this is a trap for sure. Lucifer wouldn't be humming through the link, otherwise.

Dean laughs. "Sam Winchester, having trust issues with a demon. Well, better late than never."

That stings. What stings more is the knowledge Sam trusts the Devil more, and while he is an angel, the point still stands.

"Yeah, and thank you again for your continued support." Sam almost laughs hysterically. Clinks their beers together and drinks, because there's nothing else for it. Lucifer is gunning for Sam, and gunning for the rest of the world, one way, or another. This would just be the next attempt to halt something Sam doesn't even know has breaks.

"You know, trap or no trap, if we've got a snowball's chance... We gotta take it?" Dean adds.

Sam shakes his head, tone too light. "Yeah. I suppose."

That's the only way he's been dealing with it. Take the Devil down, whatever it takes, even though nothing seems to be working.

Sam can't even keep him out of his head, or his dreams, or anything.

"Besides, I'm not sure it is a trap." Dean continues, rifling through the papers. "Check it out. Carthage is lit up like a Christmas tree with Revelation omens. And look at this: there's been six missing persons reported in town since Sunday."

Sam keeps his eyes down.

It's still a trap.

"I think the Devil's there." Dean finishes, and takes another swig.

"Okay." Sam assents. He knows he is. He can't really confirm it without freaking Dean out, because there was no way this was ending well any way the chips fall.

Sam doesn't know what will happen if he is waiting to meet Sam in person, or what will happen once he is face to face with a body he's been avoiding out of sheer self-preservation, because Lucifer knew how to play him too well.

Maybe, if it all goes south, he can plead for all their lives. For Lucifer to exercise mercy.

He doubts Lucifer will go for it.

_If they make stupid decisions, Sam, that's on your human pals. I can always bring them back after I tear Michael apart. Besides, leaving the party early is a nicer way to go. Trust me, being caught in the cross-hairs of a smiting is far less fun than a quick, clean death._

Scratch that: He knows he won't. Not unless Sam can find something to sweeten the deal.

_Just come alone, Sam. You know where to find me._

Sam doesn't answer.

"Look, if you think about it, you can't come with." Dean interrupts.

That isn't an option. Not if Sam has any chance of convincing the Devil not to kill them, as slim as that chance is.

Sam's voice rumbles, "Dean..."

 **Dean, I have to.** There isn't another choice, even if I wish otherwise.

"Look, I go against Satan and screw the pooch... Okay." Dean argues. "We've lost a game piece. That, we can take. But if you're there..." Dean points. "Then we are handing the Devil's vessel right over to him. That's not smart."

Sam cuts him off and lets the raw anger bleed through. "Since when have ever done anything smart?"

"I'm serious, Sam."

_Such little regard for himself. And you. What a charmer._

**Back off, Lucifer.**

_I get it, protecting big brother. I was in your shoes, once. But big brothers aren't always bigger or smarter, Sam. And he doesn't know you like I do._

It takes all of Sam's willpower not to slam the table, as he focuses on Dean, only Dean, not the Devil whispering in his skull. "So am I. Haven't we learned a damn thing? If we're going to do this, we're gonna do it together." Sam promises. It's not a negotiation.

That's the only way anything works. And Sam can't go it alone, not against Lucifer. Neither can the others, if they don't want to be mincemeat right out the gate.

Sam stares Dean down, afraid and sure and unwavering.

Dean blinks, almost takes another swing, but first capitulates. "Okay." Has to get his last jab in, "That's a stupid friggin' idea."

Then he's eyeing Jo, and Sam can't help but let the sass out. "Boy. Talk about stupid ideas."

Only Sam's had worse, if he's being honest.

And then Dean leaves to go and try his luck, although Sam knows Jo is out of his league.

After that, Sam tries to ignore Lucifer trying to tempt him with other offers, offers where Sam goes in without backup, and no one has to get hurt.

Sam just has to trade his freedom of movement for the company of the Devil.

He gets distracted by the picture Bobby takes, and Cas, who is good at that.

"Bobby's right. Tomorrow we hunt the Devil." Cas starts in, and then he tacks on, too serious. "This is our last night on earth."

Sam twitches.

**Not if I have anything to say about it.**

_Truer words have never been spoken, Sammy. But the little one is right. No pain, no gain. I am curious how far you'll get before you take me up on my offer, though. I have my priorities, but you are still the first._

The camera flashes.

Sam can see the imprint of wings even though he'd rather not.

_Still. Busy day tomorrow. You should get your beauty rest. Unless you want my company?_

\--

Ellen and Jo and Castiel make it to Missouri first.

It doesn't help their chances.

\--

Following reapers isn't the best plan. Neither is going it alone.

But the little angel that could would learn his lesson now, one way or another.

"Lucifer." Castiel breathes. The archangel is cold, colder than anything, and Cas can see his true form towering him over him, radiating outward but poised, contained, so vast beyond the flames.

"So I take it you're here with the Winchesters?" Lucifer asks, head tilted and vessel's hands clasped behind his back. Red eyes blink at Cas, lazy, not concerned, only hungry, only patient and waiting and sure.

_How's Sammy holding up?_

And there's more there, pure want, too many smiling mouths looking back into Castiel's many black-as-pitch ones inside all his skulls, too many wings and mouths to eye from beyond the flesh Cas can see for Cas to keep track of, and every single one bleeds with love and need and hunger that Cas can hear like a heartbeat singing at him. He feels small, smaller than small. Less than an echo, less than a single strand or note sound and light, against the quiet eye of the storm, the fury that hasn't been reserved for Cas, not really, but for almost everything else in the world, all save Lucifer's true vessel.

Cas lets the silence settle before he answers, lies, "I came alone."

 ** _It's Sam, and you are unworthy to speak his name._** Castiel's grace hisses, his own tiny true form an insect, a fly caught by a towering mantis or spider, one that does not know its own peril, or knows, but doesn't care anyway.

Lucifer towers higher, mouths open wide, tongues out, teeth gnashing together from inside his borrowed skin, wings so bright it's blinding, but the flesh hides it to human eyes.

As an angel, Castiel's teeth are like a human's, almost if not quite. Enamel shaped like molars and canines and incisors, but mostly incisors and molars with few sharp ones peeking through.

Every single on of Lucifer's are all canines, all long and jagged, not like a vampire, more like a shark or a piranha, descending from the gum-line beneath all too-human mouths and lips, only not quite human enough, the skull too elongated, too deer-like, the every eye too bright.

_I have every right. He's mine, and I think we both agree on how magnificent and spectacular of a specimen he truly is._

Lucifer stops walking and answers, tone a bit too pointed. "Loyalty. Hmph. Such a nice quality, in this day and age. Castiel, right?"

Cas nods faintly, almost quailed by the force of the grace singing at him, except he isn't, because he will not back down. Sam is his friend, and he will protect him, not let Lucifer befoul Sam's name with his twisted mouth.

Lucifer points and starts walking around the circle again. "Castiel, I'm told you came here in an automobile?" Lucifer pauses and clasps his hands in front of him before he warms them via the ring of fire Castiel can't break out of. It's too close to human for comfort, with how alien Lucifer otherwise holds his true self.

"Yes?" Cas asks, slightly thrown at the non-sequitur and retreating grace. His feathers ruffle, and he tries not to let the cold seep through. Cas is like a miniature ball of lightning, crackling in over himself.

"What was that like?" Lucifer scrunches up his face, but internally, he's laughing, messing with the seraph because he's been in a car, his own truck, many times before, still recalls ferrying Sam around fondly like it was yesterday. Still, he's curious as to how Castiel will answer. It says a lot, when angels reveal what they think of human things, and Lucifer can see if he's... malleable, or less so. See what he's made of. His true form remains still, hides the joke.

Cas looks to the side, voice unsure but still measure. "Um... Slow." Cas settles, brow furrowing as his eyebrows raise. He tacks on, "Confining."

Then he looks down, too overwhelmed with the grace and power and assurance the Devil carries himself with, everything bright and brilliant and cold.

So the little angel is direct and brave and takes everything a bit literally. There's a restraint there, a fierceness he hasn't fully released, Lucifer can tell. Time to see if he can tease more of it out...

Lucifer shakes his head at him, Nick's expression bemused but still giving nothing away. He speaks, too casual, "What a peculiar thing you are."

Cas raises his gaze to meet Lucifer's, feeling the judgement and weighing there as his own character and presence is evaluated, until he sees Nick's expression shift to amusement and decides he's most certainly being played with. That, and Lucifer's true form laughs, and laughs loudly.

"What's wrong with your vessel?" Cas snipes, not one to be cowed or one to quail, and Lucifer's expression sobers, turns almost abashed but not quite.

"Yes, um, Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid." Then Lucifer's expression turns a bit too smug and knowing and Cas can see the want and the intent and the primordial mission in Lucifer's eyes. Lucifer's head bobs a bit as he half-smiles, rueful, "Can't contain me forever, so..."

"You." Cas growls as he lurches forward, stopping short only because of the flames. Cas can see the unvoiced designs for Sam, the threat, and becomes all song and fury in response, even if the circle fire suppresses his ability to act.

 ** _I will end you, you will not have him, Sam is better than you will ever be_** \- Cas vows.

Lucifer inhales and privately enjoys the display, even if he also appreciates just how powerless Cas is at the moment.

Lucifer eyes Castiel up and down, and his grace sings, _Oh, he is. And you can't stop me. He's already mine in all the ways that count, even if I don't have him yet. But just look at you. Some protector. Led astray so easily._

Castiel's voice becomes a rumbling growl, almost revealing his true voice if he could. Lucifer can feel the tension thrumming there.

"You are not taking Sam Winchester." Cas vows as Lucifer stares him down, for once the Devil's expression honest, angry and possessive and unconvinced of Castiel's claim, as Cas adds, "I won't let you."

_What can you do, against what we have, Castiel? Why fight a battle you won't win? Sam will not even want you to fight this for him, not when I'm finally with him as God intended. Remember what you are, what I am. And I want what's best for Sam, Castiel. I do. I promise you that. No need to fear for Sam's welfare._

"Castiel," Lucifer tone darkens in warning, then modulates itself, and Lucifer turns and walks again, trying to reconnect, "I don't understand why you are fighting me. Of all the angels."

"You really have to ask?"

 ** _My priorities are evident. And I do not believe you. It doesn't matter if you think Sam is yours. Sam is his own person, a good person, with a kind heart. He's my friend, and he deserves his freedom and to not have any part of the pain and suffering and violence you will inflict on the world._**

_Sam deserves peace and safety, Castiel. Only by cultivating the world together can we achieve it. I'm doing this because it's best for him._

Lucifer's voice raises, his eyes not blinking or leaving Castiel's once. "I rebelled. I was cast out." Then Lucifer tries for a different emotion, equivalent emotions, as he gestures between them. "You rebelled, you were cast out."

_Both of us fell for love and because of causes we believe in. We aren't that different, you and I. That's why you are so invested in protecting those two. Trust me, I understand more than you know._

Lucifer continues, "Almost all of Heaven wants to see me dead. And if they succeed," _Which they won't, although I'm sure you would prefer otherwise_ , "Guess what? You're their new public enemy number one."

_Next up on the chopping block, and how would you protect yourself or the Winchesters then? And I like you, Cas. I do. You have gumption and vision and bonds with someone I care about. You've served Sam well, and been a good friend. I won't say that I am not grateful, even if you've made my objectives more of a hassle by a slight margin. You've been protecting Sam from harm, and that makes us allies._

"We're on the same side, like it or not, so..." And Lucifer turns his eyes to the side and frowns, "Why not just serve your own best interests, which in this case just happen to be mine?" Lucifer taps his mouth, considering.

 _And_ _Sam doesn't want Dean to say yes, and neither do you, neither do I. We are working towards the same thing, and want Sam to be safe._

**_Sam will never be safe with you._ **

_We both know the lie in that statement, Castiel. I will give Sam everything. Everything._

Lucifer's wings fan out, not a threat, just declarative.

_This is what I am, I am holy, I am worthy, I will bring Heaven to his knees, and if you stand against that tide, well... What do you expect to be? How do you expect to withstand me? Particularly when you don't need to. Sam is your friend. And Sam will always be mine. Always._

Cas stares off into the distance before he faces Lucifer head-on again, Jimmy's blue eyes burning, Castiel's coal-black ones brighter, burning with blue fire of his own.

"I'll die first." Cas swears. He unfurls his wings in threat, every bit angel Lucifer is, dwarfed but just as certain, just as stubborn.

**_I won't betray Sam's trust. He is my friend, and I would not align myself with you and let you claim him. I am not afraid to die for their sake, and I will not forsake the people of this world, either. They deserve life._ **

Lucifer's wings fold behind him, and the Archangel's true form recedes into some kind of posture Castiel can only describe as withdrawn and disinterested.

_Such a shame. Perhaps I'll bring you back after this all ends, if Sam misses you by then. He's lucky to have you, even though you'll fail him, even if you are fighting a war you won't win. I do respect your resolve, Castiel. You do yourself credit, even if you are more idealistic and noble than victorious. We all have our hills to die on._

Lucifer stares back at Cas, raises his chin in challenge, but Cas just stares, unmoved.

"I suppose you will." Lucifer murmurs and leaves Cas to his fate.

_Now, if you'll excuse me. I have pressing engagements to attend to and have an appointment with Sam to keep. I hope you find the accommodations to your liking in the meantime. They might be the last you see. Or perhaps not. That's all up to you and your resolve, Cas. Let's see what it gets you._

\--

It remains too quiet when they get to Carthage, Missouri, far too quiet for Sam's liking.

Lucifer doesn't send anything over now, nothing at all. It's worrying, seeing as Cas isn't with them, disappeared faster than you can blink.

No time for goodbyes.

_He's not dead, Sam. I just wanted to chat._

Sam isn't sure he wants to know what that means, but doesn't have time to dwell on it.

"There you are." They all turn at Meg's voice, seeing as she's the greeting party, now.

Meg's eyebrow quirks, her expression to joyful. Sam holds the gun high.

"Meg!" He yells.

**Don't try anything-**

He wills over, hoping maybe Lucifer will pass on the message.

"You shouldn't have come here, boys." Meg answers, and Sam can tell Meg is laughing on the inside, hears her courtesy of Lucifer's connection with him, the line between them throbbing even though Sam isn't close enough and hasn't taken anything in for weeks.

_ No one except for you, Sam. He told you to come alone. You should have listened to him, if you love him so much. _

Sam's mouth wants to snarl. He can feel something else coming. A catch. A caveat. He just isn't sure what.

Dean is more ready for a fight. "Yeah, well I could say the same thing for you." Dean starts in and cocks his gun.

"Didn't come here alone, Dean-o." Meg answers aloud. What remains unsaid is clear, even if she isn't broadcasting: _You brought your backup. I brought mine_.

The puddle at Meg's side splishes as a Hellhound growls at them. More than one.

**Shit.**

_Should've listened, Sam. I told you. Work and play, different strokes for different folks. And I'm much less kind with work, Sam. You should know that by now._

Sam knows Lucifer picked Hellhounds for a reason. He's just not sure if Dean's the reason, or if it was the most convenient option Sam wouldn't notice out the gate.

_Not that, Sam. I just wanted them to make you fetch those closest to you. Bring you to where I'm waiting, since you've been so keen on avoiding me again._

"Hellhounds." Dean answers, teeth gritting, in case Jo and Ellen are blindsided.

Meg's voice is raucous. "Yeah, Dean. Your favorite." But then Meg's voice grows shrewd. "Come on, boys. My father wants to see you."

The offer is clear. And it's an offer for Sam.

_Last chance for them to cut and run, and for you to take the kinder option, Sammy. I won't give chase. But I want you. So come on over, baby._

But Sam can't go alone. He can't. He'll fail, he knows he'll fail, Lucifer has too much of a hold on him alone, will just lock him up until he says yes, he knows he will.

"I think we'll pass." Sam answers loudly, the pain etched into his face, because he knows this isn't going to end without someone else paying the price. "Thanks."

Meg eyes him, but still gives him another out, because Sam's answer wasn't for all of them, just himself, and Lucifer's orders were very direct and thorough, seeing as other times, he's let too much slip through the cracks. "Your call. You can make this easy..." Meg shakes her head, then her tone turns dangerous, "Or you can make it really, really hard."

**Lucifer, please, please-**

_You know what you have to do, Sam. You have the keys to the kingdom. But you are just going to let them call the shots, aren't you? Just like you always do. That's why humanity is going to fall, Sam. You give them too much faith and freedom, too much rope to hang themselves and damn them to their own self-destruction._

Sam would reconsider, he would, because he knows what that means. But it's not his call anymore. It's Dean's, and Jo's, and Ellen's.

And Dean looks back at Ellen.

She nods.

"When have you known us to make anything easy?" Dean asks.

_Ain't that the truth._

Meg shakes her head.

Dean shoots a Hellhound.

They run.

Meg's laughter follows them.

Sam doesn't wait for anyone else, flees as fast as possible, because if he's caught, he knows just where he's going to be dragged to.

One Hellhound nabs Dean, and another mauls and claws Jo when she goes to save him.

Sam shoots one, Ellen another, and they get inside a building for cover, but the damage is done.

It's bad. Really bad.

And it's all Sam's fault.

_Not yours, Sam, remember? They made their bed. Let them lie in it._

**Lucifer-**

_They chose to come here, didn't they? You didn't make them. And I will let them go, Sam. But you have to come to me._

"Safe for now." Dean says.

"Safe or trapped like rats." Sam can't stop himself from answering. He should have known this was how it was going to be.

He knows Lucifer too well.

Maybe he should go, even though he knows it's hopeless. Maybe he can just say no as a prisoner. Maybe that will be enough.

"Hey, you heard Meg. Her father's here. This is our one shot, Sammy." Dean counters. "We got to take it no matter what."

Sam's not sure it's a shot at all. But he'll do what he has to.

For Ellen. For Jo.

Maybe they can get them out before this kills them.

Only then they are running interference from Bobby, and what he says stops Sam in his tracks. "Devil's in the details."

And then Dean is pressing for more information, asking what Ellen's guess of the reapers might mean, and Bobby answers, "It sounds like Death, son. I think Satan's in town to work a ritual."

 _However did he guess?_ Sam can taste Lucifer's smug sarcasm all the way from here. _Am I that predictable?_

Bobby keeps going, not in the know. "I think he's planning to unleash Death."

"You mean, as in this dude and taxes are the only sure thing?" Dean's voice quavers.

"As in Death, the Horseman, the pale rider in the flesh." Bobby clarifies.

That confuses Dean more. But Sam tunes that out, because he can't surrender now, not for anything. There is more going on here, worse things, things Sam can't avert if he walks right into Lucifer's arms to spare the people he loves.

He needs to remember Ellen and Jo would never forgive him, if he traded their lives for his freedom. And there's a whole world to think about. And Sam can take on a Horseman. He can.

He can't do it trapped with Lucifer, though.

"This is the angel of Death. Big Daddy Reaper. They keep this guy chained in a box 600 feet under. Last time they hauled him up, Noah was building a boat." Bobby pauses, and then continues, his voice washing over Sam as he goes numb from all of it. "That's why the place is crawling with reapers. They're waiting on the big boss to show."

_You know, despite my distaste for humans, I like your father figure. He has a way of delivering news with such panache._

**Is this what this is?**

_I'm sure you'll find out. I will say, I like digging, Sam. Physical labor is so underrated these days. It's nice, having a body. Feeling all the little things. Dirt under your nails. The handle of a shovel. Flesh. It's nice. Would be nicer to feel you, but... We'll see, won't we? Maybe I can have both death and the other death, the smaller one, after you show your beautiful face?_

Then Bobby gives them their location. William Jaspers Farm.

_See you later, if all goes well. Until you want to speed this up?_

Sam ignores him, trying to think of any way to get out of this. Their odds do not look good.

\--

Meg wanders in to join both angels, too smug.

Castiel wants to wipe the smile from her face by all means necessary. Can't, but he does want to.

"I got the Winchesters pinned down, for now, at least. What should I do with them?" She asks, both eyes on the Devil.

Castiel watches Lucifer too, hoping his true form has some tells.

His vessel is all movement, taps his marred face, but unbroken lips.

"Leave them alone."

And Cas sees Lucifer's true form beam at him, too satisfied, and there is a tell. He knows that Lucifer knows that Cas knows about what he's been doing to Sam, and Cas knows that Sam's been having front row seats to a kind of blackmail Cas wouldn't know how to even begin to help him with.

Lucifer has his vessel right where he wants him.

_Let him stew, and let's see if he walks out to meet me. Doubt he'll go for it, but still. I can be generous. I do love him, after all._

Cas doesn't have anything to say to that.

Meg doesn't know this dance, not like Cas and Lucifer and Sam do.

"I'm sorry, but are you sure?" She questions. "Shouldn't we-"

Lucifer doesn't like doubt, which is ironic, seeing as criticism is what got him kicked out.

Lucifer cradles Meg's face. The vessel looks kind.

"Trust me, child." Lucifer assures, thumbs glancing over her face with energy, and energy that would promise violence if it could just be let out, before settling on her neck, a neck he'd snap so easily. "Everything happens for a reason."

Lucifer's eyes are flat and dead, inside and out, and his true form... His true form broadcasts emotions as clear as day, and he would burn her out the second it was convenient. Cas can see it in the way his pupils dilate, in the way his many heads tilt, considering. In the way his teeth clench together, but his mouth still salivates for inflicting all the holy fury of an Archangel too long denied his heart's desire.

It's funny, almost, Cas thinks. Meg twisting a knife she doesn't know she's even twisting. Like her, even if she is blind to it.

Still, that's not what they need to worry about.

Sam is trapped, just like Cas, and both need to find a way out. Sam needs Cas to fly him out of here.

He's the only chance Sam has.

"Well, Castiel. You have some time." Lucifer starts in, calm and measured. "Time to change your mind."

That does make Cas stare back, eye to eye with the behemoth before him.

**_I will not forsake Sam._ **

_Such conviction. But Cas, he doesn't want you to throw your life out the window. Others are dying enough for his sake. And Sam is going to be mine, either way. I promise you that._

\--

Lucifer has gone silent, now. Waiting for Sam to make his decision.

And Dean reconvenes with Sam to make a new plan, to track Lucifer down.

Then they try to plan to get Jo and Ellen out, to do anything, but Jo stops them.

She wants to go down fighting.

Dean denies it. But Jo doesn't let him talk her out of it, because she has a plan. And she knows their odds.

"Those are Hellhounds, and they got all our scents." She adds. "And they'll never stop coming after you."

**Coming after all of us.**

Sam doesn't want to accept it. But he can't stop it.

He can't ever stop it.

Who is he to defy the choices of people who have their priorities mapped out better than him?

It's not Jo or Ellen whose the weak link here.

It's him.

And he can't ask them to live with Lucifer breathing down their necks as a way to get to Sam, not when it won't save them. Not when Lucifer might drag them all to Hell and try another angle.

Sam knows what living with no options means, and he can't do that to them, too.

Let them think they've made a difference, because for all that Sam knows, he knows their sacrifice matters.

And it just might stop the Hellhounds from taking them, from taking Dean...

From dragging Sam down to the Devil, helpless and useless and alone.

"If I can get a shot on the Devil... Dean. We have to take it." Jo makes up her mind.

Sam won't take her freedom to die the way she chooses from her.

Better that than what Lucifer will do to them all, if Sam doesn't play the game he wants him to.

Ellen chooses her death, too. She's not leaving her daughter. Not for anything.

They say their goodbyes.

Sam didn't know he could feel more hollow, until everything explodes behind them.

Death is so often fire, in Sam's life.

He hopes Ellen and Jo went to Heaven quickly, as far from the Devil as they could possibly get.

_They made their peace, Sam. They'll die with the only honor humanity can die with. They chose it the moment they ran and made that decision for you._

Sam thinks he might be able to pull the trigger now, when all is said and done.

He knows he can't.

But he wants to, so, so very badly.

_\--_

_Am I your dirty little secret, Sammy? Like a mistress you’re sneaking off to see on the side?_

Crouched in the underbrush, Sam can feel Lucifer’s icy presence even as far away as they are. Knows Lucifer can feel him, too, but isn’t letting the rigged game appear so, partly out of confidence and partly out of their joint decision to not tell Dean all about their history.

He hasn't stopped talking. Keeps rubbing all of Sam's feelings in his face, even though the pain is too much, because Ellen and Jo are gone...

And Sam led them here, knowing what he knows. It's his fault.

Sam doesn’t want to keep more secrets, but the truth had been too much for even him, and he loved Jess, loved Nick, loved all of what Lucifer was before the full glory of the Archangel started truly focusing on his Apocalypse Now mission. And if it was too much for him, he knew Dean wouldn’t take it well at all.

Especially considering how easily lost that trust was, how easily misplaced with everything that happened with the blood, and with Ruby, and with Dean’s earlier agreement that they separate.

He’d reconsidered, but still. That stung, and Lucifer knew it stung, and Sam didn’t want Lucifer to have any more ammunition against him to keep Sam pitted and alone against the rest of the world, as he waited and waited and kept waiting for Sam to leap into his open arms.

And right now the grief of Ellen and Jo and everyone else was too near, almost ready to swallow him up and damn him to Hell right then and there. They had died, died broken and in pain, and Lucifer was still winning.

That would end tonight. It had to.

This was Sam’s chance to make it right. No matter how much he didn’t want to lose that feeling, that thing craved underneath his skin for Jess, for Lucifer, for the thing that made him feel complete.

This was bigger than him, and he’d sacrifice all he had to fix all of this. It was the least he could do.

He’d been the last thing standing between Lucifer and freedom, and he’d fallen.

He would not fall. Not this time.

Sam wished he believed it. Wished he didn’t feel the trap being sprung, singing inside his skin.

**You killed them.**

_No, Sam. You all could have come to me willingly. But they chose to take the hard way out._

**Lucifer-**

_Don't pretend their sacrifice was necessary. I warned you. I gave them a chance. They made their choice. And I'll bring them back for you, when this is all over, if you still want it, although I doubt you will-_

**It doesn't change what happened, doesn't erase all the pain you caused-**

_No, Sam. No, it doesn't. Nothing ever does. That's life. That's how God made humanity. Don't blame me for the faulty design._

“Last words?” Sam asks Dean, and he prays. Knows Lucifer hears that, too.

Knows Lucifer knows Sam’s gunning for him. Knows Lucifer knows he’ll fail.

“I think I’m good.” Dean admits, after a long, long look at his baby brother.

Sam wouldn’t let Dean down this time, either. He couldn’t.

The air smells like death and corpses and dirt, the too-close feeling of dew and pine needles ground into Sam’s shaking hands.

Sam doesn’t look at Dean. Only looks down, takes a breath.

“Yeah. Me, too.” Sam replies with a nod. He isn’t ready. He’s never ready.

But Lucifer is waiting.

Both brothers walk into the eye of the storm.

\--

“Hey!” Sam yells, let’s all the muted grief escape. Cocks the gun even though he knows it’s a useless gesture. “You wanted to see me?”

Puts on a show, as if that might fix anything, might serve as a distraction even though there’s no distracting Lucifer, not really.

Lucifer stops digging, and turns back to look at him. Wipes the dirt off his hands, like the blood will wash off them, too.

_I have to say, it’s so good to get a look at you in person again. It’s been far, far too long._

For once, he doesn’t look amused or like he knows how this is going to go down. No, Lucifer only looks concerned. But that concern is not reserved for his own welfare. No, he can feel Sam’s warring mind from a mile off.

And he should be, because Lucifer can feel the anguish and determination (misplaced as it was) filling Sam up like a drowning man chokes down air.

“Oh, Sam.” Lucifer starts in, apologetic and wary. “You don’t need that gun here.” He shoots Sam a reassuring smile, a bit too shallow to be genuine, and points, each telegraphed movement measured and unassuming.

_Sam, you’re only hurting yourself like this. Why do you insist on making this so painful for yourself?_

Sam ignores him, shifts in place as he feels Lucifer dig in deeper around his soul. But Sam’s mind a wall, and his purpose holds true, and he doesn’t keep his eyes off the Devil no matter how much he wants to blink away or scream.

“You know I’d never hurt you.” Lucifer adds, still gentle. And Sam wants to throw him back into captivity, wants to throw him down with both hands wrapped around his throat. Wants to kiss him until he’s consumed into submission just like he did to Sam again, and again, and again.

 **Too late.** Sam thinks. **You already have.**

“Not really.” Lucifer tacks on, nudges Sam’s mind like a frozen minefield of icicles.

_What we have is greater than them, Sam. And I will make all of it right again, rinse away all that misplaced anguish and pain. Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see._

Sam bites down on the inside of his mouth to stop from yelling in response. Hopes his mere presence is enough to keep Lucifer’s attention occupied. Because he knows Lucifer, knows Jess, knows this. And Lucifer’s every bright ray of light revolves around Sam’s soul like a comet trapped in his orbit.

_Sam, if you think this is going down with me letting you destroy all my hard work, you’re wrong. What do you think you and Dean are going to accomplish, here, exactly?_

And Sam can tell Dean is transparent to the Devil. That when Lucifer’s hidden smile drops as the Colt is held directly to his right temple it’s all for show.

Knows that Lucifer’s humoring Sam, keeping up the façade of concern and surprise all just to prove a point (just like Jess did that one time in Sidona, when other tourists pissed her off, Sam remembers, but doesn’t let the memory make a dent, because this is nothing like that, it isn’t).

Proving to Dean: That he’s not going to lose, that he’s coming for Sam one way or another.

And proving to Sam he’s not getting out of this easily. That the sooner Sam caves, the sooner they can play nice.

“Yeah? Well, I’d hurt you.” Dean answers, all vitriol, all protective. “So suck it.”

Lucifer’s guarded face is the opposite of everything he’s sending over to Sam.

 _You’re trying your best, Sam, I know. But your best isn’t going to cut it. You’re only human, after all, and our destiny is waiting,_ and adds, _I’ll spare Dean, I promise. He’s trying so hard, too._

One shot rings out.

Lucifer crumples to the ground.

And Sam can’t celebrate, he can’t. Because he can feel Lucifer all around him, icy and engulfing like a miniature storm. Felt the pain of the shot like it had hurt him, too. Feels it fade and choke away as the Devil coalesces back together.

_Told you, kiddo._

And Sam feels their last gasp of hope flicker and die as it slips away into nothing.

Looks at Dean anyway, because there is nothing else to do. His teeth still glint in the night, his chest still shivering into silent, racking sobs because there is nothing else, nothing, and if he screams, **Dean, no it didn’t work, it didn’t take** … then Dean would know, and those were some answers he could not say aloud. Could barely admit to himself.

Lucifer takes in a gasp of air for dramatic effect.

“Ow.” Lucifer starts, inhaling sharply, then rises to his feet like the bullet didn’t make a dent at all.

And Sam can’t look at Dean’s face. Can’t bear it.

The shame and fear and self-loathing is too much. So is the traitorous thought that he’s glad it didn’t work, and he can’t think that, he won’t, but he does and that hurts more.

_Man, that little thing sure can pack a mean punch. The things we do for love, Sam, am I right?_

“Where did you get that?” Lucifer demands from Dean, as if he’s not a caricature of angry, and Sam feels all of Lucifer’s couched superiority and glee, knows there is a tiny speck of anger because Dean is human and he knows Lucifer’s stance on humanity, even if Dean is Michael’s vessel and right now trying to protect Sam. Knows the Devil’s anger is all for show, deep down.

_Can’t have big brother catching on, can we?_

And Lucifer backhands Dean and sends him flying across the clearing into a tree.

_It will barely even leave a bruise, Sam. He hurts me, I hurt him. Fair is fair. Besides, it won’t do for Dean to try and take on more than he can chew. If it was anyone else, well, he could have gotten seriously injured. I’m practically doing him a favor._

And now it’s Lucifer and Sam, left all alone.

And Lucifer drops the smokescreen now that Dean’s knocked out and down for the count.

“Now, where were we?” Lucifer asks, smug grin too tight.

And the panic is welling back in Sam now, and he can’t stop taking in too much oxygen…

**You-**

_Sammy, you need to learn to let things go. Always holding on with both hands and praying it’s enough. Your pain is breaking my heart._

“Don’t feel too bad, Sam.” Lucifer continues, arms movements still deliberate and slow to try and keep Sam from flinching away, “There’s only five things in all of creation that that gun can’t kill,” And Lucifer shrugs, the farthest from apologetic, “And I just happen to be one of them.”

Sam doesn’t reply, looks back at Dean, lips trembling. All his being feels stretched too tight, especially with the Devil’s true form wheeling closer and closer. He won’t cry, he won’t, but he knows the Devil can feel his desperation, his loss, his budding realization that there are no other options, no way to run or fight this anymore.

And Sam knows just how far Lucifer will go to have him, knows it intimately.

_Human denial is such a strange thing, wouldn’t you agree?_

“But if you give me a minute, I’m almost done.” Lucifer finishes cheerfully, having made his point crystal clear.

_Still, it’s long worn out its welcome, Sammy. Time to smell the roses. Besides, we have so much catching up to do after all those years apart, other rendezvous non-withstanding._

And Sam can’t stay still or away or anything anymore, drawn in to the Devil like he’s water sucked down a drain. He ignores it, checks on Dean to assuage the guilt that just won’t die.

_He’s fine, Sam. I wouldn’t lie to you. He’s just out like a light. Now, come on over, sweetheart. We have a lot of things to work out._

“You know,” Lucifer clears his throat, stops digging, and Sam looks back up, a horrified moth drawn to a flame. “I don’t suppose you’d just say ‘yes’ right here and now? End this whole tiresome discussion?”

Lucifer shakes his head- false frown altogether too casual, as if he isn't asking for anything major- even though he already knows the answer. He extends his offer anyway, like he’s done night after night after night in Sam’s dreams.

_It would save us so much time and pain, Sam. You know how this ends, how it’s all going to go down. Stop running from me._

Sam rises to his feet.

The Devil doesn’t stop talking.

“That’s crazy, right?” Lucifer suggests, and Sam can’t stay silent any longer. Tears start welling up but he crushes them, crushes them down with every other feeling he cannot bear to feel.

“It’s never going to happen!” Sam shouts, the sound throaty and raw with all the losses accrued today. All the people he’s failed. All the times he’s failed himself.

**You have nothing to offer me. You lied.**

_Samuel, I did nothing of the sort. Your grief has blinded you, made you unnecessarily cruel._

Lucifer crosses his arms and resumes digging, as if that will calm Sam down. Or perhaps it’s just to calm himself, because Sam can feel the start of the anger and pain set in, the unwanted burnt-wire taste of rejection settling inside his throat, and all the while Lucifer makes a face, like Sam is the one over-reacting.

“Oh, I don’t know, Sam. I think it will.” Lucifer grounds out, a smidgen of frustration sharpening his tone as he digs in with a bit more force, and Sam flicks his head as if he could throw Lucifer’s words away, but Lucifer keeps going, “I think it’ll happen soon. Within six months.”

_Wanna bet on it?_

“And I think it will happen,” Lucifer isn’t having Sam’s resistance anymore, all his expectations shining through, blue eyes luminous even as the Archangel’s burning desire is trying to convey something beyond its limits over the insufficient the pale flesh of his face, “In Detroit.”

All Sam can see is Jess when she knows she’s won an argument. When she knows she’s going to have her way.

Sam doesn’t raise his voice this time, although his voice breaks all the same.

“You listen to me, you son of a bitch,” The words are bile in his throat.

_But I’ve been listening, Sam, been listening and waiting so patiently._

**Shut up.**

“I’m going to kill you myself.” Sam hisses, eyes not leaving the Devil for a moment. He can see the hunched, bright, scarred and burning True Form of the Devil shining so brilliantly, awash in a light that made him feel cold and bathed in ecstatic joy as wings brushed over his skin, and Sam would not let Lucifer have this. “You understand me?”

_Liar, liar. Pants on fire. Like when I burned on the ceiling, see?_

But Sam was not going to Lucifer win this. He had promised.

“I am going to rip your heart out!” Sam promises, and he lets all the heartbreak and pain and everything he’s held back since the Cage opened tear the Devil apart.

Let’s Lucifer feel every keening bit of non-mercy, every tidal wave of betrayal Sam had been treading water against from day one.

**Like you ripped out mine.**

Yet Lucifer is still too calm, too assured. Triumphant in a way he had no right to be.

_Oh, Sam... My Sammy._

“That’s good, Sam.” Lucifer relishes, and Sam feels the whole span of the Archangel stretch and yawn open, wide with joy and stimulation, “You keep fanning that fire in your belly. All that pent up rage.” Lucifer turns back and winks, smile promising Sam the world in all of its worst ways. “I’m gonna need it.”

_You can’t run for this or me, Sam. No more games. No more waiting._

And Sam is choked with the beginning of fear as the rage starts to fail him.

Feels a hundred mouths kissing every inch of him as he watches the sacrifices Lucifer has arranged. Helpless. Alone.

And Lucifer’s sudden rush of satisfaction and promised bloodshed and crowning fury fills Sam with something he thought he had kept buried deeper below everything else.

“What did you do?” Sam demands, inhales, it’s too much, and he knows there’s no going back now, the Devil’s not playing around, “What did you do to this town?”

**What are you going to do to them, what are you-**

_What they were made for, Sam. Just as God’s plan for them designed._

“Oh, I was very generous with this town.” Lucifer answers, voice falsely out of breath, as if that somehow makes this more conversational, “One demon for every able bodied man.”

“And the rest of them?” Sam thinks he knows where this is going and he prays, **No, no.**

_Oh, yes._

Lucifer stops and takes in Sam’s expression, his own at odds with every emotion found there. Indulgent. Vengeful. Pleased.

“In there.” Lucifer gestures to the ground.

And Sam starts to break.

_There’s no stopping this, Sammy. Nowhere else for you or them or anyone else to go._

“I know, it’s awful.” The Devil shrugs as if it’s nothing and keeps digging, always digging, like he’s ready to dig the grave of the whole entire world, “But these horsemen are so demanding. So it was women and children first.”

And Sam can’t take this, he can’t.

**How dare you, you can't, you didn't-**

_But I did, Sammy, I did. And I would do it all again, if it means I get to have you. All these lives are God’s only reparations for the wrongs he has committed against me. It’s been a long time coming. Too long._

Sam swallows, too still. Lucifer sighs, shoots him another apologetic smile.

_Whatever it takes, Sammy. I'm not letting us be kept apart again. I promised you, didn't I?_

“I know what you must think of me, Sam.” Lucifer adds, finally a note of weight, of resolve, of almost-but-not-quite regret bleeding through his tone, “But I have to do this. I have to.”

And Sam can feel that certainty ringing like a bell around his heart.

“You of all people should understand.” Lucifer states.

And Sam does, can feel every single reason Lucifer has done exactly what he’s done.

It doesn’t make it right or any easier or mean he’s along for this ride, because he isn’t, he won’t be, he **can’t** -

_But you will, Sam. You will be._

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sam demands, because that’s all he has left, are implied questions he already knows the answer to, are answers he doesn’t want to know.

And Lucifer’s seemingly endless patience finally starts to break. Lucifer throws the shovel down, his eyes not leaving Sam’s face.

_No more denials, Sam. No more. You can’t keep pretending this isn’t what this is._

“I was a son.” Lucifer lets the hurt punctuate his words, let’s all the long, long years of captivity cascade into his words, “A brother, like you.”

And he’s walking closer now to Sam, always closer and closer. Stops short.

“A younger brother. And I had an older brother who I loved. Idolized, in fact.” Lucifer adds, _Just like you, Sam._ “And one day, I went to him and I begged him to stand with me. And Michael,” Lucifer pauses, and Sam wants to cry but he can’t, because he lives every moment of betrayal along with his own hurt and his own fears and his own pain just like Lucifer’s choking him and swallowing him up, feels the ice clutching his heart far too close to home…

And Lucifer doesn’t stop, still burning with frozen purpose too long and too ancient and too beyond what Sam can contain, “Michael turned on me. Called me a freak. A monster.”

_Just like you, Sam. We’re the same. I know you see it. Why can’t you accept my protection?_

**No, no more. Just, stop this, please, you don't have to do this, there's always another way-**

_Listen to me, Sam. Listen._

“And then he beat me down, all because I was different. Because I had a mind of my own.” And Lucifer is all bitter and furious and empty of anything but merciless purpose, of glazed over clarity of all that needs to be done.

And Sam can feel all that history dousing him, feels claws and hands and fingertips and wings holding him there, until he’s inhaling it all, kept drowning under the floodgates – and Sam can’t breathe, cricks his neck because all the love and purpose and expectations and empathy the Devil is injecting into his soul, pure and distilled, caresses under Sam’s tongue and naval and diaphragm and under every nailbed– until he can feel only Lucifer pouring himself into Sam’s soul, can feel only the memory of betrayal and want and need and this togetherness he’s been trying to eradicate since day one and Sam can’t, **he can’t** , and both Lucifer and Sam know it.

“Tell me something, Sam.” Lucifer’s voice is too soft now, even more bitter, and the ancient hate and betrayal still scrunches up his imperfect human face, “Any of this sound familiar?”

Sam has never hated Lucifer more than this moment. And the hate chokes him, because Sam knows, just as Lucifer knows, there is nowhere that this ends except with Sam saying yes, because Lucifer is everything Sam’s soul has cried out for, ever wanted.

And Sam can never find an escape.

_No more, Sam. You belong to me. Let us have what we need. No more running from me. No more hiding._

Lucifer looks at him. Cool, clear. Victorious.

And Sam knows he’s going to see that same not-a-smile-but-worse when he goes to sleep, because Lucifer is always there, always.

_Let me take you home, Sam._

And then Lucifer, secure and assured in his dominion, in his purpose, in his war and conquest of not only the world but the one person he’s wanted since Sam was promised and made his, let’s all of that feeling drop and fade. Like he hadn’t torn Sam into pieces, carved out his place in Sam’s unwilling heart all over and over again.

“Anyway, you’ll have to excuse me,” Lucifer finishes, fingertips prickling and flexing in expectation, “I have a ritual to finish.”

Lucifer gives one last look at Sam, his eyes too inhuman and too full of want for Sam to process, because he knows Sam is his captive audience and that he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Voices it, because he’s just that much of a smug, possessive bastard who likes making Sam see just how stranded he is.

“Don’t go anywhere.” Lucifer commands, then smiles and points, “Not that you would if you could.”

And Sam looks down, checks on Dean even though he knows his condition already, because he has no more fight left to give, has no more losses he can take. It’s almost the end of line, the balance of the world and his friends and his family all crumbling, it’s all only a matter of **when** –

Dean comes to just as Lucifer’s finishing the words of the ritual, and Sam can’t peal his eyes away because the grace is swelling up around him, rustling through his hair like a crown, whispering, _Soon, Sammy, soon_ …

The hapless bodies of Lucifer’s victims’ crash to the ground, sacrifice complete.

And Lucifer smiles.

_You’ll come to me._

Sam holds his gaze, arrested, because there’s another feeling there, too, one more violent than the rest.

“What?” Lucifer asks, nonchalant. “They’re just demons.”

_Imperfect, flawed souls with nothing left to give. Nothing like you, Sam. Nothing like me._

**You made them-**

_Are you implying you care, Sam? After everything these parasites have done to you?_

And Sam can see all the broken parts of the Devil. All the untold destruction promised to be wreaked on the rest of the world, unfolding right before his very eyes, settling down between his shoulder-blades as the Devil’s grace kisses his cheek.

The ground begins to quake.

Castiel flies in, holds a finger to his lips.

Sam can feel Lucifer's unflustered notice, but the Devil does not interfere with their escape.

_I already have you, Sam. You take however much time you need. It won't be long now._

Sam still feels the ghost of his smile even after he’s far, far away.

Hears _, Time to welcome Death to the party_.

And, _See you soon, Sammy._


	30. Crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S5E8.
> 
> chapter title a song by Gnarls Barkley

Everything freezes as the Gabriel morphs into the familiar face of the Trickster, smug grin lighting up his face in a way that he can tell Dean does not appreciate.

"You guys are getting better!" He yells, self-indulgent, even if his eyes still keep that constant cynical edge that's never left him as Dean keeps him pressed into the wall.

"Get us the hell out of here." Dean growls. It's not exactly threatening, not in a way that will stick, but Gabriel can't help but picture Michael behind his eyes, and that makes him less inclined to joke again.

To cover the moment, Gabriel lets his vessel's eyes dart and raises his eyebrows, and then gifts Dean a mock look of concern for good measure.

"Or what?" He asks softly. Then he forcibly wrenches Dean's hands off the front of his throat, twisting Dean's arm painfully as he crushes his elbow. Proving a point.

Dean's face screws up in pain, breaking the illusion earlier, and he almost looks offended that Gabriel is just that strong.

"Don't see you have wooden stakes, big guy." He adds, laughter in his voice, patting Dean's shoulder like the force behind the action itself isn't a threat on its own.

Sam's eyes are slits as he glares from behind Dean, and his expression remains flat. Gabriel doesn't exactly appreciate that either, although he understands where he's coming from. Sam really is slow on the uptake, though. Lucifer's been sniffing around and making his claim known, intent on keeping everyone else far away, and Sam's still gunning for that picture perfect solution to things in play long before he was even born. Not like it will solve anything.

Gabriel knows it won't.

Lucifer always wants too much, and he takes whatever he pleases. Gabriel doesn't really begrudge Sam whatever reticence he has, though: being Lucifer's vessel must be exhausting. Then again, he did bring it on himself, for being so easily played. Not that he could control that, seeing as this song and dance was choreographed a long time ago.

Although, if Michael's few outbursts before Lucifer got cast out were anything to go by, Sam had done something unforgivable before he was even born. Gabriel isn't sure what. But whatever it was, the grudge had predated both him and Raphael, and Gabriel almost wants to blame Sam if it wasn't for the fact that when it comes down to it, all of this is on Mike and Luci and the two bozos' endless inability to get over anything.

That alone makes Gabriel want Sam to say yes. Poor sucker might be screwed either way, and his family might then rip each other apart, but that's been happening very slowly for a long time already, and then it will be over, one way or another, and Sam won't be alone, trying to navigate all of this without any chance of success.

Gabriel doesn't exactly support either Winchester, not by a longshot: the two are a bit too bull-headed and righteous and think they're in control when they're like stumbling babies in the dark. But Gabriel does have some slight respect for Sam. Not many people can get him to change his mind on things, and Sam had done it through dogged perseverance and an inability to quit.

Gabriel was still a bit out of sorts about it, truth be told. It shouldn't have been easy to sympathize with Sam's loyalty to his brother. But it had, and now Gabriel was stuck trying to knock sense into these two helpless knuckleheads. He wishes he could be young and dumb and naive enough to believe in a third option. But he's seen this whole debacle over and over again. There's no talking the sibs down. Never works.

"That was you on the police scanner, right? This is a trick." Sam's voice is a low rumble in his chest.

Gabriel gives Sam a thin-lipped, pinched look that soon morphs into a roll of his eyes and cavalier dismissal, but underneath, he can tell Luci's swimming around in Sam's head, demanding his location like some particularly clingy significant other struggling with a long distance relationship. It must suck so much, having Lucifer inside your head.

Then again, his own true vessel, Enkidu, had been more than okay with their whole deal, kinda into it. Didn't even mind the face-swap with Loki to stay under the radar- been a real chill guy these past six thousand years. Michael and Lucifer got the more modern true vessels, after all. The end of times, and all that. Raphael's was back in Babylon, although he'd ditched that one years ago, no real need to travel the Earth 'til now. Still possessed the descendants, while Gabe stuck with his for the long haul. Not like he treated those vessels right, but then again, Raphael had always been a bit more cruel than even Michael, given the right push. Nihilism tended to suppress any and all empathy, and he'd always been a bit more prone to judgement, being the middle child of the family. If Raff hadn't felt so betrayed by Lucifer, too, Gabe wonders if he would've sided with him and blamed the humans for their familial spats, too.

When it came to Luci, though, all things considered, maybe Sam's more into it than he lets on. True Vessel bonds are no joke, and Gabriel's heard rumors about Luci not being as trapped as anticipated before the Cage even popped its lid. Gabe didn't really do any digging: that's fucking suicide, seeing how much Luci's done to cover his tracks. But Sam's dreams still sing out grace when Lucifer enters them, and Gabriel's accidentally caught a few stray words here and there. Gabriel's not really one to judge, although he's not banking on Sam being chipper about it, not by a longshot. Lucifer can be really, really demanding even at the best of time. Needy. Likes attention. Like Gabriel does, too. That's half the reason they got along so well, at least before...

And thinking about that just makes Gabriel's mood go sour, so he stops. No use bemoaning what is just going to go bad again. His family is full of bad apples, the whole lot of them. No use expecting anything else.

When he replies, he draws out every syllable as his brow furrows and his mouth turns into an O, every movement exaggerated, like Sam's some dumb animal that hasn't quite gotten with the program yet, even though he has to be slick about this, not giving any nerves away. "Hello? Trickster." He motions to his face with a quick circle, expression turning amiable again as he exclaims, talking fast again, "Come on! I heard you two yahoos were in town. How could I resist?" Then he shrugs his shoulders, hands rising and falling with his arms, as if they've been buddies this whole time, even if his tone belies the edge they can feel brimming underneath.

"Where the hell are we?" Dean demands.

"Like it?" Gabriel trills, shifting from foot to foot. "It's all homemade. My own sets," He raps on the walls and waves a hand around in a big, sweeping gesture, always aware that presentation is everything, and adds, "My own actors..." Then he spins back around on his heels, leaning as the sole of one tennis shoes squeaks against the floor, and gestures to Brothers Grimm, Gabriel's own rising stars, even as he lets some self-indulgent mockery seep in again as he finishes, "Call it my own little idiot box."

And what an idiot box it is. Cut off from so many things on the outside, metaphysical and otherwise. You can't be in witness protection without some kind of housing plan when the going gets rough, after all. Not that it will really hold if Dean and Sam stick around too long. Only reason little Castiel is even aware of where they are is because he got sucked in tracking them down to the exact location, and that was enough of a headache on it's own without considering the bigger players.

Like big brother himself. Gabriel can feel Lucifer searching for Sam, and that alone had made this whole gamble almost not worth it. But the warding and juice he'd tossed in here should be enough to keep Sam's location from pinging big brother's radar for now. It's not easy, and not infallible, but Gabriel doesn't intend to keep them here forever.

They don't need to know that, though.

Not for the first time, Gabriel is grateful Michael is so sure of himself and the future that he doesn't mind when Dean goes completely AWOL. Sam doesn't have that luxury, though, and that's what worries Gabriel most.

If Luci does show up, maybe he can say it was all to get them to dance their tango, no outside coercion or foul play necessary, seeing as that's the name of the game. Gabriel doubts that will fly, if he's being honest, seeing as Lucifer will still see it as people touching what's his. And he hates sharing. Best to get them in and out and on the right track, so Gabriel doesn't have to worry about his family honing in and trying to suck him into drama he's sworn off years ago.

Sam might be unlucky getting dragged back into the fray, but Gabriel ain't gonna be one to follow in his footsteps.

"How do we get out?" Dean asks, his fear and impatience clear as day.

Gabriel points at him, tilting his head, but makes sure it's jerky enough that the movement doesn't get the gears turning in either brother's heads', either. Don't need them thinking he's anything beyond what they think they know. "That, my friend, is the sixty-four-dollar question."

"Whatever." Sam grunts, then his voice turns plaintive and higher pitched from whatever exhausted feelings have been keeping him awake at night. "We just, we need to talk to you. We need your help." He adds, sounding as pathetically lost as he looks.

Yeah. Gabriel's sure Lucifer hasn't exactly been a peach now, if Jolly Green Giant here is asking him, of all people, for help.

But Gabriel isn't exactly in a charitable mood. He tried to warn him and was ignored. And then goes and Sam breaks the last lock on Luci's lockbox, even though, chances are, they could've put this Apocalypse business off for a few more years. Gabriel does begrudge him that, and buyers remorse isn't exactly something Gabriel gets behind, on principle. And he knows how dangerously good Sam is at making him empathetic, so he throws his own walls up and forces any kind of sympathy out of his system.

He gives Sam a look of fake seriousness, pouting his lips together, his eyebrows drawing close together before his expression turns all brusque business.

"Hm, let me guess." Gabriel sighs, sweeping a hand that's in a shape like he'll be making shadowpuppets of the devil on the wall, with pinky and index finger pointing at the two lone wolves like they're hapless children. "You two muttonheads broke the world, and you want me to sweep up your mess."

Sam gives him his best reasonably desperate look without trying to look too helpless.

"Please. Just five minutes. Hear us out." He asks, tone level.

Damn those eyes.

Gabriel shrugs, voice turning less sharp. "Sure," He answers, more of a mumble, really, before he keeps going, full steam ahead, perking up like this is the highlight of his day. His voice turns perky too, like they aren't in for another lesson that will leave them sore and maybe actually make them reflect on their actions and how they affect other people. Not that it's really their fault: fate and everything else have got them by the cojones, and Michael been masterminding this just as much as Lucifer, so Gabriel supposes he can't completely blame them.

Then again... Luci and Mike aren't here, and the two make damn good substitutes for Gabriel's anger, even if they don't know who they're standing in for.

"Tell you what." Gabriel proposes, all faux consideration. "Survive the next twenty-four hours, we'll talk."

If they die from sheer stubbornness... It's not ideal, but it'll still hasten the end of the world. Mike and Luci can't say he wasn't a good brother, either, because it's not like he didn't offer them both what they want on a silver platter. Can't say he's taking sides that way, too, although they'll insist he does. Then he'll have to find a way to hide out again, or he'll just get stuck in the nexus of the prize fight of the millenia.

Not like they won't get all pissy whether Gabe kills their true vessels or held back. His big brothers are already angry he left, or in Luci's case, didn't stand up for him. And it'll give up their locations and get them in position for the big endgame, and then they can move this farce along and Gabe won't have to watch what happens after. Maybe by that point, Raff will actually join him on the sidelines, since he's so convinced Michael can take Luci on his own.

Gabriel suddenly feels very bitter, which isn't something he's accustomed to. Or maybe it's not that. Maybe he just feels lonely.

Maybe he misses Dad.

Then he feels bitter for real. Serves him right, for ditching them, when he could've put a stop to all this.

It's the only thing Gabriel agreed with Raff on, after Lucifer was gone. Dad leaving meant they could do whatever they wanted. Not like he gave a damn.

"Survive what?" Dean asks, a beautiful look of confusion flushing his angry, angry face.

"The game!" Gabriel whoops, arms fluttering again as he licks his lips.

"What game?" Dean slings back immediately, all stoic.

"You're in it." Gabriel elucidates, bobbing his head with all the confidence in the world.

"How do we play?" Dean asks, glancing away and back. He looks thrown.

Sam remains very, very still. He knows exactly what kinds of games Gabriel goes for, and isn't looking forward to another round.

"You're playing it." Gabriel says easily, watching as Sam keeps his eyes on his brother, like Gabriel might try to shank him just for fun.

"What are the rules?" Dean asks, even more impatient, grasping at straws or trying to stall and failing so very miserably.

Gabriel waggles his eyebrows at him, half-a-smile not once leaving his face. Inside, he just feels empty.

Then he feels Castiel trying to kick down the wards with the equivalent of what's left of his grace, a feeling like half-imploded dynamite. He's really not doing too hot, but Gabriel can't let that kind of behavior slide.

He can tell Luci's already growing frantic from how still Sam has remained, and how much he isn't talking, or trying to reason his way out of this. Otherwise, Gabriel's pretty sure Sam would've tried to pin him by the throat, too, just for the principle of the thing.

Gabriel gives a wink and flies off without another word, hidden under the glitz and glamour of shaky TV static.

Just move this damn conga line along, and we can all get this over with. Gabriel thinks.

\--

"Oh, son of a bitch." Dean groans after him as the set roars back to life.

Sam bites the inside of his mouth, trying to ignore the mounting pressure in his skull.

Reasoning with Lucifer isn't exactly something that is easily achieved on a good day, and right now, with Sam completely off the radar, Lucifer is practically having a miniature panic attack, which mostly just manifests as possessive promises and murderous intent for whoever so much as dared breathe on Sam wrong, or, in this case, abducted him.

**I can't give you my location even if I wanted to. I have no clue where we even are.**

_Oh, I'll find you, Sammy. That's a promise._

Sam doesn't deign another response. The last thing he needs is Lucifer showing up, or trying to hunt down a potential ally, even if Sam doesn't trust the Trickster as far as he can throw them.

Not like he's being exactly helpful.

But if they can get through this...

There's gotta be a chance he can do something. That he doesn't want the end of the world.

He certainly seems to like human inventions enough, and is definitely the type to get easily bored, if this game is anything to go by.

Still had a sick sense of humor though. The kind only the joker finds funny, and not the audience.

\--

There's banging on the other side of the door of the gameshow room.

Cas, the slippery sucker he is, somehow has glibly sneaked on through Gabriel's warding and right past him. Had to have been something he'd done with the Enochian on the boys ribs. He'd been the one to carve them up, after all. Probably made them easier for him alone to find.

“Cas?” Dean asks, not daring to hope.

“Is this another trick?” Sam gasps, still winded. Gabriel doesn't really feel bad about his injuries, either. Not like Lucifer will be eager to get all handsy if Sam's still sore. He's doing him a favor, really.

That, and it is half Gabriel's revenge for Sam being really loud in his dreams. Grace sound carries, and Lucifer knows it. Big brother really is a dick. Good thing Gabriel's used to much more creative setups, or he'd have been permanently scarred for life. Might explain the stick up Raff's and Mikey's asses, though. Gabe wouldn't put it past them to add that to their ever-growing list of reasons why Lucifer needs to be purged from all of creation. Cohabiting with mortals and all that. Big no-no.

If only they knew what Gabe's been up to all these years, with Kali, and many others. They'd probably lump him right in with Lucifer's side without even missing a beat. Other Gods were looked down on even more than humans, seeing as they were made by Dad to be his instruments against the competition.

But back to business. Little Cassie can't be throwing a wrench in things, and if Lucifer realizes how close the seraph is to Sam, well... That messes with Gabriel's entire operation.

And Gabriel still doesn't have a death wish. More the opposite, really.

“It's me." Cas assures, surveying his surroundings for anything that might try to subdue him. "Uh, what are you doing here?” Cas asks, also thrown by the setting, seeing as he's been breaking through the equivalent of a maze full of Enochian symbols and enough warding to make the symbols holding the arc together Ark look tame, from way back in the days of the flood.

“Us? What are you doing here?” Dean counters, giving Cas a look. Do they look like they signed up for this?

“Looking for you. You've been missing for days.” Cas explains.

“So get us the hell out of here, then!” Sam interrupts, frantic. Between Lucifer trying to track him down and the damn Trickster's sadistic sense of humor, he's sure that abandoning this plan is the better option. A far, far better option.

Castiel appears to catch his drift, and holds out both his arms to grab hold and fly them out. 

“Let's go.” He says, but before he can grab them, he winks out of existence in another flare of TV static.

“Cas?” Dean asks, tone not quite betraying that he's terrified out of his mind.

What the TV host says about "pretty boy angels" gets Dean thinking, though.

There's not many creatures that have met anything like Cas...

And if the Trickster knows that much...

What else is he hiding?

\--

"How long do we have to keep doing this?" Dean grits out under his breath.

The laugh tracks are really getting to him.

Sam's not doing much better. His migraine has only gotten worse.

Lucifer's quiet, though, thankfully, even if that makes Sam more afraid that he's getting close. It's not like he wants to be found in real life. But ever since Cas showed up, he's got the only lead he can go off of. Although Sam can tell from the muffled rage, that he hasn't pinned Cas down, either.

Sam hopes Cas is okay. 

"I don't know." Sam hisses through gritted teeth, faking a smile to keep the game from turning on them. "Maybe forever? We might die in here."

And Sam's not happy about that either. He can practically feel Lucifer breathing down his neck, waiting for Sam's location to be given up one way or another.

The next laugh track makes Dean lose it.

"How was that funny? Vultures." He shouts, looking for all intents and purposes like he's going to axe murder the invisible, nonexistent, forever-laughing audience. Then he turns back to Sam.

A door opening interrupts them, and Cas strides back on to the scene, visibly injured, although not compared to other beatings he's taken. Still looks like he got in a fist-fight, though, with blood running down his face.

"You okay?" Dean asks, walking closer.

"I don't have much time." Cas explains, standing as if frozen, hands moving in the tight, terse way that means he doesn't feel safe inside Jimmy's skin.

"What happened?" Deanpresses.

"I got out." Castiel stresses, like that means something more than they understand.

"From where?" Dean asks.

"Listen to me. Something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be." Castiel points out, because that's the crux of the matter. If this things more powerful than him, there's no way he's gonna be able to fly them out of here, no matter what he tries. Knowing what they're up against is all they can salvage of the situation.

"What thing—the Trickster?" Dean asks, all his words running together.

Cas nods, replying in earnest. "If it is a trickster."

"What do you mean?" Sam presses, and when Cas looks at him, it's with panic in his eyes.

Before Cas can answer, he's slammed back into the wall by an invisible force, and he cries out, clearly hurt on an angelic level, not just a surface wound.

That's not good.

Inside Sam's head, Lucifer tracks Sam's rising fear, and his own interest piques, grace arching inside him and crackling like he's found a new angle to fray apart and find his prey. He hasn't been able to feel anything except Sam's soul, whatever force scrambling his location and whatever's trapping him still holding fast, for now.

The trickster bounds in, bowing, bouncing on his feet like he's having the time of his life. "Hello! Thank you. Thank you, ladies." He adds, pointing, closing the door with enough force to make it sleep.

Castiel's mouth is duct-taped shut when he's next rising to his feet, his eyes not once leaving the trickster himself. Sam sees recognition there, and wonders...

_So he knows Cassie?_

**Looks like.**

_And he likes juvenile, violent pranks?_

**You don't see me laughing.**

_...Devil-May-Care attitude? Horrible fashion sense? Prone to excessive dramatic displays and no care for taking responsibility or experiencing consequences for his actions?_

Lucifer grows silent, after that. Feelers receding, like he knows something Sam doesn't.

**Do you know who he is?**

But Lucifer doesn't answer. Sam's suddenly hit with a lot of anger and loss all at once, but doesn't have much time to speculate as to why Lucifer's a powder keg all over again.

\--

"Hi, Castiel!" Gabriel sings out, and the shock on the little seraph's face is only dwarfed by his sheer existential need to shield Sam and Dean from another Archangel.

Not that they can hear his grace screaming that at him. Or that he can get a line out to angel radio. Gabriel angel-proofed this place to hide his own signature completely: something as low on power as Castiel won't even make a sound, or a dent in the warding.

Cas looks at Sam like he can stare the answer into his eyes, and Sam notes his expression, suspicions growing...

Gabriel flicks a wave at Cas, and Castiel disappears in static again.

Even if Cas didn't give away the game, Gabriel can see Sam's micro-expressions. Lucifer suspects, then, even if he hasn't spilled the beans.

Means he's gotta get this show on the road, if he doesn't want to be tracked down.

Hey, this was a gamble. Gabriel likes those, even if his calculations for his odds tend to be on the overly-optimistic side.

Raff was the one who liked math, not him.

\--

Sam's mind whirs a mile a minute.

There's not too many things Lucifer and Cas would get so emotional about on a personal level.

So that makes this one an angel.

Which doesn't bode well for them.

"You know him?" Sam asks, all the raw feelings clutched in his throat. Panic, now, real panic, because angels aren't exactly gunning to stop the apocalypse. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Sam is really starting to regret thinking they could ask for help.

"Where did you just send him?" Dean demands, all danger.

The "Trickster" waves them off, dismissive as ever.

"Relax, he'll live." He says, all easygoing, until he hunches his shoulders and rubs his hands together as he trills, "...Maybe."

The accompanying laugh track finally makes Dean lose it, and he stalks the angel down.

"All right, you know what?" Dean growls, walking around Sam, who just stands there, trying to demand answers or to get a clue, and not getting anything. Dean licks his lips and a muscle twitches in his jaw as he looms over the vessel of the Archangel. Not that it scares him one bit. Doesn't stop Dean from trying though, as he spits, "I am done with the monkey dance, okay? We get it."

"Yeah?" And then their captor gives a flick of his head, a tilt Sam would see for what it is. His voice isn't jovial or playing pretend now. It's all cynicism. All bitter, you-are-a-tiny-speck before me angelic sass, the same douchey calling card they've been dealing with for a while. This one just has attitude.

The question is, why the elaborate setup?

Why hide them from everyone, from both sides?

What angel would even have the juice to hide from Lucifer?

And... Oh.

**Oh.**

_My brother has no sense of propriety._

**Yeah, I can tell. Not exactly how I pictured him, from the way you talked about him.**

_He's changed. We all have. Falling in with Pagans, though. That's a new low, even for him._

**Says you. The actual Devil.**

_Sam. Don't test my patience. I'm not in the most forgiving mood, and I could catch up to you, today, if all goes well. And I'm sure Gabriel wouldn't hesitate to hand you over, if I found you both in time. I'm surprised, though. Usually he's far smarter than this. Michael and I must've made him antsy. Explains why he's been so cagey, seeing as he's been hiding under a rock._

Internally, Sam stands frozen. Here they are, thinking they are trying to find another way out, and turns out they just run right into the very thing that is smack dab in the middle of the mess they've been trying to dig themselves out of.

Sam could laugh.

This is his life.

That, and Sam remembers 'Jess' talking about her brothers, the very few times they ever did. And he thinks he might know which one this is.

But he doesn't want to spook another Archangel. Every other brother except for Cas has been a minefield, and he's not anxious for this to turn into Mystery Spot again, with Dean's guts spilled on the floor.

Not until they know they have a way out.

 **This is Gabriel?** Sam repeats. Mostly on principle, seeing as this is definitely not like the lore.

_The one and only. Looks like he's fallen off the bandwagon pretty hard since we last spoke._

**And that was...?**

_Before I fell._

Lucifer falls silent again. Dangerously so.

Sam lets himself absorb all the history there. Tries to get a sense of what they're up against, since Lucifer isn't shielding much. There's a lot of memory bleed-through. It's slightly overwhelming.

"Get what, hotshot?" The angel goads, eyes still trained on Dean. Although his gaze flicks to Sam, like he can tell Lucifer and him are on to him, before turning his attention back to Dean.

"Playing our roles, right? That's your game?" Dean asks, head rolling side to side as he bares his teeth with as much condescension as he can muster. He's caught on to. Too many clues not to.

"That's half the game." Gabriel clarifies. Then he's eyeing Sam again, like he can find answers in his face, as stony and determined as his expression is.

"What's the other half?" Sam cuts in, voice low.

"Play your roles out there." Gabriel replies, fake saccharine ease plastered back in his every telegraphed movement. The message doesn't seem like it's just for them.

It seems like a concession. And Sam can tell he's nervous in how he's hunched over, a little, though. Not because of them. Not one bit.

But because he knows Lucifer's gunning for him now, directly, and this is exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. 

Behind Dean, Sam remains very still, still in shock at their luck. Gabriel is trying to play both sides, and it shows. Trying not to rock a boat that's already sinking underwater.

Just what they need. But that's what they get for trying to reason with Lucifer's crazy family. Oh, God, they were screwed. Sam hopes Gabriel doesn't hear it, and Lucifer muffles the prayer through their link, making sure it only chimes over to him.

_Dad doesn't care, Sammy. Just me._

Sam ignores that too, still trying to think of the best way to break out of here before Lucifer finds them and this turns into a bloodbath. Or something worse. Sam's not sure what could be worse, but he knows there's always something else waiting in the wings.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean challenges, looking for all intents and purposes like he's gonna wring Gabriel's neck.

"Oh, you know." Gabriel whines, then his voice lowers an octave as he razzle-dazzles his hands in Dean's face, gesturing at Sam's stock-still form like he's the new hot celebrity in a show. All manufactured ease, to hide the raw fear and tired exhaustion underneath. "Sam starring as Lucifer. Dean starring as Michael. Your celebrity death match. Play your roles."

That detail throws Sam off, even though he'd been trying to figure out his angle and been trying to reconcile it with Mystery Spot, and the endless Tuesdays.

And Sam tamps the new panic down, because he can't take another chance at time loops again. And Gabriel would do it, provided he's got enough leverage and reason to do it.

**He wants you and Michael to face off?**

_That's news to me. Gabriel hated all the fighting. That's why he fucked off and left without a word to anyone. So consider me as baffled and insulted as you, seeing as he hasn't picked a side to bet on. Mighty suspicious, if you ask me._

But underneath all the light veneer of nonchalance, Sam can feel Lucifer's rage and pointed attempts to find him, all the raw purpose, coiling under his skin.

"You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?" Sam demands, expression genuinely betrayed. The last thing he wanted to do, the one thing he needed an out for, and this son-of-a-bitch has the gall to throw it all in his face.

_Excuse you._

**Just because I love you doesn't change exactly what you are. And you are one mean, manipulative son-of-bitch when you want to be.**

_That's cold, Sammy. Colder than me._

**Still true.**

_Okay, you got me_.

Deep down, Sam knows why he's rambling to Satan in his head now.

The panic is getting a little too out of control to ignore. Lucifer feels it too, and tries to send over calm, but considering his own emotional state, it doesn't work very well.

"Hell's yeah. Let's light this candle!" Gabriel sings back, all vehement, and then he's smiling at Dean without it reaching his eyes, smiling with all teeth and every bit of held back violence he's ever felt plain as day on his face. It's the kind of rage Dean recognizes. The same kind of rage he feels from grief.

"We do that, the world will end." Sam tacks on, still thrown even as he enunciates each syllable. Gabriel did seem like one materialistic angel. More down to earth even if he's just as much of a dick as the majority of them. Maybe they can appeal to his more vain, selfish aspects. Maybe Sam can find a clue why he wants his two oldest brothers to fight to the death. And Lucifer is right there with him, for once, both of them united in trying to figure this out, albeit for entirely opposite reasons.

Lucifer wants answers as leverage to get Gabriel on his side, or at least an in to get to Sam.

Sam wants it to find a way to appeal to whatever better nature or selfish angle might get Gabriel to reconsider and try to throw the Apocalypse off track.

When Gabriel speaks, his eyes burn, and his voices whines, wavering, as he stares Sam down, unblinking.

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?" He answers, tilting his head again, eyes narrowed and the quirk of his lips all contempt, and half-thrown by Sam's sheer denial, like he isn't at the center of all this. Gabriel gives Sam a challenging, too joking look as he adds, tone as serious as his expression isn't, "Who popped Lucifer out of the box? Hm?" Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at Sam, taking note Sam's discomfort, the flare of his nostrils, and his exhausted face. The poor sucker has the gall to think he can get out of this when they've all been running off of borrowed time, and there's nowhere to run. Not anymore. But then Gabriel's voice deepens, losing the fake cheer, the cover for all the hurt he's felt, but he can't keep looking at Sam and the expression on his face, so he turns back to the brother that's easiest to rule and easiest to feel less guilt or sympathy for. Gabriel was always more of a sucker for Luci than Mike. Looks like he's more of a sucker for their vessels, too, and he's not sure whose fault that is, or if Sam's just that lost and scared that being unable to stomach his presumptuous need to fix things comes with the territory, seeing as that's the last kind of look Gabriel's ever seen on Lucifer's face. "Look, it's started. You started it. It can't be stopped. So let's get it over with!" Gabriel sings out, words running together. His voice breaks on the last sentence, and with a pang, Sam suspects exactly why he's doing this. He tosses his head uncomfortably and swallows, still staring Gabriel down, and still angry, and that's one expression Gabriel is very much accustomed to, and isn't looking forward to seeing on Lucifer's face when he gets Sam and lets all that anger out on the world, like he's entitled to it.

"Heaven or Hell, which side you on?" Dean demands, sizing Gabriel up. He's long intuited the program, even if Sam is too scared to tell him directly. There's been too many clues not to catch on.

"I'm not on either side." Gabriel gives him a look that intends to be amused, but beneath it all is just indifference.

"Yeah, right." Dean answers, giving him a mirthless smile, still looking at him out from the sides of his eyes. "You're grabbing ankle for Michael or Lucifer." Then Dean's face smooths over into all business, patience thrown out like trash as he asks, "Which one is it?"

Gabriel lets out a sigh, shifting on his feet. Looks at Dean like he's overstepped, because, in this case, they've long strayed from the path. Gabriel gets in close, crowding Dean's face, every word a promise. "You listen to me, you arrogant dick." Gabriel starts in, eyes not laughing now, and his voice is not the caricature of seriousness: no, it's all level, all honest, in a way he's never been before. "I don't work for either of those S.O.B.s." Gabriel's voice becomes a whisper as his nose scrunches, and the whites of his eyes are hard and cold. "Believe me."

Dean looks at him without a change in expression, then gives Gabriel a mocking scoff. "Oh, you're somebody's bitch."

Gabriel grabs Dean and slams him into the door, holding him by the throat, mirroring their earlier interaction, but with much more gusto. Dean winces as his air almost gets cut off, and Gabriel isn't playing around anymore.

The only thing staring out from his eyes is blanket annihilation, the same primordial look Dean's seen in other Archangel's wrathful eyes.

And this is why Sam was playing it cool. Because this could go south, so very, very fast, and he's scared of what might happen if the veneer Gabriel carries himself with doesn't hold fast. Because he's scared. Sam can see that much. Sam can see exactly why.

"Don't you ever, ever presume to know what I am." Gabriel growls, staring Dean down. Dean can't help but look back, arrested, still sleuthing out who this might be. He sees Sam almost make a move behind Gabriel, then reconsider, his own chest heaving, like he wants to rush in but knows it's useless. Dean goes back to staring back at the Trickster, at whoever this son-of-a-bitch is, and he sniffs as Gabriel gives a love-tap to his chest, strong enough to bruise, then backs off, turning to Sam and only Sam. Pointing. Like he knows the gig is up, with Dean still playing catch-up. "Now listen very closely. Here's what's gonna happen." And Gabriel gives Sam a conspiratorial look of fake camaraderie, laying out the law as he adds, "You're gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and," Gabriel pauses and turns back to Dean, wheeling around with all the pent up energy he hasn't let out in so very long, and his voice morphs into a vehement snarl as Dean struggles for more air, and he adds, "Play the roles that destiny has chosen for you."

"And if we don't?" Sam challenges, still staring Gabriel down. Not moving, not once, but still feeling the grace humming under his skin. Still feeling like the world is spinning out from under him. But he's been saying no to Lucifer every night for months. He isn't going to cave just because little brother says so. Gabriel should know better, seeing how much Sam dislikes him. If he was willing to go to him for help... Well, that should've been a clue enough on it's own. Then again, their backup plan had been to stake him. So maybe he just thought their plan A was to kill him, just for being another monster in their way, one who wouldn't stay down.

Gabriel smiles at Dean, still keeping him pinned, and Dean gives Sam a look like maybe this isn't the best time.

Sam doesn't care. All his patience has been used up for a while, with Lucifer chatting inside his skull.

Gabriel turns back to face Sam, a broken look in his eyes, a non-answer on his lips, the lie coming easy and seen for what it is even as the syllables leave his mouth. "Then you'll stay here in TV Land. Forever." Then Gabriel sniffs and looks away, a faraway look in his red-rimmed vessel's eyes as he adds, "Three hundred channels and, uh," Then he turns back, gives Sam a look, like he knows the bluff is transparent, but not backing down away, his true voice almost rumbling in his chest, childish and lost, like he's adrift with nothing to hold on to. "Nothing's on."

That's not what's going to happen, though. Sam knows it. Gabriel knows it. Gabriel's been hiding for a long, long time, chasing the channels and jumping along to stave off the restlessness eating him alive.

It's a veneer, all for show, for Dean, too. A way of buying time, as he tries to figure Gabriel out.

But there's another threat there, too, hiding beneath the surface.

Gabriel might just hand them over, because Lucifer was going to come find them and ram down the doors, and Sam's not sure what will happen after that.

He does know one thing, though. Gabriel might not want to die. But he's not too keen on living, either. Not if he made a play like this, with the chance of goading his brothers. Brothers that are stronger than him, when push comes to shove, and have been eyeing Sam and Dean like hawks. The same brothers he's been hiding from, been avoiding, for hundreds of thousands of years. He wouldn't make a play like this if it didn't chance getting caught. It's practically shining a spotlight on him, even if he'd tried to keep them hidden.

And Sam, Lucifer, and Gabriel all know it.

And Sam knows self-sabotage when he sees it. Something tells Sam that makes Gabriel more wild, more unpredictable, the fact that he doesn't see this for what it is. He doesn't like being seen for exactly who he is, or known, relying on misdirection to hide just what he is. Vulnerable, with his heart on his sleeve, as he tries to make the end of days end whatever stalemate he's too scared to face directly.

Lucifer calls it cowardice: willfully casting off all he is. Sam calls it something else. Hiding, maybe. Not quite denial. But something where you hide and smush yourself smaller, maiming yourself so something else can't do it for you first. Premature self-sabotage, or something...

Somewhere, deep down, Sam wonders if he did this to see if his brother's would come looking. Common sense dictates that's the last thing Gabriel wants, if he wants to keep on living.

But no one is infallible or follows their goals all the time.

And something tells Sam that Gabriel slipped, just the once. That he could feel all his brothers out there, throwing their weight around, and couldn't help but make a play.

Sam wonders, despite his ultimatum, if he's really gunning for the end. Or if this is his excuse, and he's a rat trapped in a maze with no clear solution, just like them, subconsciously trying to find a way out of it.

Or maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe Gabriel thought if he took the vessels out of the picture, Michael and Lucifer wouldn't be able to face off at all, and while it wouldn't last forever, it was better than doing nothing. 

Gabriel lets Dean go, and snaps, and then the room melts away into a forest at night. And Dean and Sam are on their own again, trapped in TVLand Limbo, in some kind of cop procedural show, which is just another tally to add ruining Dean's day.

Sam thinks on his feet, still trying to puzzle out a solution. They're trapped, almost mincemeat at this rate, only able to stave this off until the Archangels make their play. And Sam sure that for Gabriel, this wasn't about them being vessels. Not really.

This was about Gabriel sending passive aggressive messages to his family, without having to face them head on.

When Lucifer sends another line over, it's sadder, this time. More subdued. Doesn't mask the hurt or the anger that's always there, but it's overtaken by memory.

_Gabriel always liked maxing out the drama whenever he wanted to make a point. Only way he could really get us to pay attention, when Michael and I fought. The flashier, the better._

**Is that what this is? A desperate plea for an intervention?**

_You tell me, Sam. You're the one so hellbent on saying no, when it saves no one and spares you nothing. You'd understand his motives more than me._

With everything going on, Sam tries to stay as calm as possible. Because if he doesn't, he's just going to panic, and that helps no one, and he needs to keep a clear head. For Dean, for Cas, for himself...

For the rest of the world.

Dean's on the opposite end of the spectrum, lashing out at the smallest of offenses. Like the fact they're wearing sunglasses at night. Sam lets him rant about cops shows and all the rest.

It helps him vent a little of his own rage. But then candy-chomping suspicious guy gets his hackles up, and Sam's all business.

Because he might not be able to tell Dean Gabriel is, well, Gabriel. Not without chancing Gabriel torching him, or any other horrible fate Sam knows might be in the cards to get them to say yes.

But he can expose him the old fashioned way. Hunt him down and prove he isn't what they thought. Dean's smart. He'll put the clues together.

Sam nudges the stick at his foot as they play along with the set dressing of the show. Should do the trick, if Dean picks it up.

Dean stabs the guy sporting the red sucker to throw Gabriel off.

Gabriel falls for it, and stabs him in the back when he's least expecting.

Sam hopes it hurts, that he suffers, just a little, for throwing all his attempts at hiding out the window.

Only fair they expose him first, after they've been hiding for so long.

They see the warehouse flicker, for a second, but Sam is still on edge.

He knows they aren't out of the woods, not yet.

Lucifer's still chomping at the bit, and Cas is missing, and he opens his mouth to tell Dean, but before he can-

Turns out Gabriel doesn't like being stabbed, even if it's nonlethal. Not one bit.

So Sam gets trapped in isolation, while Dean is given an illusion of a brother to follow him out the door and back to a motel that if he thinks hard enough, he doesn't really remember driving to.

\--

Gabriel transforms Sam into a car. Okay, not transforms. It's more like trapping his soul in an invisible box, his body not gone but stretched out and scattered so the neutrons and other particles are spread apart on the metaphysical level, not detached but its particles kept on a plane that isn't three-dimensional, all outside time and vibrating at the same frequency they would if kept in the same contingent section of time/space. It makes Sam feel and think his body is part the object he's trapped in. But it's best to keep Sam's consciousness as disconnected from his unconscious body as he can manage, making sure it stays stowed under the backseat. Dean can't see or feel his brother if he tried, trapped under as many illusions as Gabriel can weave around him.

That should throw Lucifer off his trail for a little while longer. Jumble the signal of grace he knows he can't destroy, but can ping off other grace constructs. Misdirection works wonders. That, and it's much easier for an angel to track down their vessel's mind and body with the grace bound to the actual cells of their host in three-dimensional environments, not ten or twelve, seeing as time muddles things up enough. Confusing Sam's consciousness helps too, seeing as Sam's soul is still inside his body, but if his mind feels like it's trapped in a vacuum and his body isn't all in the same place, it makes finding him a more drawn out process.

And that's all Gabriel needs, really, is time. Time to prove to Sam that giving up is the only real option they have.

He just wants this to end. He just wants to stop hearing all the fighting, for all the feelings to stop surging over him and tearing everyone apart.

He just wants silence. Real silence, for once, even though he's been seeking out distractions and frequencies to get his mind off things, and nothing has worked, not even all the amusing things he's chased after all these years. Gabriel thinks if it all stops, if he pretends hard enough, it might feel like it must've been like in the beginning, before he was born, because he'd never been around true silence, even if it had been far quieter before everything else Dad created. Michael, Luci, and Raphael had all existed first. But Luci had told him all about it, from Michael's stories.

Michael had said it was too quiet without them, although he hadn't known anything else aside from Dad before they'd all been brought to life.

Maybe if everything ended, if everyone else was dead, killed off in Luci's and Michael's big showdown to the death... Maybe the damage would be done before they managed to kill each other properly, and it would just be the four of them again. Or maybe other angels would live- it takes a lot to kill them, and grace is sturdier than most of God's fragile creations...

Gabriel isn't sure that's any better. But they wouldn't have a reason to kill each other, if there was nothing left, maybe...

Maybe if it got that bad, if it's all gone, Dad would come back, and tell them all to stop fighting. Gabriel knows that's not a longshot, even, that it's beyond wishful thinking. He didn't care then and he doesn't care now.

No, this wouldn't fix everything that went wrong, but maybe it would be enough to get Michael and Lucifer to change their minds...

Gabriel knows Lucifer would feel no need to kill Michael, if he'd proven his point. And Michael might not kill Luci, even though Gabriel knows he thinks it's his job now, if there's nothing left to fight over. You can't be an abomination if nothing's left to destroy.

Maybe they could be a family again, even if they're all at each other's throats.

Maybe everything being gone again with snap them all out of it. Maybe the quiet would make them remember how things used to be, when it was just them. Luci wouldn't have a reason to be angry, then. Michael wasn't really good at holding grudges when he didn't have to feel responsible for anything else... If his first brothers are the only ones left.

Gabriel doubts Lucifer would kill all the angels if the humans were gone, except for their vessels. It wouldn't solve everything, but they wouldn't be dead.

Deep down, Gabriel knows he's lying to himself. He doesn't want the world to end. He doesn't want Earth, or humanity, or this solar system gone forever.

He doesn't really want silence. He hates silence.

But he's still torn. This wishful thinking is the only thing he can think of that might mean his brothers all make it out alive. You could never talk them out of fighting. Just make them decide it's not worth it to fight on their own terms. Distract them as best you could. It didn't work all the time. But it did work sometimes. And for this, once would be enough.

They wouldn't fight over ashes and dust. Not when all they wanted was understanding from the other, and a way to go back to the way things were before.

\--

It's not long before Sam realizes he's talking through the radio, and it's the last thing Sam and Dean need right now. But at least Dean's aware the enemy isn't a Trickster, now. And the only other consolation for Sam is that Lucifer's grace is oddly grainly and hard to hear, which means his headache lessens by a lot.

"Okay, stake didn't work. So, what, this is another trick?" Dean asks.

"I don't know. Maybe the stake didn't work because it's not a trickster?" Sam suggests. Dean has to have some idea that this isn't what it looks like by now.

"What do you mean?" Dean asks.

Sam lays his evidence on the table without giving his own landline to the Devil away. "You heard Cas. He said this thing was too powerful to be a trickster."

"Yeah, and you notice the way he looked at Cas? Almost like he knew him." Dean adds, thinking it over.

"And how pissed he got when you brought up Michael and Lucifer." Sam tacks on, enthusiastically throwing that out as fast he can.

The sun beams into Dean's eyes as he keeps driving, but he doesn't flinch.

"Son of a bitch." Dean grunts, the truth like an itch he can't scratch as realization prickles over him.

"What?" Sam asks. He can't see Dean's face, but he knows that tone, and internally celebrates. If Dean knows what they're up against through his own sleuthing without Sam having to spell it out, he might be able to get a jump on Gabriel when he's distracted. 

"I think I know what we're dealing with." Dean answers, sounding exhausted. Sam lets him hold off on explaining: he already knows the deal, and he needs to think of ways to keep Gabriel occupied while Dean does the heavy-lifting. Only way they're gonna get the drop on him, seeing as Gabriel knows Sam's on to him already.

That, and Sam has to figure out how he'll stop being a car if Gabriel doesn't change him back. It's not a nice feeling. It aches, like having creaky joints that are forced to run at high speeds.

At least Lucifer can't possess him like this...

The silver lining isn't that comforting.

\--

"You sure this is gonna work?" Sam's voice pings over the radio, mostly to keep up the illusion for the sake of conning their conman angel.

"No, but I have no other ideas." Dean answers, striding forward, footsteps crunching along the sandy hard clay under his feet. "All right, you son of a bitch!" He yells. "Uncle! We'll do it!" Dean adds, arms out as he supplicates the Heavens. Half-literally, in this case, thanks to their jailer.

Gabriel doesn't show his face.

"Should I honk?" Sam snidely remarks. Being a car is a drag.

Gabriel strides on to the scene, patting the hood of the car.

"Wow. Sam. Get a load of the rims on you." Gabriel says with a whistle.

"Eat me." Sam spits back, the emotion there even if it's not conveyed adequately by the tinny sound of the radio.

"Okay, boys." Gabriel calls, and then he's shimmying back towards Dean, and as he does, his voice changes back to its serious, less than grating, projected tone, and grows into something more honest, all his smokescreens not enough to keep Gabriel's exhaustion from peeking through. "Ready to go quietly?"

"Whoa whoa whoa, not so fast." Dean grunts, and then his voice grows stronger as he points back to the car. "Nobody's going anywhere until Sam has opposable thumbs."

Gabriel gives him an indulgent, less-than-bothered look.

"What's the difference?" He asks, all chipper, before his tone grows distant again. "Satan's going to ride his ass one way or another."

Like he hasn't been already, Gabriel thinks to himself. Really, Sam should be grateful. He'd be able to put off possession a little while longer if he stayed trapped and thinking he was that junk-heap.

Dean blinks at him and resists the urge to deck him in the face. Before he can, Gabriel scoffs and rolls his eyes like he can't take a joke, then snaps, and Sam's emerging out of the car, and pats down his body as surreptitiously as possible, all his atoms reunited in one place and three dimensions again.

"Happy?" Gabriel snipes, eyeing Sam and making a face like he's got a personal vendetta against him.

Sam gives him the most unimpressed, withering look he can muster, the car door slamming in his wake as he stalks closer.

Gabriel keeps his eyes on Sam until Dean starts talking, starting fidgeting, the movement drawing Gabriel's gaze.

"Tell me one thing. Why didn't the stake kill you?" Dean asks, and plays dumb.

"I am the Trickster." Gabriel gives him a look with puffed out cheeks, like the answer is obvious.

"Or maybe you're not." Dean slings back, every syllable gliding into the other as Sam flicks open the lighter and sets the circle around Gabriel aflame.

It's Jessica's lighter. The one thing Sam had left of her, that she'd left behind in his coat pocket. Lucifer's, really, Sam knows. He's not sure if using the flames to trap his brother is poetic justice or not. But it still hurts, on some level, knowing the flames that have kept him safe from ghosts and on hunts this whole time were thanks to Lucifer leaving it behind. After burning on the ceiling, it's all Sam can think about, sometimes. It hasn't been any easier, facing that. Not when all he wants is his old life back, without the Apocalypse, with even the Devil convinced that was just not in the cards.

They could have that, if he tried. If he wasn't so sure this was the only way.

But maybe Sam can change his mind. Maybe he can start with Gabriel.

Or at least get some answers, seeing as everything all leads back to the same place.

"Maybe you've always been an angel." Dean adds, as Gabriel stays trapped, looking to Sam for some sign he told him, and then back to Dean, feigning ignorance. But Sam didn't have to. Dean figured it out all on his own.

"A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?" Gabriel denies it with a chuckle, a bit too thin and transparent to be believable. He's not used to being trapped- hasn't been for years. And as he talks, Gabriel can't help but glance back at Sam every once in a while, trying to figure him out. Trying to leverage what he knows about his little psychic pow-wow with Satan, if that's a viable angle for anything.

Except Gabriel knows that's too much of a gamble, trapped and powerless as he is right now. Lucifer would be honing in soon. The illusion doesn't hold for long. Not when his powers are cut off.

Holy oil is a bitch.

"I'll tell you what." Dean cuts in, shaking his head and giving a small smile. "You just jump out of the holy fire and we'll call it our mistake."

Sam keeps staring at Gabriel, eyes cold. He needs to figure out a plan right now, before all of this goes bad.

Gabriel laughs, but all the mirth drains from his expression when he meets Sam's eyes again. The grass and forest and road and sand gets replaced by the warehouse, the real one this time, in another flurry of static.

Gabriel claps. It echoes off the walls, much like his shallow laughter, before his tone turns sharp again. "Well played, boys. Well played. Where'd you get the holy oil?" Gabriel asks.

"Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass." Dean quips. Sam gives him an offended look that rivals the same withering glare he gave Gabriel seconds earlier.

"Where'd I screw up?" Gabriel asks, still staring Dean down. He knows Sam didn't spill the beans, seeing as Sam has barely said anything at all.

"You didn't." Sam clarifies.

**Unless you count trapping us in the first place.**

I made a gamble and I gambled wrong. Such is life.

Sam hears. He doesn't think Gabriel meant to send it on over, and doesn't deign a response.

Instead, Sam tacks on, "Nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did." 

Gabriel bites his lip. There's a threat there, too, hidden in the hollows of Sam's wide eyes.

 **Give him back or else.** Sam prays.

Like that's going to save you. You're already screwed. Don't you see? One little angel isn't enough to keep you hidden forever.

"Mostly it was the way you talked about Armageddon." Dean adds.

"Meaning?" Gabriel asks, decidedly neutral.

"Well, call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family." Dean answers, and it hits a bit too close to home.

Gabriel doesn't look at either of them.

It doesn't stop Sam from sending a barb his way, eyes narrowing as he does so. "So which one are you? Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?" Sam asks, mostly for Dean's benefit. And to let off some steam, seeing as he's just about used up all his fucks for the day.

That, and he can feel Lucifer is closer now. Not on top of them. Not yet. But closer, and it's enough to make him on edge again.

 _Oooh, am I Grumpy?_ Lucifer hums. Much more cheery and upbeat, now that's sure Sam's all in one piece.

 **Take a wild guess.** Sam answers, as scathing as he can manage.

"Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel." Gabriel admits with a tilt of his head, eyes not once leaving Sam's face. He gives a small, sad smile, and sends over a prod of grace.

But you knew that already, didn't you? How long are you going to keep lying, like me? It's not worth it. Big brother is going to find out about your little soul train somehow. Why stave off the inevitable? It won't change how this ends...

**Forgive me if I'm not as eager to throw in the towel as you.** Sam hisses back.

I would think, you, of all people, would want this most. Rumour mill says you fell hard for Luci.

**Yeah, well, just because you love someone doesn't mean you give into their every whim.**

_Gabriel._ Lucifer snarls, trying to send a line over and focusing on the more important detail of Gabriel chatting up his vessel's soul, even as he ignores Sam's disavowal of him and everything he's stood for. He's expected as much, for a while. Sam doesn't give ground easily. _Don't you dare-_

 **Let it go.** Sam moans in his head.

For once, Lucifer listens. Probably because he anticipates giving them a lesson on not interacting with Sam's soul in person, and because Sam's had a long, long day. He knows not to push his luck, particularly when Sam's so close to being his, anyway.

"Gabriel? The archangel?" Sam repeats, sounding as skeptical as possible. Just to rub it in, like he doesn't deserve the name.

And maybe Gabriel doesn't, seeing as he's been gone from home for so long. But that's not why Sam's mad at him, he can tell.

He's mad because he can tell Gabriel knows his secret, and he's warning him, he'll be less than a smudge on the floor if he so much as breathes a word to Dean about psychic links to the Devil.

One secretive disaster to another, Gabriel can give him that much. Not like he's the shining example of coming clean. And it's not like it's Dean's business who Sam is brain-mates with. And seeing as Dean still has that self-righteous, offended streak Michael has, Gabriel doesn't grudge Sam's caution. It's not like they're on the best of terms, even when trying to patch things up. They're the vessels precisely because they're powder-kegs too similar to their angelic hosts. Makes sense why Sam would want to keep this from exploding in his face, if he's trying to stave off another blowout that could lead to the advancing end of days.

He really should just give up though. Gabriel feels bad for how much denial Sam has suffused himself in.

"Guilty." Gabriel answers with a furrowed brow and small grin that fades with a single swallow, his expression otherwise not giving anything away.

"Okay, Gabriel. How does an archangel become a trickster?" Dean grills.

Gabriel gives him a rueful look and says, "My own private witness protection. I skipped out of heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world. Til you two screwed it all up."

 **You mean you screwed it up for yourself.** Sam thinks. Sam can only dream of his own witness protection, seeing as nothing keeps Lucifer away for long.

On the first thought, Lucifer privately agrees.

_Gabriel always was one for projection._

**You're one to talk.**

_Sam, I'm wounded. Call an ambulance._

Sam brushes Lucifer off, still not over his own brother trying to hasten along the end of days when he doesn't seem very thrilled about it.

 **You could've helped us hide, or something, instead of this, if you gave a damn...** Sam prays to Gabriel, thinking it'd be nice to have some kind of way of permanently hiding himself. And it's a nervous tic, by now. Babbling. Being wistful. Pretending he isn't terrified Lucifer will just appear out of nowhere to whisk him away.

"What did Daddy say when you ran off and joined the pagans?" Dean asks, twitching.

Gabriel's voice goes flat as his expression. "Daddy doesn't say anything about anything."

"Then what happened? Why'd you ditch?" Sam demands.

**Why'd you trap us if you're as desperate to hide as we are? What changed?**

Gabriel looks at him, as if considering his answer.

"Do you blame him?" Dean interrupts easily. "I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douchenozzles."

Gabriel head twists back at Dean, lightning fast, even if it's true, because only he's allowed to talk about them like that, not this human, not this harbinger of the end who broke the first seal and set this all off, and he hisses, "Shut your cakehole. You don't know anything about my family. I love my father, my brothers." Gabriel stresses, blinking. "Love them." Then his voice grows louder, more ragged, as a muscle leaps in his throat and his eyes shimmer in the light. "But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it!" Gabriel yells, looking back at Sam like he was standing in for Lucifer. Like this is half an apology, even though it's not an apology at all. The opposite, really. An accusation, one that makes ice itch under Sam's skin.

"Okay?" Gabriel adds, and when he looks away from them both, his voice grows hard and frayed again, every note buzzing with a twang. "So I left. And now it's happening all over again."

"Then help us stop it." Sam begs, the very same eyes pleading with a resolve and backbone Gabriel wishes wasn't so determined.

That determination would break. Sam's too young to see this for what it is. To see all the intertwined forces locking them in place, without any chance for going back.

"It can't be stopped." Gabriel answers, looking back at him with all the hurt and accusation, like it's their fault even though it's on the Archangels themselves for this, and Gabriel's voice grows hard. His expression remains relentless and hopeless and old.

Sam goes still, his heart hammering in his chest.

_At least he's right about one thing._

**No. He isn't. He might give up, but I'm not. I'm not saying yes to you. I'm never saying yes, you hear me?**

_Even if I believe that... Do you really think idealism and holding back will stop the end? Michael is outside of your control, and I will have my justice. I will find a way to win, Sam. I'm going to protect you however I can. Even if the whole world has to burn for it. But if I had my way, it's not the world that will end. Just humanity, and any brother that stands in our way._

"You wanna see the end of the world?" Dean face twitches when he asks it, tone disbelieving, because that's the one thing that hasn't added up this whole time. Gabriel doesn't seem really gung-ho about them playing their roles, no matter how much he's been pressuring them into it. Quite the opposite, really. He seems royally pissed.

Gabriel's shouts echo off the concrete as his face scrunches, nostrils flaring, mouth a rictus crescent of pain. Golden brown eyes burn with blue fire underneath, just barely, like a stoked fire barely kept alive. "I want it to be over!" And then the words burst out of him, having been kept close to his chest without being said, for so long, every time he looks into their faces, and every movement of his hand is a violent cut off gesture, because all he can see is the humans God made for his brothers, the faces they were supposed to wear, the path Dad marked off for them, the pathetic showdown he wanted to be part of his big story, like they weren't his children, like they were props, like this is a lesson they were supposed to understand... He whines, "I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you two! Heaven, Hell, I don't care who wins," And Gabriel's voice breaks as he finishes, "I just want it to be over."

_Agreed. It's been a long time coming. Although, it's not your fault, Sam. We all might want this to end- but Michael made his choice when he turned his back on me. When they all did. That's not on you. You're going to help me make things right, Sam. I know you will._

**Enough. I'm done listening, okay? Just back off, right now. Please.**

_Whatever you wish, kiddo. I can take a hint. Just remember to breathe._

**Why can't you see that you don't have to do any of this to be happy again?** Sam demands, for once letting the rage and despair and hurt engulf him. **You can have me again, if you just stopped...**

_I can't do that, Sammy. You know I can't._

**I don't see anyone stopping you.** **Hell, you've got at least one brother who doesn't even want to watch you die, which has to count for something.**

 _Gabriel doesn't set the stage here. And my little brother, for all his histrionics, seems to forget that he abandoned me like the others, despite all his whining and making this all about himself. Predictable._ Lucifer thoughts turn guarded, though, like he's almost snagged on some nostalgia there. Sam tries to draw more of it out.

**Yeah, well. You're an archangel. Remember? You can do whatever you want.**

_Michael's an Archangel, too, Sam._

**Screw him. And screw this!**

"It doesn't have to be like that." Sam promises Gabriel (and Lucifer) with all the courage he can muster. They should leave soon. But they could convince him. Gabriel doesn't want this. Not really. They don't have to be on opposite sides, and if they had an edge, had something... It would matter. It has to count for something.

Sam pleads, "There has to be some way to, to pull the plug."

Gabriel laughs in Sam's face. Hysterically. Unable to stop it.

"Oh, you do not know my family." Gabriel chuckles, but the sound rings hollow as his voice grows sober again. Sam might know his family better than most mortals, all things considered. But he wasn't there in beginning, to see them all in all their glory and power and spats that shook the firmament of Heaven along with the waters of the earth, so he does buy Gabriel's honesty insofar he knows Gabriel believes it's hopeless to the very end. "What you guys call the Apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner." Gabriel adds, jerkily pointing at nothing, at himself, around the room, with each angry word. "That's why there's no stopping this, because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other." Gabriel continues.

 _Not just two._ Lucifer corrects, but his heart isn't in it. Sam can feel him closing in, and his heart clenches from how pleased, how focused the link feels as it weaves around him. Like a net, growing tighter and tighter, as he starts to pin Sam's location down.

 **Do I even want to know what you're going to do if you get here?** Sam tries, still trying to keep the ghost of blind panic distant, and not entirely succeeding. His neck feels damp with cold sweat, and goosebumps creep up his wrist.

 _I doubt it?_ Lucifer concedes, and the apologetic honesty the Devil touts like a badge of honor is still drowned by the possessive, hungry need to find Sam and whatever might come after. To track Sam down and unravel the yes from his lips, from his throat, with every breath Sam wouldn't give easily. Lucifer, for all his pretending, isn't exactly planning on playing fair. He'll settle for something less than a yes, provided he can keep eyes on Sam without Sam slipping out of his reach again. Dealing with Gabriel is a mixed bag, otherwise: Lucifer isn't going to let him off the hook for this, but out of all his brothers, he savors facing Gabe down the least.

Sam hopes the tiniest sliver of hesitation he can feel radiating from the Devil is enough to buy them more time, every second a precious resource.

Gabriel's gaze darts between them as he adds, "You'd think you'd be able to relate."

The new focus on themselves throws Sam off. Dean and him... Yeah, they've had their moments. But they're in this together, one day at a time. And Sam wasn't exactly ever in the running to kill him.

"What are you talking about?" He asks, even as Dean glances at him, Gabriel's words hitting a bit too close to home this time.

Gabriel turns to look at him, slowly, then gives another look to Dean, as Dean pretends he isn't following. What two dysfunctional specimens you two are, Gabriel thinks.

Then he smacks his lips together and whistles, head bobbing side to side. "You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels? Think about it." Gabriel adds, making a face before he gets all theatrical again, to hide his own emotions, now that they've been on display. "Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father," He says, pointing to Dean, then looking back at Sam who mirrors the tilt of his head, the same challenge, as Gabriel sings out with a growl, "And Lucifer," Gabriel pauses and gives Sam a look, like that's the only hint he needs for the reasons Sam is promised to the angel he is, but Gabriel keeps talking, "the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. You were born to this, boys. It's your destiny! It was always you!" He shouts.

Sam's getting real tired of destiny. Of angels telling them they have no choices anymore. For not believing they had choices, the same choices which got them here, after all. Thinking everything is inevitable and doing nothing was a choice in and of itself.

The fire roars in the circle, loud and crackling. Sam tries not to think of other fires, and the lighter in his pocket feels heavy as Sam fidgets with the lid, thumb pressing into the metal to keep him grounded. Everything tastes and smells like smoke, and paint, and concrete. That remained the same through each scene, too, when Sam had concentrated hard enough.

At least until Gabriel gestures up to the sky, and all they smell is rain and ozone, Gabriel not quite unfurling his wings even as he shows how old he really is, mimicking his brother's own ancient cadences, everything he once was, a messenger of God, a herald calling all his brethren together, for once encapsulating everything he'd sworn off and pretended not to be the moment he ran from home, unable to get away almost as much as Sam could. That's just their luck. How fate functions. You can't run from who you are, no matter how much you pretend. "As it is in heaven, so it must be on earth." Then Gabriel looks down, eyes still on fire, as he whispers, "One brother has to kill the other."

Sam looks at nothing. He's tired of hearing the same thing, over, and over, and over...

Then the rage chokes him, lights him up just like it does Lucifer, and he doesn't try to reign it in because that's all too much right now, too.

"What the hell are you saying?" Dean asks, voice rough, as he keeps staring Gabriel down.

"Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you?" Gabriel answers, tilting his head again. All almost avian, but too-twisted, too immaterial a movement to appear anything less than alien. Gabriel turns subdued, his voice growing softer even as his face twitches, a muscle jumping in his throat. "Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here..." Gabriel adds, and then turns back to Sam, all the weight of the world in his words. "We knew it was all gonna end with you. Always."

Dean looks over to Sam, who looks back, then at his feet. It's was easier to fight the Apocalypse when it was just two Archangels singing that tune. But hearing it from Gabriel feels worse, suddenly. Like Sam's weighed down by some corruption beyond every manipulation he's suffered, by every lost bit of poison long since plucked from his veins. Sam shivers with the memory, and his mouth turns dry.

 _It had to be you._ Lucifer sings Sinatra in Sam's head, trying to lighten the mood, to stop Sam's fury now transmuted into grief, along with Sam's trembling need to just tear everything apart for being this way, for how he's being used, for being blamed like this, for being expected to shoulder this weight like the end of the world is nothing, is just part of the scenery, is just always where they'll end up, no matter what Sam does, that pangs through all of Sam's soul. How much his life had been choreographed by these blind, entitled sons-of-bitches who dared think they owned the world, and played by God, even, if they're thinking that's just the way they were made, no choices to make, just as powerless as the angels believe themselves to be-

But it's the sheer familiarity of it, of all the casual, mundane pinpricks of Lucifer's intimate, looming memory, the way he sings, the way he jokes, the way he prods and how his feelings sneak past Sam's defenses, wishing only for Sam to let loose, and his presence ringing with all the kind things he's ever cultivated, for Sam and Sam alone...

That single strand of aching need to get in close and never let go: it backfires, and that is the straw that breaks the camels back for Sam today.

**I heard you the first FIFTY THOUSAND TIMES.**

_Aw, but Sammy._ Lucifer pouts. His grace turns wary and less carefree, no longer full of the coy lightness that seeped in. _Can you blame an angel for being fond of all our greatest hits together? C'mon, kiddo. You used to get all sappy on me._

 **Yeah, funny how things change,** Sam's prayers snarl, **When you're planning the EXTINCTION of MY SPECIES.**

Lucifer's mood turns on a dime, from gentle warmth full of memory to frigid, cutting, take-no-prisoners desire. The same certainty that's kept Sam mired in this mess for too long.

_You're the only human who is worth it, Sam. I don't make the rules. I just accept the gift in front of me. And you'd feel better if you allowed yourself what God promised you, when he made you who you are. If you only let yourself believe this is a gift that he owes you, and not a curse haunting your every footstep. I was made for you, too, you know. Made to fit inside perfectly, so that you'll never feel empty or alone, never again. Not so long as I'm with you. Our arrangement goes both ways._

Sam shifts, massaging his temples. That's the problem, right there. That he thinks it is all so simple. That having what they want excuses every other vile, selfish thing he has planned for the rest of the world. That Sam loves him too much not to forgive him for it, and that hits too close to home, too.

Lucifer's presence ebbs away. Banished in self-imposed exile, for the faintest, briefest of seconds, seeing as he isn't exactly eager to make Sam moods worse. Doesn't suit his endgame, or just how he thinks he'll convince Sam to come around. Lucifer likes to pretend he isn't pushy, and fundamentally believes in Sam. Believes in the two of them. That, and both he and Sam know when he's had the last word.

Sam's done playing this game.

Dean is too, even though he's in a different ballpark. Same inning, different field.

"No." Dean promises Gabriel. "That's not gonna happen."

Gabriel stares Dean down, not biting.

 _He's come awfully close._ Lucifer needles. His grace surges right back in again, need to protect Sam from what he thinks Sam is blind to always a means to bring him crawling back again. Lucifer's grace is a sloshing riptide dragging Sam back and forth, like he's snatching parts of Sam away with him every time the grace turns shallow. Sam knows Lucifer doesn't quite care to pretend he can help himself. His self-control is laughable, depending on his every whim, and the endless commentary is a habit by now. It's not like Sam didn't expect him to make himself scarce for longer than a few seconds...

And Sam berates himself further, because he shouldn't be so used to this. Shouldn't be so used to Lucifer chatting on and on while he prepares to tear Sam's life with his brother away from him and boil the oceans, only not really. Lucifer gave Sam a whole tirade about how boiling the oceans is the opposite of what this is, and how he'd hide Dean, because Michael doesn't exactly deserve anything, even if it would be more trouble than it's worth. He'd promise Sam he'd try, except Sam had shot him down, because Dean wouldn't want to be a caged bird, just like Sam, trapped in whatever limbo Lucifer would keep them in before trying to bring on the end whether Sam was on board or not. And Sam kept throwing every false plan of Lucifer's Apocalypse back at him anyway, because that was the only revenge he can get, willfully not playing along with all of Lucifer's machinations.

"I'm sorry." Gabriel replies to Dean, his face blank. Then his expression turns into something ugly, something that's heard the same thing before from his own brothers, only for the truth to hurt more. His voice brooks no argument. "But it is."

In that moment, Sam can see just how Gabriel takes after Lucifer, and he hates them both, for that, too. 

The moment passes, however, when Gabriel can't keep eye contact with Dean, and instead he looks to Sam, eyes watering despite him trying not to, and the Archangel heaves a heavy sigh. His voice turns tight and low when he says, "Guys. I wish this were a TV show." Then his voice squeaks, the sound breaking as he shrugs, unable to look at either one of them for long, "Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow..."

Gabriel trails off, back to looking at nothing at all, and then his expression hardens, not with rage or what he knows to be true, but just fear and loss and having had enough fighting for a lifetime.

Gabriel whispers, "But this is real."

And then he looks back at Sam, his voice growing louder and shakier as he promises what he knows is true, "And it's gonna end bloody for all of us." He says, because he knows if they somehow make it out of here, no matter what happens, he'll be there for the end, and Gabriel knows himself, that when the time comes, he won't be able to stop from stepping in-between his siblings, and that he'll die not knowing which brother tore him apart while trying to kill the other one. He pretends he won't do it. Like he wants to live. But he doesn't want to see a world where one of his brothers could actually follow through. Not after everything they brought to life together. Not after everything they were.

Then Gabriel turns his face to Dean, unable to take Sam's knowing, sickened, angry look, like he knows exactly what Gabriel's thinking. Gabriel injects the cynical, playful tone he's always used back in his voice, but underneath, his voice still shakes, a bit too throaty to sell the false front he's trying so hard to hold on to. "That's just how it's gotta be." Gabriel adds.

Dean can't take the way Gabriel stares him down, and looks at the flames. The room is so still, so quiet, that the flames sound like a hurricane's drone, all the warmth long since leeched out of them.

After a pause, Gabriel claps, making Sam and Dean jump, even though the sound falls flat and heavy. Gabriel makes sure his voice carries, and keeps up the false cheer anyway. No point being a downer before everything crashes over their heads.

"So. Boys. Now what? We stare at each other for the rest of eternity?" Gabriel asks, still not quite meeting their gaze head on.

"Well, first of all, you're gonna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him." Dean orders, voice strong, because that's one thing he's sure about, no matter what other crazy has decided to bring the hammer down on their all over again. For someone who pretends to be so above it all, Gabriel sure can be one depressive customer. Guess he's like those comedians- making everyone else laugh, or in his case, laughing at his own shit jokes, when all he really wants is to curl up and drink so hard he forgets how to be sober. And for an actor, he's got a shit poker face, too, when actual emotions actually come out to play. Who knew- and who cares. Dean's had enough unwelcome revelations for the day, and he's done playing free street therapist for harp boy who never grew the fuck up. Hell, they've got enough of their own problems, and this one's sob story is one falling on the wrong ears.

 ** _Boo hoo, your brothers suck_** , Dean thinks. **_Now let's think about what that means for the rest of the world._**

"Oh, am I?" Gabriel challenges, finding the easiest excuse to turn hurt and vulnerability into anger and another pissing match.

"Yeah. Or we're going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel." Dean growls, every word loud and rumbling in his throat. The threat holds true.

Gabriel gives them a look, hesitating just to keep his pride, and making a big show of snapping his figures. At the gesture, Cas gets brought on over in a jiffy, standing off to side behind Dean's shoulder, in the same condition as before, mouth sans the duct tape.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean asks, a small note of frantic concern hidden in the edges of his voice.

"I'm fine." Cas assures, heaving in a few breaths like he's winded, which means his grace has probably been depleted enough for it to be a concern. But Cas is always business, always has his vessels' eyes on the prize, with little concern for his own welfare.

Sam lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He hadn't wanted to think about Cas, all this time. He's too afraid they'd lose the one reliable, free-will supporting friend they have, even if he's terrifying and holy too, when he needs to be.

Silence settles over them for a moment, only the sound of Cas collecting himself, of shallow breathing trying to get under control, hissing against the air, which feels as heavy as lead.

Sam would have backed Dean up, too, if they had to light Gabriel up to get Cas back. Cas is their friend, and deserves better than everything that's happened to him. 

Dean still looks like he's considering lighting up Gabriel on principle, for everything he's put them through today. For threatening the two people Dean has promised himself he'll keep safe.

And while Sam might understand where Gabriel is coming from, that doesn't excuse how he'd almost thrown them to his same brothers' that he's so bent out of shape about, the same angel Sam's been hiding from out in the waking world more with more resolve than he's otherwise felt in his life, even when it's proven futile, and Sam won't forgive Gabriel for jeopardizing that, either.

He's not the only one having a shit time of it. And it's not like deep-frying him would even kill an Archangel. Sam tried that on himself and Lucifer after he'd learned he was his true vessel. Before he'd made the deal that he'd stop trying to find a way to die permanently and in an attempt to weaken Lucifer so he'd have a harder time ending the world. All it did was make Lucifer incensed while only mildly inconveniencing him, forcing him to repair his temporary vessel before he'd brought Sam back again. Although, he'd been far kinder to Sam about the whole experience than he otherwise would be with anyone else, seeing his soft spot and how much pain Sam was in afterwards and how out of it Sam was for days. Yeah, not an experience Sam would repeat.

But for Gabriel, it would just hurt like a bitch, which would serve him right for everything else he's done. Not like he exactly was sorry for all the times he killed Dean right in front of him, or all the physical abuse he's thrown at Sam and laughed about, or all ways he's altered Sam's body against his will. Gabriel still has it coming, even if Sam doesn't have the burning desire to completely end him anymore.

That, and it's a lot kinder of an option that gives Gabriel an easy escape out of here without being tracked down or hunted, particularly when considering some of the ideas Lucifer's been entertaining. From what Sam's been able to glean, Lucifer isn't averse to using Gabriel as bait to get the drop on Michael and Raphael, just as he isn't above taking his anger out on his so-called favorite sibling for all their various issues, but the most likely option on the table so far is entrapping him and trying to force Gabriel to his side, much like he's done with Sam, only with more imprisonment and absolutely zero seduction, all in the name of it being for Gabriel's own good. Lucifer hasn't exactly made up his mind yet, but Sam knows, whatever he decides, they're all better off getting the Hell out of here before he actually finds them. That, and he knows Lucifer. And as much as the Devil likes to critique Dean for all his faults, particularly the one where he had the habit of making decisions for his younger siblings and trapping them to try and protect them, Lucifer's not above doing the same thing with his own little brother, if only to spare Gabriel from having to watch him rend Michael limb from limb. And the Devil would call it fucking mercy, because in Lucifer's mind, it is.

Sam resists the urge to laugh out of nowhere. His life really is a mess.

And underneath it all, the constant strain of all the different directions he's being pulled is really starting to get to him.

Sometimes, Lucifer is just so, so angry, so vile, so blind to his own hypocrisy that Sam can't quite feel the full weight of it. It's right there, right in front of his face, but there's so much to take in that it doesn't feel real. But it makes his skin crawl, all the same, with how wrong he is, with what he considers fair. And Sam hates what he knows Lucifer is capable of, all the things Lucifer considers options. He doesn't consider playing dirty or manipulation off the table: nothing is sacred, nothing is off-limits, provided he gets Sam and gets the justice he thinks he deserves. How at the end of the day, millions of people are nothing but vermin to wiped off the map, barely worthy of a second glance or spare thought.

It makes Sam scared of himself, truth be told, because there's a part of himself so angry, so used and broken and wounded and tired of all the things the world has done to him, to people like him, that sometimes, Lucifer's answers feel right in a way they never should. Not the endgame, never that- never complete, blind, blanket annihilation (something Lucifer pretends is fair, is impartial, because if he picks everyone, no one can claim favorites, but Sam knows the lie for what it is) - but sometimes, Sam wishes he could make the monsters, the cruel, the selfish people in the world who ruin it for everyone else... He wishes they would just disappear. That they would face consequences for who they chose to be, and then never trouble anyone again.

More than that, though, Sam's not sure how the love he has persists in the face of everything Lucifer is. Except he does. Because there's some selfish, lonely, helpless, tender part of him that would throw everything away for Lucifer, would give him everything if he slipped up, because Sam can never let go. Some part of himself that just wants to feel loved, feel safe, feel like he can hold on to someone he knows loves every part of him, the good and the bad and the ugly and the fragile parts of himself he's never able to face, and Lucifer gives him that, and holds on just as tight, and Sam feels it even if it's selfish, even if it fixes nothing, because Sam is only human, and Lucifer had been his best friend, the one constant person he could rely on when he'd had nothing and no one else, long before Lucifer had ever been his enemy, even if he'd planned that right from the start. That's why the betrayal stung so hard, when the other, less kind truths had reared their ugly, Apocalyptic heads.

It's hard to believe they've kept Gabriel trapped for only a few minutes. It feels like it's been a lifetime, after everything they've learned.

"Hello, Gabriel." Cas finally decides to go with, still catching his breath as he glares Gabriel down.

Gabriel gives him a smile without any warmth.

"Hey, bro." Gabriel sings, the mask of indifference only slipping from his face once as he adds, "How's the search for Daddy going?" Gabriel looks up and ruffles his shoulders, and Sam guesses his wings mirror the moment, from the way the air shifts. "Let me guess..." Gabriel coos, and waits a tick, then his next word rings out, "Awful." Each syllable saturated with hate. Because how dare Castiel presume God would let himself be found, if his first children couldn't find him. What pride the little guy has, if he thinks he's got more of a chance than any of the Archangels themselves. Gabriel had looked the longest for God, after Lucifer fell, before he left for good. Dad didn't care when he turned his back, and God didn't care when Gabriel ran away, and God didn't care now, when his first two children were about to have a cage match to the death. 

Gabriel keeps giving the fake apologetic frown to Cas, then whips his face away like the violent action is a threat. Cas stands still, far too still, like he's trying to figure out what turned Gabriel from what he distantly remembered into what he is today, and Dean pulls him closer, ushering his friend away from the Archangel snarling in his makeshift kennel of fire, because there's no use sticking around.

Dean jumps in, "Okay, we're out of here." He murmurs, glancing at Sam and shuffling as he turns away. "Come on, Sam."

The three people standing in the way of the end of the world all walk away, except for Cas, who walks half-backwards, head turned, not once keeping his eyes off the Archangel trapped in the flames until they've all made it to the door. The three of them go to make their escape before they aren't Team Free Will anymore, only prisoners, or dead, or worse...

Gabriel's antsy fears get the better of him, seeing as Lucifer's still on his way, even if he's close but hasn't located the doors yet. He shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting around as he calls out. "Uh. Okay. Guys? So, so what? Huh?" Gabriel scuffs his foot on the floor, trying to test the flames and flinching back anyway. "You're just gonna, you're gonna leave me here forever?" The fear is his voice is real.

After all that, you're gonna let Luci find me? He sends over to Sam.

Sam doesn't turn around to face Gabriel like Dean does. The answer should be obvious.

"No. We're not," Dean shouts back, "'Cause we don't screw with people the way you do!" Dean pauses, and then steps forward, not backing down for anything as all his words start running together, growing louder and louder with every gasping breath. "And for the record? This isn't about some prize fight between your brothers," Dean adds, and points at him, judge and jury, "Or some destiny that can't be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family." Dean finishes, and he heaves in a giant lungful of air.

Gabriel doesn't blink or breath or move, an Archangel overwhelmed by simple truths as Dean dares put him in his place.

Then Dean shuffles back and slams his hand through the glass of the fire alarm and pulls, the sprinklers dousing the area with water. "Don't say I never did anything for you." Dean calls back over the bells ringing as they leave.

By the time the holy fire goes out around Gabriel, Sam, Cas, and Dean are already out the door.

Gabriel doesn't follow, even though, for once, in a long, long time, he feels like an instrument of holy retribution again, ready to face down something that dared think it had the solutions to a problem Gabriel's never been able to fix-

And then the feeling passes, weighted down like a stone in his throat.

Gabriel is too tired, too scared, too alone, and has been running and hiding without staying anywhere long...

And he wishes those three muttonheads had another way. Had some magical plan that would work.

By Dad, Gabriel wishes it so very badly.

Then he flies off, having chosen to live another day vicariously, on the run again, trying to think of the best way to erase this shitstain of a day from his mind, all his failures and failings he hates himself for all thrown right back in his face.

Gabriel throws himself into the dregs of human civilization, hoping it will help.

It doesn't.

Not when he knows it's all going to be thrown out like trash any day now.

Gabriel remembers before. Gabriel remembers earth, before there were any animals, or bacteria, or plant growth.

Gabriel remembers the planet that collided with this one and broke off into fragments, remembers as he watched, every few millions of years, as the cast-off debris stabilized in orbit and condensed into the moon.

Gabriel remembers the pull of the tides, and the cooling of magma.

Gabriel remembers how Michael smiled at him when he taught him to fly, and the throaty way Lucifer laughed and sang and infused everything around him with light as they snuck off to try and make new things, and how, before Raff became all stuck-up and bureaucratic to be responsible for all the other angels, he'd sneak off and go on adventures with him across the edges of space, through nebulas and black holes and the microscopic ridges of a single-celled organisms tiniest components. Raff complained all the time, and was a giant baby about it- but that had been half the fun. Ribbing him. Feeling like the older brother. Getting Raff to admit he was having fun, too.

Inside Enkidu's head, using his folded over synapses, the echoes of those early days are all an approximation. Memories housed in vessels tend to take on the pallor of the host, turned into bite-sized, humanized impressions of memory, not as flashy or ethereal or beyond physical understanding, thanks to the way angels interact with their host...

But Gabriel missed it.

And right now, he misses his found family, too, the ones that might all stab each other in the back but never left each other out to dry when it mattered. Never tried to kill each other permanently, seeing as those that did faded away, long gone, because in this world, to survive, they can't afford to pick each other off. The other Gods are far more easy-going when it came to some grudges, even if they let the tiniest, shallowest, so-very-human pet peeves fester. Gabriel misses stealing Odin's eyepatch, and Kali's grin, even though she'd soon as burn Gabriel's hands off them see him again right now, and he's overcome for a fondness for all of them, heck, even Baldr, dare Gabriel say it. All the other fragments of Gods cut off from their main hosts, all the vessels that are not human but not quite all they used to be, the same Gods the Archangels used to fight off like they did the Leviathans, just like white blood cells decimated a disease. Sure, Gabriel had thought he'd been substituting his family with pale imitations of stand-ins, when he first set out, a loner in the world. But over the years, it had almost become the opposite. The other gods felt more real, more solid, with his first family almost smoke on the wind, cut off from Earth by choice or otherwise, 

Gabriel misses feeling like he's home. Like he can rely on anyone at all.

Then he ducks into a stripclub, finds the nearest tweaker he can pinpoint, and it's not long before he's swimming in free drugs and booze and legs for days, even if it does nothing to actually make Gabriel feel alive at all.

\--

Sam shivers from the cold, damp air, thanks to his slightly soaked jacket, and tries to keep hold of the feeling of sunlight, real sunlight, on his face, along with every real feeling under his feet. Not a simulation. Not a dream. Not another prison meant to force his compliance, like the basement at Bobby's, or Gabriel's other micro-dimensions or time traveling pockets of space.

Just asphalt under his feet and the scent of dying dogwood flowers along the freeway before they get the Hell out of dodge.

"All that stuff he was spouting in there, you think it was the truth?" Dean asks, feet crunching on the gravel.

"I think he believes it." Sam answers.

Cas shuts the door behind them with a thud, and Sam's head pounds harder, and all Sam wants to do is climb into the Impala and drive for days until they're far, far away from this place.

"So what do we do?" Dean asks, stopping in front of the driver's side.

Sam leans on the hood of the car, too drained to do anything else. His lip curls over itself as Sam sucks in a breath, then he swallows, lips smacking together as he admits, "I don't know."

"Well I'll tell you one thing." Dean grumbles, and then he's looking up at Sam, eyebrows rising and falling and throat tight as he looks as lost and tired as Sam feels. "Right about now I wish I was back in a TV show."

A muscle in Sam's calf twitches, and he scuffs his shoes in the gravel, unable to stay still. 

"Yeah, me too." Sam rasps. Sam wrenches the passenger side door open, ready to topple into the car and not think about anything, anything at all.

Cas even follows suit, collapsing in the back seat to save his strength, considering all the grace he's used today.

Dean climbs in the drivers side and just goes, not even bothering to tune the radio. It hums low, barely audible, as Sam leans his head against the headrest and tries not to fear falling asleep, just this once, not ready to see the constant understanding, the endless patience and contradictory need. To see all the love Sam doesn't know how to say no to, even though he does. Sam is just too tired to put sleep off, and that was that.

His tired, static buzzing thoughts float on by, helping nothing except to serve as background noise so Sam can't think about anything else.

In TV shows, in ones with happy endings, loving someone and talking solved everything, and things worked out because people believed in each other enough.

They weren't full of contradictions, full of loose ends, full of raw fury that broke everyone's lives apart after the happily ever after credits.

Sam wishes things were that simple. That his family and the people he cares about could all just move on, and accept each other, and find a way to be happy and together without breaking each other or the world apart.

But somewhere, deep inside himself, Sam doesn't lose hope, even though he feels like he almost got there.

He's already at rock bottom. You can only go up from here...

And when push comes to shove, it's obvious. Despite not helping, despite not doing anything at all...

Gabriel isn't happy with the end of the world.

And if Sam, and Dean, and Cas, and Bobby, and one useless Archangel try hard enough...

Maybe they'd all find something, just from how much this can't be happening. How much they don't want this nightmare to eat them all alive.

Sam's just going to keep on fighting the current, will keep fighting and fighting no matter the odds, because anything else isn't going to save him.

He's already lost where it counts.

It's not about winning, anymore. Just fighting. Fighting 'til the bitter end until they've stopped it or fought until they can't fight anymore.

And Sam would go down, bloody and sure, even if Lucifer is hellbent on wearing Sam down slow.

When Sam drowns against the tide- it won't be a yes on his lips.

It will just be drowning, and him taking Lucifer right down with him. No victory in this.

Sam believes he can achieve that much. Just like he knows, when it comes to the end of it all...

Dean will give Michael all he's got, and Dean's got more fight in him than he thinks, when someone's trying to rip his family from him. Sam knows that much, has been on the receiving end when Dean thought he's been the one to threaten that, to, and in some ways, that's a twisted kind of comfort, knowing Dean will hold the line out of selfishness and nothing else, even when Sam hates him for it, and even if that's something that's hurt for a long time, too.

Dean is good at hurting the people he loves. If he lets all that out on something he hates...

Yeah, Sam is sure they have a fighting chance, even if the victory will end bloody and slow, without any real win for any side.

_I believed in my brother, Sam, just as much as you did. Thought he'd fight for me. Go to bat for me. Look where it got me. Look where we are._

This time around, Lucifer is only slightly bitter that Sam slipped through his fingers again. He's already found him tonight, like Sam knows he would already- and Lucifer knows Sam will come back to him eventually. It's the maddening, always self-assured nature of all their interactions that makes Sam answer something a bit too raw, his chosen words almost as cruel as Lucifer can be to everyone else. But tonight, Sam's too tired to regret it.

And sometimes the truth hurts the ones you love, and they have to hear it anyway.

**Yeah, well your older brother doesn't change. Mine can, and he will, and he doesn't play by your rules. Because we believe in choices, and each other, long after everyone thinks we should give up. And that's what will make all the difference. You'll see.**

Two can play this waiting game of pure certainty. One plan might not be ordained by God, but Sam's starting to want to spite the bastard, anyway, for whatever wounds he's left to fester for his children, for being blind not to see the damage that's been done and deciding to do nothing about it, anyway.

In Sam's dream, he feels fingertips gliding through his hair, then lightly messaging the nape of his neck to chase all the aches away, and the ghost of eyelashes on his cheekbones flutter, comfortable and familiar and too much like a home Sam misses, and knows he'll never get back properly, not again.

Sam doesn't open his eyes. Only yawns and huddles closer. Lucifer might be a holy scourge on the earth, but he's still Sam's, and in his dreams... It's the only even playing field Sam gets, and the only comfort he has right now, either, despite how messed up that makes pretty much everything.

"You know... Sometimes, Sammy, you make things so simple..." Lucifer whispers. Then his grace washing over. Comforting. Soft.

_And for your sake, I almost wish you were right._

Lucifer's grace turn thoughtful after that, and in Sam's dreams, he nestles closer, a familiar weight spooning and wrapping around Sam's waist. But by the time he does, Sam is already out like a light, inside his dreams and out, and Lucifer doesn't begrudge him proper sleep. They're both on edge, after today. Lucifer's close shave with Gabriel didn't exactly calm anything down. Quite the opposite.

Today drained everything out of Sam entirely. And there are still some things not even the Devil can't work in or out of his favor, pure exhaustion being one of them. Sam's neutral, blank state is so-very-human in a way not even the Devil can re-wire, even if it's the very sleep that helps him hone in closer, no matter how much ground Sam won't give for anything.


	31. Many Lives -> 49 MP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by final fantasy
> 
> s5e13

Michael, despite everything, doesn't really want to have to take a physical manifestation on. John Winchester is too cramped, too confining, close to form-fitting yet not enough... Worse, he's too full of inconvenient, foreign emotions that don't perceive nearly enough, yet feel overwhelming in spite of all his human limits.

And while Michael knows he should be doing this for the right reasons, deep down, the archangel knows that it cannot be as distant as what it wants to appear as. Father demanded Perfection: So perfection is what Michael will strive for, will uphold, at least until he comes back and tells him why his brother was doomed to die, and if he'd ever bring his little brother back, if that would be enough to persuade Lucifer to be the brother he was supposed to be and disabuse him of being the tainted, vile thing Michael watched his little brother turn himself into-

But Michael can't think about that. He, (and isn't it funny, the more he watches from afar, the more he feels like his, embodied like they classify themselves, akin to his still-unclaimed vessel), and the the one he's slowly cracking open right now, with light and fumes and fire and claws, this father that is not quite a father yet, almost there, yet not, exactly how Michael must pretend to be for all his siblings after Father left... and he shouldn't be letting this human sense of self derail his thoughts so easily.

It's awful, this weakness. Michael hasn't felt it for thousands of years, kept it locked up tight and remote where he can't feel it at all.

But the moment Lucifer was out of the Cage, beyond Space and Time and Being to be free to walk the Earth again...

A fire roared again in Michael, bleeding out from every orifice, his grace still white-hot with a betrayal always festering after all these years.

(Lucifer burned cold and slow and constant, ice and detachment a mask for feelings that flared too often into passion, but while he pretends at patience, it can never mask the hunger, the need to take and take and take, to devour and gorge because nothing would ever be enough...)

Michael was the opposite. He felt everything more remotely, less immediately, with a detached patience Lucifer could only ever pretend to have, but when it came to implementing his plans, Michael always struck with a violent, pointed precision.

Lucifer's feelings built and built and built into waves, into cresting tsunamis, until each part of his carefully laid plans interlocked like a puzzle and fed off of each other, like parasites feeding off of the same host, combining into a mutated protozoa that slowly killed everything off, emitting a slow, wearing down decay until everything fell apart. Entropy at it's finest, the heat-death of the universe.

Michael... Michael was a supernova. His feelings mirrored the Beginning, a molten explosion scattering all the pieces where they fall. And when he broke, when he collapsed, everything was a black hole, collapsing inwards, ripping up everything that could not endure the mathematics and angles and components Michael needed them to be-

_(Throwing Lucifer down had been like that, and when Michael first cast him into the pit, he'd burned his eyes and clutched his mouths so he couldn't sing, couldn't scream, and Michael tore at his little brother's wings so he'd have to hobble up from the pit, mutilated, castigated of all of Heaven's whispers, before those scabbed over and healed with all the icy vengeance and poison his brother had filled himself up with-)_

Lucifer may have started the end, declaring his Truth that was not their Father's-

But Michael had acted when his Father gave the word. No hesitation. No questions.

Lucifer had turned his back on them.

The end would be the opposite.

Michael would allow the beginning of the end- would let all the keys unlock to his Brother's prison, only to unleash the shell of someone he once created galaxies and nebulae and starlight with at the appointed time, all so Lucifer can learn the error of his ways the only way that was left to them. And Lucifer would be the one to kick off the actual Apocalypse, before being broken, to be remade, to see what he'd never understood, what their Father made Michael punish him for-

Much like their vessels. Dean would break the First Seal, and Sam would break the last. Like they have done, because all is preordained, and time is vastly immaterial to a creature of Michael's power.

And when the final battle came, Michael would cast his brother down with the killing blow...

Unless his Father saw fit to intervene.

Then it all would be over.

One way, or another, this nightmare would end.

Yet Michael's feelings still bubble over like lava, not outside time or the rigidity of what he knows what must occur, and they creep slow and steady until everything goes nuclear, burns it all up in flames, and with one divisive strike leveling everything in one fell swoop...

Michael may ignore their presence, try to shut them out and tamp them down (like Dean, he's able to persevere through the harshest of trials and pretend they aren't there, until it's too much and Michael wants to make everything else hurt, just like he does-), but they are always there, waiting to seep out and ruin everything, and Michael can't have that, can't be like Lucifer, who only ever thought of himself-

Michael has to be perfect.

Perfect, in all the ways Lucifer and everyone else was not.

No one else would be able to get Father to come back, to keep the Host together, to keep creation running-

It may be a thankless task, but it is Michael's purpose. And he will obey where Lucifer always rebelled.

Even now, even when he knows he has to let go, Michael doesn't want much to do with anything that reminds him of all the flaws Lucifer held- his little brother had betrayed him so thoroughly, and despite Lucifer's hatred for almost all of humanity, Michael still couldn't help but see how much Lucifer's own chaos was alive in his father's last creation before he left- not to mention Lucifer's obsession with his own vessel, his one exception to the one rule that had fractured Michael's entire family apart, and Michael would not emulate that twisted, vile fascination or become enamored with his vessel's bodied experiences and feelings and soul.

Vessels are servants to a higher purpose, nothing more. Because Michael doesn't need anything else to complete him.

All he needs is his family back, and Lucifer isn't family until Father has deemed he has paid for his crimes, given penance, and only through death and fear and pain and awe can his imperfect, broken brother ever be allowed to be reborn-

Then they can be happy again. Then everything will work out.

But until then...

There is work that must be done.

And it's time Michael spoke to his vessel.

It's not a matter of reasoning with Dean Winchester. Destiny will not be swayed, and Michael need not lower himself to bargain with a creature so far removed from the sentience and brightness and perfection of the angelic host.

But if Michael is to inhabit his skin...

He needs Dean to be a warrior, to be implacable, to understand-

And he must find a way to make Dean see that turning away from the truth, from his purpose, from what their Father's asked of them...

That is not something Michael will endure, or allow.

Dean already knows he is broken, but Michael has had eons and eons of Lucifer's doubts to make any threat of being swayed by the younger brother unconscionable. Dean is weak, not yet tempered by the age and might of the years Michael has spent waiting for his arrival to let this finally all come to an end-

(And maybe, somewhere, deep down, Michael wants to be understood, to be seen for all the hurt of a brother left behind, unable to let go but unable to move forward or accept the change that has gone on, but Michael ignores that easily. Emotions are weakness. Love of anything other than Father's vision is false, and counts as yet another weakness he must purge from his every wave and echo of form.)

Yes, Dean may be imperfect. But he won't be, not when Michael is done with him, not when he's made to see exactly how they are the same, and how pretending won't change what's happened, or what will happen.

There are no choices.

There is only the Ineffable Will of the Almighty, of Father-

And Michael will only suffer to believe in that.

When John Winchester's legs stand up, they are infused with light that smolders and burns, the grass catching fire and melting to ashen vapor just by brushing his ankles.

\--

Sam's only aware of sharp pain, burning, radiating, lungs and ribs collapsed. He goes down with a sharp stab and a gasp of breath, so fast it almost doesn't feel real.

Blood dribbles down Sam's chin, as he chokes on it, and Dean can only struggle in Uriel's grip and scream his brother's name before he's still and dead on the floor.

\--

(Sam is used to dying, by now, even if Dean doesn't know it. And when the darkness blurs along his vision he is cast outside of time, into Hell, where the one who is always waiting remains, and there is bright, bright light reaching out to meet him, jamming and twining fingers and claws through his ribcage and inside his soul as wings hug him close, the Archangel's True Form hissing and growling with a possessive displeasure that makes Sam shiver, like thunderclaps hissing under his skin.

 _Say yes_ , Lucifer does not whisper.

Instead, it's worse, so much worse-

_You ran so far, Sammy. So far, too far for me to keep you safe. Why should I give you back, when I can feel my brother kicking down the door?_

**Please, we were trying to stop her, I want to live, I do-**

_Fine. But there's no use letting you come back yet. Not when my brother is right there. No, Sam, no, I think I'll keep you close. Mark what's mine, so Michael doesn't get any ideas... You are such a fragile, beautiful thing. But you need to learn not to run, that I will look after you, if you just ask. I can fix that. It's only fitting I take the edge off, seeing as you weren't on a intentional suicide run this go around. Let me help you._

There's a nudge of a jaw and a curl of fingers, too gentle, tracing the strands of Sam's soul, leaving a tingling cresting feeling in it's wake, and Lucifer's True Voice rumbles against Sam's lips, full of want and lust and promise.

_Let me in._

And then Sam's knees go to water and his limbs crumble under the pressure of everything Lucifer truly is, as he slides a tongue past Sam's lips and tightens his grip inside Sam's mental construct of a body, of a ribcage, and all Sam feels is the blissful rush of euphoria, of cold and fire and electricity crackling through his soul as Lucifer digs his not-quite-a-fist in deeper into his chest cavity and Sam only stays suspended upright only by a phantom arm pressing into his back and the power reaching into him, caressing him, tasting him and breathing him in, except it's beyond that, beyond everything, because it's so far beyond every human feeling Sam can comprehend at all.

It could hurt, if Lucifer wanted.

It doesn't. It is the farthest thing from that, tingling through Sam's spine and up his jaw enough for his toes to curl and his head to fall forwards as Lucifer's other limbs stroke the nape of his neck from the top of Sam's head down his spine, and Lucifer reaches out and claims all that Sam perceives himself to be, and for some reason, that's more of a betrayal than anything else.

It feels good, like all the good things Sam has never been allowed to have, or all the good Sam has been given only to have it all taken back, and Sam shudders under Lucifer ministrations, in all the ways he pulls Sam under and unravels Sam and all he is.

_It's okay to be helpless in the face of this, Sam. You were made to be helpless. You were made to be mine. And I am yours. Always yours, and I will numb all the pain away, every wound, every scar, so all you can feel is this, is our perfection, in it's wake. Let go, Sammy. Let me feel you, let me touch you, let me have you-_

Sam tries to hold himself upright, fingertips digging into the tendons where ethereal wings radiate from the Devil's twisted spine, but even his fingers lose their grip when Lucifer's tongue licks up his heart and there's a kiss forcing Sam's lips apart, even when Sam's is already panting and mouth already gaping open.)

\--

Back in time, back on Earth, Dean stares at his brother's dead body and feels the hopeless rush, how everything in his family has failed to keep him safe, Dean included, and the sound of wings flutters in, close enough for Dean to hear above Anna's false apology but otherwise easily to miss.

"Anna." Michael's voice rings out from John's mouth, clearer, louder, ringing with the very air and firmament beyond being from the highest peaks of Heaven's throne.

The air turns heavy and flat, like there's an invisible pressure crushing them all slowly and ghosting over their bones.

"Michael." Anna whispers, turning on her heels.

Michael tilts his head, and steps forward with a lazy, assured tension, displeasure radiating in the curl of his mouth and the set of his jaw, and Dean tries not to feel the same thing as his heart leaps in his throat.

Michael grabs her shoulder.

Anna burns from the inside out, into ashes, into complete nothing, like she never existed in the first place-

Under Dean's tongue, there is an itch, and he feels dizzy, like there's something trying to scratch under his skin and down his throat, and he swallows and looks away, breaking out in a cold sweat as he clenches his jaw and tries not to feel gutted from the inside out.

"Michael. I didn't know." Uriel freezes, head bowed, like a recalcitrant, wayward child caught doing something he shouldn't. He let go of Dean when he couldn't move, still half-holding himself up on the side of the room-

"Goodbye, Uriel." Michael says, all authoritarian, all used to getting his way, and he snaps the lesser angel away with a guiding hand. Uriel would have to be punished- weakness cannot be allowed, not when Lucifer would clamor for any fallen allies to flock to him, and not when it displays the weakness Michael's been trying to stamp out for eons, the same weakness that ripped his first brother-

 _(and favorite, even now, but Michael ignores that, too, even though Raphael and Gabriel have always known the truth, the gaping hole in their lives and Michael's rage turning remote and shut down into calm in an too all-encompassing way for it to be anything other than the greatest weakness Michael has ever tried to hide inside himself)_ -

-From him for eternity until he learned his lesson...

(Except Lucifer never learned. Michael knows that all too well. But he ignores it. He has to ignore it. Lucifer would have to grow up sometime, and if the agony of a slow death didn't make him see the monster he's become, then Michael knows there is only one hope of fixing him. And Father won't come back until he's finished this... Until he's ended the final fight and brought his brother to his knees and watched all the grace turn to poison in his veins and leech out of him-).

Mary glances at Dean, and Dean her, and then she stares Michael down because this monster is still the scariest one she's ever known, even more than Azazel, because there is the beginning and the end staring out of her husband's eyes-

"What did you do to John?" Mary's voice doesn't quake too much.

"John is fine." Michael voice purrs like he's instructing a child, non-answer as condescending as they come.

"Who... What are you?" Mary's voice grows louder, more afraid, because no matter who or what the Archangels wear their true selves cannot be entirely contained, but she is not cowed, she will not let this thing take her family away, too-

"Shh..." Michael holds a hand to his lips, then presses two fingers to her forehead.

Mary crumbles to the ground fast as Sam did, only without all the gasping pain, only numb, blanket exhaustion.

Then Michael looks at Dean head-on, and there's terror slipping through every nerve that Dean has, awe making every hair stand straight up, and something beyond both of those things slips down Dean's throat and makes him feel glued to the floor where he stands-

Inside Dean's stomach, there's a knot, and it curls tighter and tighter.

Michael has never been this close before, and the power crackling through the air, whispering over Dean's chest, blisteringly dry and hot and constant, flaring like plasma when solar flares crackle through empty space, like it will expand and crack open his ribs, or break them with too much fire as his grace worries at the lines of Dean's sternum-

Dean hasn't wanted to think about the ringing he can almost hear like a hum of inside eardrums, a sound of recognition, forbidding, controlled and contained.

Michael's grace tastes like a thousand needles on Dean's skin, like judgement, like the feeling you get when there's a monster and all you want to do is skin it alive with all the detached ease in the world-

Michael's essence filters through, distant yet still present, and Dean feels like he's breathless, like he's been running drills, over and over, full of rote exhaustion but predictable and repetitive and habitual, and Dean fights a strange fog that makes his head pound and his teeth grind.

There is a rage, below the surface, that Dean can feel burning even now, and Dean isn't sure if that's his own rage, his own fear, or if that's all Michael unable to hide it from him, unconstrained despite all the efforts to the contrary.

Then it all withdraws, like Michael realized how much he let slip, like he hadn't meant to be seen, to be felt, to be known, and it all leaves Dean cold and shaking, wanting the dry sandpaper feeling to file down his soul, but not wanting that because that would mean the end of everything Dean loves...

And Dean thinks of Castiel, how his grace felt like something growing, like a stormcloud sliced with lightning, like fog rolling in and warm muggy nights, and tries to dispel the tastes of ashes and fire that hums deep inside his bones.

"Well, I'd say this conversation is long overdue, wouldn't you?" Michael starts in, voice dripping with impatience and what almost sounds like disappointment.

Dean steps closer, footsteps in time with the angel mirroring his stance.

"Fix him." His voice is a thin growling whisper, rasping with all the pain and fear of knowing he's staring down something that's been watching him, that is taking him apart just by looking at him-

"First... We talk." Michael warns, holding up a hand. Then he glances down at Sam Winchester, at the face his brother will wear, at the body Michael will tear apart with his lance and poison and claws and wings, at the last thing of his brother he'll see before he is remade from his broken bones and stolen and blood and skin-

"Then I fix your darling little Sammy." And Michael can't the bitterness out of his voice as his own borrowed mouth curls into a sneer.

Sam Winchester was half the reason all this happened, half the reason Lucifer remains tainted. Michael remembers all that he saw, will see, has seen, and for all the younger Winchester's attempts at not saying yes, his pathetic weakness could and would not be overlooked, not when it enabled the worst of Michael's brother to wreak havoc on everyone. He loved Lucifer, loved the monster that was hiding under his bed and inside it, and Michael knows his brother has already grabbed his vessel's soul, plucked it out of this time and place the moment Sam's life sputtered out, and while Michael doesn't care whether Lucifer gets his yes now or later (he'll get it one day, they all know that, by whatever distasteful, base methods he deems necessary, tactics Michael will never touch, because pain is pure, and the love Lucifer has is a fleshy, human want, unfitting for any angel who obeys the will of Heaven). And Michael knows that it isn't proper to challenge his brother right now by dragging Sam Winchester back. There's no need to force the confrontation: it will happen at the appointed time and place, in the future, when Michael has claimed his own vessel and Lucifer Sam, and while Michael could probably tear Lucifer's chosen stopgap vessel apart here and now, that would do nothing to win Father's favor, nor would it teach Lucifer his place. (He has too much faith in Sam, and to lose it, Sam must be broken with him.)

Besides, there's little use for keeping Sam alive and breathing, seeing as he's better leverage dead anyway, at least for making Dean listen.

"How'd you get in my Dad, anyway?" Dean asks, eyeing Michael up and down.

Michael is not one for skirting the obvious, and smiles at he cracks his neck. "I told him I could save his wife, and he said yes."

Except there was no way to save Mary. She was doomed before she was born, just as the Apocalypse portends.

"I guess they oversold me being your one and only vessel." Dean's hisses, and his warring relief and hate tumbles out of him without a second thought. For once, the comparison doesn't hurt Dean. He might be so screwed up he can't even be used right, but he doesn't want to give this son of a bitch anything, and it's wrong, seeing John like this, when, for all of the worst things John ever was, and all the best, he's always been unerringly human. The grace swoops around Dean and makes him ungainly, uneven, like he's stepping on a minefield and can't quite keep his thoughts together, Michael's wings radiating out the barest hint of feeling just by their physical proximity.

"You're my true vessel, but not my only one." Michael corrects. He's never really cared about the importance of true vessels the way Lucifer did. All that mattered is the cause they served. And John was an instrument of his Father, a loyal soldier who Michael could use. Lucifer's sentimentality was sickening: like it had blinded him to the fact human were frail, and easily led, and where Lucifer raged at their flaws, wanted to break them into pieces for not being good enough, for appearing to replace him, for not giving him Sam immediately so he could rip them apart-

No. Michael preferred distance. He would shepherd these poor souls, care for their welfare as his father ordered. But he would not feel anything for them. It's like caring for fish. A bit tricky to keep alive, and a shame if a school dies off and throws off the ecosystem- but ultimately, humanity is not as important as it feels. It's not so vast as to grow beyond itself. There's a reason the Archangels ruled the beginning and were the sovereigns of all that came after, God's guiding hand. They were made above them, to serve and guide, with all the certainty and logic of Heaven's will. Just as their souls kept Heaven and Eden thriving, upholding the Glory of the cradle of all God's creation.

All serve the will of Father.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean challenges, terse and tight and trying not to let the burning air and hum of wings he can almost see set his teeth on edge.

"It's a bloodline." Michael indulges him. Like a schoolteacher, gently correcting. No use being cruel, or getting angry. Humans are so small, so limited in their existence, after all. It's like reprimanding a dog that keeps digging the same holes and pretending it isn't in trouble.

"A bloodline?" Dean's impatience only grows, because every second Sam isn't breathing is a second too long.

Michael is brusque in his interruptions. "Stretching back to Cain and Abel. It's in your blood, your father's blood, your family's blood."

 ** _In all the blood Lucifer tainted, and for all the ways my family has been forced to clean up his mess,_** Michael thinks, and he tries not to let his anger grow, keeps it under lock and key, as he thinks of the blood and the cracked open skull of yet another human tainted by Lucifer, with the brother (the one that was Michael's, this time, one who was not supposed to be marked with any kind of poison now branded with Lucifer's own curse) turned into something vile and inhuman and impure, carrying down the generations. Trapped on Earth, Lucifer wanted to ruin everything that was Michael's, too, for what Michael did when he throw him down from Heaven, and all it did was seal his Fate and make Hell swallow Lucifer up for all the earth could not contain.

Dean takes that in with a wide-eyed helplessness, glancing anywhere but Michael as he realizes just how much he isn't prepared to deal with the ramifications, the generations and generations that this has stretched out long before him and set the stage for what will be.

"Awesome. Six degrees of Heaven Bacon." Dean finally swallows and finds his voice. "What do you want with me?"

Michael still smiles too much with John's face, mocking laughter and scorn pulling at the edges of his mouth.

"You really don't know the answer to that?" The Archangel challenges.

"Well, you know I ain't gonna say yes, so why are you here?" Dean snarls, glaring Michael down as he steps closer, and he yells, "What do you want with me?"

"I just want you to understand what you and I have to do." Michael says, slowly but surely. Like he's Dad and all of this will be made easy, and Dean can see eons blinking beneath John's eyelids and holds Michael's gaze, brow furrowing.

"Oh, I get it. You got beef with your brother." Dean answers, and then his face twists, because he can feel all the weight crushing him, can feel the heat of Michael's anger like it is his own, like he just wants to break Sam apart and keep him locked up forever or break him so he can't see him break his heart all over again, and that, more than anything make Dean want to rip John's stolen body limb from limb where he stands. "Well, get some therapy, pal." Dean shouts, "Don't take it out on my planet!"

Michael shakes his head, and his eyes gleam with something old nostalgic and full of memory, and all Dean feels is the heat of a tarmac on the open road out West, in the summer heat, when he takes a break from driving Baby and Sam still is passed out in the other seat, and sees a grief, and a pain, so much pain, fueling all the hatred and anger and need to rip brother limb from limb that he can feel reaching out from this thing across from him, that he can feel clearer than anything else, like the rest of the world is just shifting like sand beneath his feet-

"You're wrong." Michael says, so certain. "Lucifer defied our father, and he betrayed me." And there's a fire burning under John's skin, burning through his pupils, bitter and rancid and aching, as Michael says, so softly, "But still...I don't want this any more than you would want to kill Sam."

Michael walks over to Sam, stares at his motionless body, like he can see the echoes of his own brother inside him, like he can see something bright and alive and laughing that once was what Lucifer would be, and like he can see the empty dead ending to a book that is already written.

"You know, my brother, I practically raised him." Michael says softly. "I took care of him in a way most people could never understand, and I still love him."

Then there's the pressure of wings unfurling, and Dean can sense snippets of something he can't quite understand, singing and something ageless and endless and perfect as the cosmos stretched out before them, holding something new and alive and something other than just Father, than just Himself, something different and young and willful with a mind of it's own, wings unfurling and tongues laughing out with open mouths and Michael helped guide his little brother through the empty nothing of the Endless Night-

And later, when Michael held up the skies while Lucifer lit up the darkness and Raphael and Gabriel crashed into stars Michael and Lucifer had painted across the sky, and then there's too much there, too many eons and eons and ages of folded over space and time that is too much for Dean's brain, and all Dean gets are snatches of memory, because it feels like it's just the three of them, just the four of them, just the five of them with Lucifer guiding his two younger brothers like Michael used to look after him with their Father unfurling the blueprints of their universe and hoping they can help build the scaffolding of everything else he's tried to create-

And Dean swallows, feeling like he's holding his little brother in his arms when their house burned, or holding his hand when they walked through the grass to a new broken-down motel in all the transient places that were always home, or how he would watch Sam in the car when they were young when Sam dozed on his shoulder and mumbled nonsense as he slept.

Then Michael's expression closes off, and his wings snap shut, and John's jaw clenches in a familiar way, the way it did when he told Dean he might have to kill Sam one day, that Sam was not like them-

And then all Dean feels is broken, agonizing pain through every membrane and every tendon and every too-tight constriction of his lungs when he sees the echo of when Sam died in Cold Oak, blood pouring from his lips, spine ripped straight through, as Dean prayed and prayed and prayed to his brother didn't want to believe he was already dead-

"But I am going to kill him because it is right and I have to." Michael finishes, wrath seeping through the cracks of John's voice and turning into something ugly and violent and old.

"Oh, because God says so?" Dean challenges, keeping calm, tamping down his own emotions as he thinks of the few times he actually stood up to John, and all the surprise and fear vibrating through Sam's eyes as he looked at Dean like he'd never seen him before, like he'd been a brother Sam hadn't expected to get back, and it burns inside Dean's heart sure as the bitter, cruel resignation festers inside Michael, always raw and stinging without any real relief. It had burned all the mercy out of him, over the years, and left Michael only with hurt.

"Yes." Michael interrupts immediately. "From the beginning, He knew this was how it was going to end."

 ** _We all did,_** Michael thinks. **_The moment he made you, gave us bodies destined to kill each of us with, the moment Lucifer would not stand down, we knew it would all go bad, that Lucifer would be lost to us forever and I would have to break him, because I am the only one who will-_**

And Michael doesn't think of the betrayal in Lucifer's eyes, of the hurt, as he begged him not to let him go, to stand with him, to break what Father had created because they could do better, they didn't need to kneel for something lesser than them, broken and imperfect-

Michael may have agreed with the sentiment, but you do not refuse to bow. Not when Father orders it.

Not when God is the only guiding light, and left them for not being loyal enough, obedient enough, for not loving him enough because he wanted them to love his creations more than him, and sometimes, Michael wonders if God left because he could see just how much Michael agreed with Lucifer even when Michael did all he asked anyway.

"And you're just gonna do whatever God says." Dean says flatly.

"Yes, because I am a good son." Michael answers. And when God sees that he loves him like he's supposed to, that he's loyal, that he's not broken and flawed like Lucifer, that he can fix this-

Father will return, and things can go back to what they are supposed to be.

Dean, of all people, should understand, but it is his understanding that is Michael's undoing.

"Okay, well, trust me, pal. Take it from someone who knows: that is a dead-end street." Dean answers, blinking away tears, swallowing with a lump in his throat he felt every time he remembers Sam looking at him like he had failed him, like he wanted to run away and never come back, and how all of the fights, all of the loyalty, to Dad and all his rules, had only ever broken Sam, made him want to go, and it had broken Dean, too, because how could they ever love each other as equals when all Sam wanted was to be seen, to be loved, to be free as himself, not just falling into line, only Dean wouldn't let him go, or accept why he wanted to leave because he couldn't do this alone and he wanted his brother with him, not trying to give up, even when he could see that this life was breaking him and Dean had only ever held on tighter until Sam had no choice but to abandon him and to stop Dean from dragging Sam down with him-

Michael does invade Dean's space now, truly angry, but still contained, still disbelieving in the sheer lack of faith his own vessel has in what he knows to be true, so clearly-

"And you think you know better than my father? One unimportant little man. What makes you think you get to choose?" Michael argues, because if it was all so simple, if it was up to them, why would things ever be like this?

Why would it ever be broken in the first place?

No, it was not being obedient enough, strong enough, good enough-

Michael had failed his brothers, his father, and he would not fail them again by doubting the grand design. Doubt had made everything go wrong. It would not fix what was already broken.

"Because I got to believe that I can choose what I do with my unimportant little life." Dean rasps, eyebrows raised as he tries not to feel so small, so useless, in the face of the holy, ancient thing staring him down, the thing that lit up the cosmos from the inside out and helped mold the world in His Father's image.

Michael blinks, and becomes softer, more condescending, like he knows just how broken inside Dean knows he is.

"You're wrong. You know how I know?" And John's face mimics the twitches Dean makes, the eyebrows, the tic of the jaw, before Michael steps back and looks at Sam's body again. "Think of a million random acts of chance that let John and Mary be born, to meet, to fall in love, to have the two of you. Think of the million random choices that you make, and yet how each and every one of them brings you closer to your destiny."

There is no getting out. There never was. Everything is part of the plan, and when that plan is realized, God will return, and they will make the world what he wants it to be, like they were supposed to-

And who was this man, this tiny pawn in the face of eons of pain and patience and broken promises, to think he could ever stand in the way of that, when he hasn't even been able to escape everything he's ever hated himself for?

Michael circles back to his vessel, to this incomplete, opposite half of himself, something so base and so beyond forward-thinking, so willing to rush in without regard for the consequences of his actions, so unlike him, and yet not, because their anger, their loss, their need to go back to simpler times was all too much the same-

And Dean can't meet his eyes again, because all he feels is the complete certainty, the complete oblivion of all the fears that rise to choke him every day, and he will not give this monster any ground no matter how easy it would be to say yes, and pretend it would fix things, and patch up the wounds that have never healed deep in Dean's memory, in his life.

"Do you know why that is? Because it's not random. It's not chance. It's a plan that is playing itself out perfectly. Free will's an illusion, Dean." Michael continues, so sure, so relentless, and Dean looks up at him, sour hatred for all the truth he feels eating away at him, at the belief that they were screwed from the start, at all the things he pretends he hasn't seen with Sam and all the ways he tosses and turns at night like warding off an invasion that Dean knows can only be one thing. But then Michael is too settled, too comfortable, with the knowledge he's going to rip his brother apart, and that Dean would ever let the same thing happen to his little brother. "That's why you're going to say yes." He says.

And Dean just stares at him, silent, wanting to pretend he has faith in himself like Sam does in him, but knowing for all the ways he doesn't want to lose Sam that Michael is pulling so many strings, and the way Michael looks at him like he's so young, so hopeless, so willing to fall in line-

Like he is broken in already.

And Dean feels like he's being pulled apart, piece by piece, and feels like he's back on the rack, like all of Hell is roaring at the back of his head because for all his good intentions he has only ever been one thing, and that is trying his best when his best just isn't good enough, never has been and never will be and Lucifer's going to steal Sam and wear him easily, because all Dean has ever done is lose his brother while his brother ran, and now Michael is offering the only way out. The only way Dean won't have to see it, when Sam finally breaks because the Devil won't let him rest, won't stop hunting them, and because Sam was the one that left him, abandoned him, to break the last seal and why did he have to do it, why couldn't he just **_listen_** -

Why couldn't Dean love him enough not to scare him away, like he always does?

And Michael sees all of Dean's self-hatred, of all the ways he has betrayed himself, and turns caustic. Weakness in his vessel was not allowed, not if he was going to use him to fix things. All of that must be corrected, before the end.

Dean should be grateful he is willing to patch up all his failures.

But they say nothing about the understanding that passes between them. They are seen. They know what the other is.

"Oh, buck up. It could be worse. You know, unlike my brothers, I won't leave you a drooling mess when I'm done wearing you." Michael taunts, skirting around the thing they will not talk about, the knowledge that both of their brothers are broken and that they always have to haul them out of the messes they created. He is like his vessel that way, too, more mouthy and with a darker sense of humor than most expect.

"Well, what about my dad?" Dean asks.

"Better than new. In fact, I'm gonna do your mom and your dad a favor." Michael half-laughs, because it's time Dean realized what was right in front of his face.

"What?" Dean asks, still not following, still not willing to accept the truth that's been in front of him the whole time.

"Scrub their minds. They won't remember me or you." Michael explains.

"You can't do that." Dean whispers, holding on to the last injustice that is not his fault, the last painful thing he could fix-

"I'm just giving your mother what she wants. She can go back to her husband, her family-"

"She's gonna walk right into that nursery!" Dean interjects, feeling like he's four again, knowing there's no way to stop this, that everything he's tried to change has all gone up in smoke-

Michael turns away from him and back to Sam.

"Obviously. And you always knew that was going to play out one way or another. You can't fight City Hall." Michael warns, and he smiles, his voice rasping in John's chest, because he's long since resigned himself to the fact that this was how things were. It's not really Dean's fault he's taken so long to understand. Michael didn't want things to be this way, either, once, but after all the years pass, you learn to scrub away all that weakness and accept how things are going to be.

Dean will get there, in the end.

And Dean feels the weight of what lesson Michael wants to teach him, has flown out here just to hammer home. There's no rewriting the past. No fixing the future, because everything that happened will happened, and outside of time, everything that must happen will be. 

Michael bends down, and places two fingers on Sam's brow, so gently, like he's looking at who his brother used to be and not the thing that would house him as a monster, as a thing to be put down.

Dean can't move, stuck in place, shoulders bowed and all the feelings like he's barely alive at all smothering his every breath.

"He's home. Safe and sound. Your turn." And Michael permits himself to touch his vessel, just the once, just slightly, as he tugs at Dean's jacket. Michael's voice is too sure, like he already knows he owns him, and says, "I'll see you soon, Dean."

And then there's a feeling of heat, like burning alive only it doesn't hurt, as Michael touches John's hand to Dean's forehead, baptizing him in his hopes and dreams and certainties of his father's legacy, of the traditions putting down what is broken and starting over anew.

\--

When Sam's body is gifted back to the future, Lucifer hugs his soul close as he starts sewing him back into his body, breathing down his throat while tugging Sam back to life.

"It won't be long, baby." Lucifer whispers, kissing his jaw. "You treat yourself right, and in the meantime, I'll make sure nothing gets near you, or your brother. Michael won't get close again-"

And Sam starts, breaks free of the fog as Lucifer withdraws from inside him, as he can finally think straight, and asks a silent question as he panics because he didn't know Dean was trapped with Michael and he can't let Michael get his hooks in him like Lucifer has himself-

And Sam lurches upright, starts breathing, but he's still pinned down by the Devil as he straddles him, one hand ghosting over his chest, 

"Sammy, Sam. Breathe." Lucifer instructs, other hand rubbing Sam's back, lips so close as he whispers in Sam's ear, and Sam can't get enough air, every limb still feels stiff and numb and Lucifer is doing that on purpose, bringing back control extra slow, and Lucifer doesn't let him get a word in edgewise, just to say his piece. "Dean is fine. Trust me, my brother wasn't asking the big question, not yet, not until it's the right time, he was just stopping in. And I promise you, I won't let him get the drop on you again, and he'll suffer for this, all of Heaven will, for hurting you, I'll make them bleed-" Then Lucifer breathes in and traces Sam's face and calms himself, eyes rapt as he pushes feeling back into Sam's chest and arms and legs, "You know you can stop it, Sammy. You can always stop it. You say yes to me, and I'll never let him lay a hand on your brother. And even if you don't say yes- you call for me, I will be there, you know that, and no one will ever get close. I promise, Sammy. You don't have to keep hiding- all you have to do is ask for my help, and I'll be there. You know what to do if you need me. Just do me a favor and don't go gallivanting off to the past again. I don't want to wear Nick out before you're ready. That would just be a waste."

Then Lucifer kisses him, slow and coaxing, and Sam tries not to feel like he's drowning again as he gains control of his limbs.

And then Lucifer is gone, because the last thing Sam needs is the Devil walking in right when Dean is too vulnerable to fight back and still reeling from what Sam knows must have been unpleasant, and claustrophobic, and maybe too tempting, after all.

No use trying to string Fate along.

\--

When Sam finally lurches back to life, fully online, Dean is not yet in the motel.

He gets zapped in a minute later, looking haunted and half-dead and asks Sam if he's alright and doesn't check for any other wounds, because his chest isn't caved in anymore and Sam has drunk half a bottle of whiskey already.

They do patch up each other's nicks and scratches, and after Sam offered Dean a swig and he passed, they both remain silent, both of their throats not working right with all the grace buzzing in their system and the threats and promises too much to say anything about at all.

\--

It's Cas who breaks the silence when he flies in and soon collapses.

Sam catches him, and Dean supports his head and other side as they heard him to a bed, both of them talking to Cas and each other to try and keep him conscious as they carrying the too-heavy weight of an angel before he passes out in their arms.

"Well, I could use that drink now." Dean sighs. His hands haven't stopped clenching and unclenching this entire time, and Sam still feels the ghosts of every place Lucifer touched his soul, feels the echo of a ghost of a kiss on his cheek and feels like he's betrayed Dean somehow, even though he hasn't done anything-

"Yeah." Sam manages, and then all he can think of is how Lucifer promised him so many things, promised he could keep Dean safe and sometimes, everything just seems so unfair that Sam wants to break and let himself go and let _him_ in if it means Dean will finally be safe, that Cas and everyone Sam wants to keep from breaking might be able to live freely-

But Sam can't think like that. He can't.

He can't stop thinking that, anyway.

Today has been too much, every part of him is just buzzing with exhaustion, with pain, and hell, Sam can't even get the idea of Mom and John and everything out of his head, he had never seen her before, had only ever heard whispers of someone everyone had blamed him for taking away, and they were just going to walk back into the same trap, and Sam could still see them, so happy, before everything got ripped away and all they had wanted was safety, was their life, was each other, it's too close and too familiar and Sam still can't see how John turned into what he became but he can, because everyone always said Sam was too much like him in some ways, and if Jess...

If Jess hadn't been Lucifer to start with, he'd understand his father all too well, even if it didn't excuse anything.

"Well...this is it." Dean starts in. It's the most he's said to Sam directly since Sam woke up, aside from the usual check that Sam isn't dying anytime soon.

"This is what?" Sam asks, chugging the entire glass of whiskey in one go.

"Team Free Will. One ex-blood junkie," Dean eyes Sam up and down, notes the shaking of Sam's hands hasn't fully stopped yet, either, then toasts to himself and Cas like it's not the saddest sight he's ever seen, "One dropout with six bucks to his name, and Mr. Comatose over there." Dean grits out. "It's awesome."

"It's not funny." Sam doesn't have the energy to pretend. He's so close to breaking right now, and he knows it, and he thinks Dean knows it, too.

Dean takes another swig of whiskey.

"I'm not laughing." Dean answers, voice low and raw and tired. Whatever Michael did-

He had broken Dean, too, and Sam had promised he wouldn't let this happen, because he was allowed to be broken, but Dean...

Dean deserved so much better, and Sam thinks he knows what Michael's angle was, because of all the angels, Michael knows Lucifer best, and knows what he's after with Sam, and it's not like Sam hasn't let Dean down, and Sam can see the resignation in Dean's eyes like he's seen, week after week after week...

Then Sam asks what he's been too scared to ask ever since he woke up with Lucifer on top of him and his first instinct hadn't been to run far, far away, or even to say No.

Sam hadn't said no, not once, not today, hadn't had any fight left in him, and that scares him most of all.


	32. Summertime Sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s5e16, although it's majorly incomplete and this goes before if I had a tail sometime because this fic still is out of order
> 
> chapter title a song by Lana Del Ray

_Sam. Get out of there. You've been made._

Sam jolts into awareness to find a shotgun pressed to his temple.

_Tell me where you are so I can kill them and keep you safe._

Sam doesn't answer. He has more important things to worry about, seeing as Dean's life is possibly on the line. But maybe they are on warpath for Sam, and no one else…

He can only hope.

_Michael tipped them off. I know it. This screams of his fucking tactics, he's been keeping my forces pinned all day-_

"Stay quiet, and don't move." One of the masked men warns in a low whisper. "Or we'll kill you now and kill your brother before he notices."

Sam's only afraid of dying because it would lead Lucifer right to him, and he's been doing such a good job of hiding, lately.

That, and Sam's died to prevent his own possession and failed so many times now. Hard to make it feel anything other than repetitive.

Sam wouldn't even be afraid, really, not if Lucifer wasn't going to drag him away once he finds him, or use Dean as leverage to make Sam say yes-

_Sam. I wouldn't do that to you. I just want to keep you safe. Let me._

Dean finally wakes up after trying to find a gun under his pillow, then eyes a gun to his chest and turns to see Sam sitting up on the bed, the second assailant with a gun to his head.

Sam gives Dean a nervous look.

A voice challenges, "Looking for this?"

The masked man holds up the gun, and tosses the cartridge from Dean's pistol, his mate's shotgun still aimed at Sam's head and Dean's chest.

"Mornin’." Dean answers.

"Shut up. Hands where I can see 'em." The first man answers.

Dean complies, but then he places the voice.

"Wait a minute. Is that you, Roy? It is, isn’t it? Which makes you Walt." Dean turns to Sam's assailant. "Hiya Walt."

Roy and Walt look at each other. Walt removes his mask.

"Don’t matter." Walt answers.

Roy follows suit, stubble and sweat visible on his skin.

It almost hurts more, by having hunters after them. Sam’s still not over the voicemail his brother sent: the one where he’d said there was no going back. That he was nothing more than a vampire.

"Well, is it just me, or do you two seem a tad upset?" Dean defaults to sass, terrified for Sam more than himself.

Walt and Roy stay intently focused on Sam.

"You think you can flip the switch on the Apocalypse and just walk away, Sam?" Walt accuses.

Sam swallows.

"Who told you that?" Sam asks.

"We ain’t the only hunters after you." The shotgun pumps, jumping in Walt's hand. "See you in the next life."

 **Or not.** Sam panics, thinking of Hell, of all the other times he tried to die and the Devil raised him anyway-

_Sam._

**No.**

He'll just show up anyway, once Sam dies. What's the point of giving the Devil what he wants, when Sam might be able to reason his way out of this, might be able to stop this-

"Hear me out." Sam begs. "I can explain, okay? Please."

Walt stares him down. Waits a tic.

Dean goes to get up, but Roy tracks his movements, butting the gun closer to his chest.

"Stay the hell down." Roy warns.

"Shoot 'im first." Walt suggests.

"Killin’ Sam is right. but Dean…" Roy hesitates.

"He made us and we're going to snuff his brother, you idiot." Walt contends, face unmoved. "You want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester’s on your ass? ‘Cause I don’t."

"Please don't do this-" Sam asks, but Walt isn't having it.

"Shoot 'im." Walt orders, head tilted to Dean, and that shuts Sam up real fast.

"Go ahead, Roy, do it." Dean snarls. "But I’m going warn you, when I come back I’m going to be pissed. C’mon! Let’s get this show on the road."

Roy hesitates.

"Come on, already." Walt urges.

Roy takes one halting step forward towards Dean.

Walt shoots.

Sam goes down, bloody and fast.

\--

Every angel in Heaven and every demon in Hell hears Lucifer scream, enraged, possessive, honing in on the position of his True Vessel's corpse.

Incensed, because Sam's not in Hell. He can't feel him.

No. Sam's in Heaven, like he was never meant to be.

Because of Michael.

And Lucifer is going to make him pay for it.

\--

Dean jumps up, every nerve screaming, but Sam is **_dead, really dead_** -

They gun Dean down a second later before he can do anything.

\--

When Sam wakes, there's a radio hissing with static by his ear.

He's at his apartment. The one he shared with Jess.

_You don't get to steal what is mine. Give him back, Michael, and I won't start leveling Heaven to Earth early-_

Sam hears hiss over the radio and in his head, a bit garbled.

**I am not a possession.**

Sam replies on autopilot, disoriented.

He feels something bright and burning and cold ring against his teeth in answer.

_But you are mine._

That doesn't hiss over the radio, this time.

Sam takes a moment to get his bearings. There's no doors, and the view from the window is a bit too much like watercolor paintings, indistinct and runny and not quite all there.

Sam figures he might as well find the baseball bat Jess... Lucifer... had stored under the bed, in case it will do anything.

Even if it won't actually injure an angel, because this is their turf.

(In hindsight, Sam probably should consider Jessica's eagerness to bludgeon intruders in a new light, but he can't quite muster the energy. He did just die again, after all, and it's not like Lucifer's paranoia isn't entirely unfounded, case in point.)

It's still more than a little exhausting, and Sam is far more worried about Dean, because what if Michael is using this time to wear him out and try and get him to say yes in person-

_He isn't yet. I'd know. I'd feel it._

Small mercies, then.

Sam wonders if Jess can't populate in the memories because she was really Lucifer, and tries to find a way out of this.

_\--_

The air is cold outside the Impala. Thunder keeps rumbling, a dry summer phenomenon.

Dean doesn't know why Sam is so young. All the worry has been smoothed off of him, replaced by the Sam he once knew better than the one he knew now. The Sam that didn’t surprise him.

It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream...

Deep down, Dean can feel how it's a bit too different to be a dream and ignores it.

Dean leans on the roof of the Impala, thinking.

The radio roars to life, all scratchy feedback.

"Dean!" A voice rumbles, unsteady, over the radio.

Dean leans past the driver’s seat through the window.

"Cas?" Dean asks, thrown.

"Yeah, it’s me." Cas responds.

Dean wrenches open the door and listens close.

"You gotta stop poking around in my dreams. I need some me time." Dean jokes, but it tastes wrong. He wishes Cas were here. Cas felt safer than whatever this was.

"Listen to me very closely. This isn’t a dream." Cas announces.

Dean watches his surroundings with wary consideration.

"Then what is it?" Dean presses.

"Deep down, you already know."

And there's light and blood and sound and emptiness and the roaring vacuum of death sucking them up, all lightness pulling them from their heavy bodies.

"I’m dead." Dean says quietly.

"Condolences."

"Where am I?"

"Heaven."

\--

The minute Dean showed up, Sam knew he'd have to employ some sort of damage control. His more cherished memories (memories apart, memories free, memories without a care in the world-) depopulated, to instead yield to happy memories that did not connect to Stanford or Jess. Sam does not know why Heaven would deign to make that change, or if it's part of a larger manipulation. (It likely is.)

"Wow. Just wow."

"Dean? What are you doing in my dream?"

Dean just makes a face in response.

"We're in Heaven." Dean answers.

 **I know.** Sam doesn't say. It's not a comfort. Neither of them are off the chessboard.

Not only is Sam forcibly used as bait against Lucifer, but here, he is leverage to hold over Dean, now that Michael made a play.

Sam wonders which is worse, hoping the Devil comes for you and rescues you and your brother, or hoping Michael lets the Apocalypse go...

Sam needs a third option. A jailbreak for them both to get out.

"Heaven." Sam asks.

"Yup." Dean is certain.

Sam lets out some of the hysterical skepticism out, even though he knows the truth, because it's better than facing other feelings he does not have on lockdown.

"Okay, how are we in heaven?" Sam asks.

"All that clean living, I guess." Dean deadpans.

Sam shakes his head.

"No, no." Sam regains his composure. "Okay. You… I get, sure. But me? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’ve done a few things?"

**And Lucifer has a hold on me, one you don't even know about. How did they even get me up here?**

_Through bullshit, Sam._

Sam can hear the unprompted thoughts, but his grace still sounds tinny and far away, like it is miles underwater.

"You thought you were doing the right thing." Dean answers, but Sam can tell it's the kind of fake supportive certainty that shows Dean hasn't forgiven him for it.

Sam is tired and bitter and drained, and he answers, "Last I checked, it wasn’t the road to heaven that was paved with good intentions."

"Yeah, well, if this is the Skymall it sucks. I mean, where’s the triplets and the latex, you know? C’mon, a guy has needs."

"You know, when you bite the dust they say your life flashes before your eyes."

"Your point?"

"This house, it’s one of my memories."

"When I woke up, I woke up in one of my memories. The Fourth of July we burned down that field?"

"Maybe that’s what heaven is: a place where you relive your greatest hits."

If so, Sam wonders why all his memories so far have been empty.

They were all memories of places he'd been with Jess, sure. But Jess wasn't in any of them.

Sam wonders if Lucifer has something to do with that by proxy, seeing as he was inside her.

"Wait, so… playing footsie with brace-face in there? Then that’s a trophy moment for you?" Dean challenges, incredulous.

"Dean, I was eleven years old." Sam sighs. "This was my first real Thanksgiving."

"What are you talking about? We had Thanksgiving every year."

"We had a bucket of extra-crispy and Dad passed out on the couch." Sam answers.

The world around them rumbles and shakes and the lights flicker.

Sam hears distant screams.

_I'm coming for you, Sam. Don't let my brother find you first._

"Get down." Sam says, dragging Dean to the corner of the room.

\--

It's night again. They're on a street Sam knows like the back of his hand.

A pit forms in Sam's stomach.

If Dean knows... He won't take this well.

"What memory is this?" Dean feigns cluelessness. There's an edge there, though, one he can't hide and that Sam doesn't want turning into another thing widening the gulf between them.

"No idea." Sam lies. "Alright, come on. Dean… Road. God. Remember?"

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute. This?" His tone is all accusation. "This is the night you ditched us for Stanford, isn’t it? This is your idea of heaven? Wow." Dean laughs. "This was one of the worst nights of my life."

"I can’t control this stuff." Sam answers. He doesn't care, either. He's not going to apologize for this.

He's not going to apologize for the first feeling of being free and moving on and getting out, even if it had hurt. Even if there had been loss, there had been something more important there. Something Sam would never trade for anything, because it's the first time he felt free enough to seek out what he needed for himself, and to know that even if it hurt, he'd get through the pain and the loss and survive.

\--

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Lucifer is waging war against Heaven directly."

"Move them to the Garden. That will be the last place the Serpent can breach."

\--

_Look, it took a lot of ritual mass murder to even get a line up to Heaven, so don't criticize me. You gave me no choice._

\--

When Sam and Dean come to in their newly-fixed up bodies, Roy and Walt are bloody dismembered smears against the wall, heads caved in and chests collapsed and it's enough to make Sam heave.

At least until Sam sees Lucifer right in front of him and scrambles backwards against the wall, while Dean goes for the angel blade they know is useless, only to get thrown against the headboard and pinned by invisible force.

Lucifer's eyes don't leave Sam's face, and he doesn't even turn when Dean keeps struggling like a not-quite-dead bug half-pinned on a corkboard.

Sam keeps his eyes on Lucifer. Lets him approach. Doesn't really do much else in case it means Dean isn't Lucifer's center of attention, just in case Lucifer decides to take his frustration out on Michael, or at least the next-best stand in for him.

Lucifer hauls Sam up to his feet, one hand on Sam's collar, the other on his shoulderblade, and Sam tries to keep his eyes cast down when he can to avoid the too-close-too much feeling of Lucifer taking things into his own hands and breaking promises Sam knew he would try to break, anyway.

"Sam, the next time someone tries to kill you," Lucifer starts in, voice level and low but there's a shaky edge just waiting to break through, Sam can tell, and Lucifer keeps going, forces Sam to look at him, hand slightly digging into the underside of his chin, "And you don't let me help, I am flying you to Hell myself and keeping you there until I have killed off your entire species and leveled Heaven into a pancake. Do you understand me?"

"Lucifer-"

"Do you understand?"

"Okay-"

"I want to hear the words, Samuel."

"Okay! I hear you. I... I understand."

"Good. Now keep yourself hydrated and eat the damn pizza. I'll know if you don't." Lucifer instructs as he walks back to the door. "And if any angel other than Castiel comes with ten feet of you, I will find you. And you won't like how I respond, so.... Take care of yourself. I mean it."

Lucifer flies off without another word.

Sam tries not to look at the very bloody remains of the pizza delivery guy splattered on the doorframe that is revealed in his wake.

Dean stares at the carnage in the room and then Sam, mouth agape.

There's silence for a bit. Very uncomfortable, terrifying silence.

When Dean talks, it's low and furious and muffled to the point that Sam knows something has broken inside him, and it's something Sam doesn't know how to fix.

"Sam, why is the Devil acting like your personal trainer?"

"Guess he wants his vessel in tip-top shape." Sam grits out. "And then panicked that Michael had it."

Dean doesn't buy it for one second.

\--

When Sam and Dean step outside, it's like the aftermath of a war zone. Or a zombie movie.

The entire town is silent and covered in bloody, dismembered corpses hanging off of every spare bit of space.

Cars are stalled with their lights on in the middle of the street. Nothing makes noise except some crows.

On the news that night, every major news station in the area covers the carnage of the entire town and how every civilian is dead. 

And Sam's guilt settles heavy on his shoulders, because he doesn't know how he's going to stop this. Not when Heaven can pluck him off of earth and Lucifer can do whatever he damn pleases and...

And he's going to figure out a plan, or so help him...

He can't let this continue on. Not like this.

\--

And after Castiel's search for God is useless, and after the day they've had, and the fact that Cas and Dean don't seem to have a single hope anymore, and everything else...

Maybe Sam shouldn't be surprised, that Dean's ready to throw in the towel. That he'd throw the amulet Sam gave him in the trash, after something like that.

But Sam still fishes it out and puts it around his neck for now, hides it under his layers of flannel that still don't keep Lucifer's chill from settling on his collar.

One of them has to believe that it matters. One of them has to believe in them.

One of them has to have hope that they can fix this, even if it seems impossible, because Sam is tired of being told everything is some divine plan and there's no escape when this is his life, and it's his choices that led them here, which means his choices might dig them back out.

And Sam isn't giving up yet.

The odds have been stacked this entire time, and he has no answers...

But he still hasn't said yes.

And that has to count for something.


	33. If I Had A Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Queens of the Stone Age
> 
> the start of the major s5 diversions

“They all say we’ll say yes.” Sam starts in. All the fears are not new, but Sam can feel something has shifted with Dean after his conversation with Michael, and after Lucifer…

“I know. It’s getting annoying.” Dean answers, as if he can wave away the fear just like that. But Sam can feel that tension there, the almost-exhaustion Dean’s keeping buried away.

Sam nods, his eyes averted.

“What if they’re right?” He can’t help but ask.

(Feels the hum of Lucifer against his skin, the soul and Archangel close but not joined, just a taste of the things he’s been running from and failing. _Sam, it’s only a matter of time._ )

“They’re not.” Dean hesitates over the glass, but his voice stays assured. Takes a swig of alcohol for good measure. Sam wishes he could have that abandon, that denial back.

And Sam lets the things he hasn’t wanted to fester break though, because he needs Dean’s surety to fight the Devil inside his head.

“I mean, why… why would we, either of us?”

_You know the answer, Sam. You’ve always known._

And Sam trips over his words with a shrug of his shoulders, can’t stop talking too fast as it all rushes out. “But… I’ve been weak before.” And the words die again. Sam licks his lips, looks down at his drink because he still can’t erase his own role in all this.

 **I’m weak now**. Sam doesn’t say. But Dean doesn’t give him a chance to doubt.

“Sam-” Dean interrupts, but Sam keeps going because if Dean is going to argue he wants him to destroy every doubt plaguing him all at once. Looks at Dean because this was something he could face head on.

“Michael got Dad to say yes.” Sam challenges.

“That was different.” Dean assures, adds, “Anna was about to kill Mom.”

Sam isn’t buying it, just gives Dean a panicked, cynical glare.

“And if you could save Mom? What would you say?” Sam asks. Voice choking off because this isn’t working as planned.

Dean swallows as he pauses.

And Sam suddenly finds there’s no argument keeping him tamped down from the machinations of Lucifer, no answer that would challenge the fact he might say “Yes” for a reason with all the best intentions.

It would all end the same.

Sam trying to keep the Devil out and the Devil having his fun anyway.

But Sam will try anyway. He won’t be the one saying yes.

Not this time.

\--

And it kills him, when Dean doesn’t believe. When he says he knows Sam will say yes in a bid to force Sam to let Dean give himself up to Michael. When he says, “Lucifer’s gonna wear you to prom, man, it’s only a matter of time.”

 _Gotta say, Sammy,_ Lucifer whispers in his sleep, _Big Brother’s dealing with this even worse than I thought._

And Sam ignores it.

That isn’t a choice, either.

Because he would not be the one to give in. Not when it really matters.

“Don’t say that to me.” He answers, quiet, and he lets himself cry because this is the last confirmation of his own failings he needs. “Not you, of all people.”

 _I can see a brotherly resemblance._ _Michael liked to kick me while I was already down, too._

**I don’t care what you or Dean or Michael or anyone thinks. I am going to end this. You don’t get to have me.**

_But I already do, Sam. Hell, let’s say you never say yes. Take a gander down that impossible lane you are so focused on driving along. Even if you never say yes, I still already have you. You’re mine in every way, Sam. And I know you know it’s true._

Sam doesn't let that truth doesn't faze him, because his acceptance of the truth is just another enemy to conquer. All in a days work, as his nights grow longer and longer.

More often than not, Lucifer keeps on fucking Sam in his dreams, Sam unable to do much except to whine and beg and scream for more. Although when he does say no, the Devil stops, one small act of unspoiled kindness in a sea of coercive power-plays and uneven, tiny betrayals, if only Sam didn't know what to expect from Lucifer once the smokescreen cleared between them.

The Devil never asks for a 'yes' on those nights. He's mostly quiet, content to hear Sam's moans of bliss and want and need, and usually whispers things Sam finds familiar, promises from before the time that Sam knew exactly what Lucifer could be. Red eyes gleam, too bright and knowing, as the Devil preemptively unmakes every protest Sam's lips can't quite make himself speak.

_Your heart and soul is mine, Sam. Always has been. Even if you won't give the rest of yourself up so easily._

Sam pretends it doesn't matter. That everything that he lets happen while unconscious isn't a betrayal of everything he tries to be.

The alternative, the whispered assurances, the slow wearing down through discussions of inevitability as Lucifer only holds Sam close, are always worse in comparison.

\--

And Sam would admit, it was so, so satisfying, when Castiel reminded Dean just where they stood. What they were giving up for this. Sam would forever be indebted to the angel for that, because that gave him something else to hold on to before the end. It was a lifeboat in a storm Sam knew he wasn’t going to survive.

But it was a lifeboat all the same.

And it was that chance that made up Sam’s mind. They would save Adam. And he would trust Dean and Castiel and Bobby.

Because if he believed in them, maybe they would believe in him.

And that was the last thing anyone- Zachariah, Uriel, Michael, Dean, or Lucifer- expected him to have.

\--

That whole feeling of resolve doesn’t even fade as Sam spits up his guts in tandem with his younger half-brother, although Zachariah’s brute show of force is not an experience he’d like to repeat.

 **NO, DON’T YOU DARE SAY YES, DEAN, DON’T YOU DARE** -

_You know, Sam, this ill-advised course of action is a bit too suicidal for my tastes._

And before Dean can kill Zachariah himself, there’s a markedly different voice interrupting Dean’s hasty negotiations for the price of admission.

“You know, I’m all for blood and tears,” Lucifer starts, ice cold, “But I’ve never been a fan of Michael’s stealing what's mine. And twice... Is two times too many.”

There’s a flash of light and the imprint of wings as Zachariah burns, one angel blade stuck through his chest.

And Sam can breathe again, Adam, too. But Sam is breathless in a more painful, less physical way.

“Miss me, Sammy?” Lucifer asks. And their piece of heaven is colder than the deepest depths of the Mariana’s Trench.

There’s a rush of wings, and the three Winchesters are all flown away by the Devil himself right before big brother arrives.

\--

They are thrown down in a warehouse. Castiel stands bound in an angel trap a few feet away.

“Let’s get a few things ironed out, shall we?” Lucifer’s smile is all teeth, not a shred of kindness to be found. "After all, we four have a lot to discuss."

Sam keeps his arms out, shielding Dean and Adam even as Lucifer stands motionless on the other side of the room.

“Don’t bother trying to run. I won’t let you. Let’s just… settle down and have a chat.” Lucifer continues, mostly addressing Dean. He knows Sam can’t go anywhere at the moment, their vessel link always singing.

Sam feels wings as too-light, too-sharp feathers brush against him so softly, not cutting skin.

“So. Sam, I think it’s high time we cleared the air of any lingering misconceptions. What do you think?”

Sam swallows.

“About what?”

“I think you have an idea.”

Sam stares at the floor.

“I’m not saying yes.”

“Oh, I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

Sam jolts like he’s been struck by lightning and stares into the Archangel’s eyes.

**What? You’ve been pushing this for months, and now, just like that-**

_Like I said, high time we talked. I’ve been mulling some things over. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say._

“Do you really think we believe that you’re just giving up so easily?” Dean’s voice carries over.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and makes some chairs appear.

“I’m not giving up anything. And normally, I wouldn’t care what you or anyone else is stupid enough to believe, Dean. But Sam relies on you, and I need your cooperation to ensure he doesn’t get dragged into something stupid and deadly again, even if that is an occupational hazard. So. Sit and keep your mouth shut. Not you, Sam.” Lucifer clarifies. “Just you two. It will settle Sam’s nerves.”

Lucifer’s grace surges around them in all its glory.

Adam listens, scared to death. Dean doesn’t. Castiel paces in the angel trap on the floor.

Lucifer glances over, but doesn’t press the issue or force Dean to comply. His eyes, and the full force of everything the Devil is, just rivet his attentions back to Sam.

“Sam, this is a trick, it has to be, don’t listen to him-” Dean’s voice is far away.

“You can say all you like, Dean, after I’ve said my piece.” Lucifer hisses. Dean’s voice cuts out in spite of himself, no grace required.

Sam wonders why Cas hasn’t said anything, it’s not like him at all, as he tries to ignore the ringing and brightness and feelings rising up around him, inside him-

“You can let Cas go-” Sam tries, hoping to focus on anything else instead.

“No, I can’t, Sam. He’ll try to fly you away, and he’ll fail because he’s low on power, considering he’s barely an angel anymore. And then you’ll all find a way to blame me for it, and I’m not feeling too charitable after you nearly died just now. So. We can talk like this, or I can fly you off all alone with no audience. Your pick.”

There’s a pause.

“Okay.” Sam whispers.

**This works.**

_Thought so._

“Good. Far easier to get this all out in the open and out of the way, right here. Right now.” Lucifer trails off, his tone growing gentler as his hands clasp behind his back. “Now, Sammy… I know you have questions.”

“I… yeah.” Sam manages to say.

**This is kind of a 180 from everything-**

_Oh, trust me, I know._

“And before we start... Well, your brothers and Castiel don’t trust me, and I realize that you, Sam, for all your virtues, might need a gesture of good faith. So here. Managed to grab them while I grabbed you. Once in a lifetime opportunity, when you’ve been kicked out of Heaven for eons.”

With a snap! Ellen and Jo are there, in the room, alive, huddled on the ground and shivering, still wearing the clothes they died in.

Sam stands, arrested, as Dean ushers them away from the Devil, towards him, eyes wide and mouth saying words Sam can’t quite hear right now.

**You-**

_Oh, ye of little faith. I told you, Sam. Although, we know that’s not true. You just really enjoy denial._

Lucifer waits, too patient.

“I would have brought others back to you. But that would take another jailbreak into Heaven, and I’m Public Enemy Number One. So they’ll be upping security now that I got through. Castiel can’t really help either, low on grace as he is. So unless you want to go yelling to Michael again, Dean, which I don’t advise, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do on that front.”

“I would think you’d be all for anything that keeps the End of Times gravy train going. Now you’re telling me that you don’t want to wear Sam? That you don’t want me to say yes to Michael?” Dean can’t help but interrupt. “Wow, Satan. Who died and took your place?

Lucifer looks at Dean like he’s a particularly dense mosquito.

“Sam is his own person. And as for you, not at all. It gives me the advantage, even if Nick is wearing thin.”

“I thought you were all about Fate and Destiny.” Dean counters. “And what happens when you do lose blondie here?”

“Then I’ll… have to improvise. I’ll manage.”

“I’m sure you will. Con some poor sucker into buying whatever snake oil you’re selling.”

Lucifer talks over him.

“Be that as it may, my brother doesn’t deserve his vessel. He squandered his chances.”

Dean keeps going and looks at Sam, expression obvious. “Sam. You really believe this guy?”

“And he doesn’t love you like I love Sam, so-”

Dean stops talking.

“I’m sorry. You want to run that by me again?” Dean manages.

“I love Sam. Water is wet. Do I need to check your hearing, too?” Lucifer tone is pure ice.

“Stop it.” Sam grates out. Lucifer’s attention snaps back to him.

“Sam, is there something you want to say?”

Sam looks at anything, the wall, at no one.

**I thought we weren’t-**

_Things change. You want me to attempt giving you up as my Vessel? Fine. I’ll do my best. But I’m not giving up what we have for anything, Sam. This is the price you pay. And isn't that what you wanted? For love to come in and save the day?_

Sam doesn’t have anything to add to that. Weathers Dean’s pointed gaping look with as much courage as he can manage.

“Sam, what the Hell is Satan on about-”

“Dean-”

“Oh, God, Sammy. No. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t tell me that what he’s implying goes both ways-”

“Wait, what-” Adam is incredulous.

“It’s not what you think-” Sam’s voice sounds weaker than it should be.

“Son of a bitch. Son of a _bitch_. God, Sam. My god. You sure know how to pick ‘em.” Dean takes refuge in obtuse denial and festering anger, still there from Ruby and the blood and partially driven but what he wished he didn’t already suspect. “How long has this been going on?”

“Sam’s right.” Cas cuts in. “It’s not what you think, Dean.”

“You knew about this?” Dean turns on Castiel, because he needs somewhere to let his rage out, and the Devil wasn’t playing.

“Lucifer has been visiting Sam in his sleep.” Castiel clarifies. “And don’t pretend, Dean. We all knew.”

Sam stares at Cas in betrayal.

“Cas-” Sam breathes.

“He needed to hear it. There’s no point hiding it now-” Cas is resolute.

“That was not your call to make-” And Sam is furious, more furious than ever.

“Well, I’m glad someone decided to set that straight. Here I thought he was just trying to get you to say yes, but no, turns out the truth is worse, that we were right not to trust you because you are fucking the Devil every night in your sleep-” Dean’s voice is like a knife cutting Sam to pieces.

“SHUT UP DEAN.” Sam snaps, breathing too heavily. Then he takes a deep breath and turns to Lucifer. “You happy now? You get what you fucking wanted?”

Lucifer looks at Sam intently, and shrugs. “Their opinions don’t matter to me, Sam. And this is not why we’re here, not really. But if you want me to hurt them for their reactions, I will. All you have to do is say the word.”

No one says anything.

Sam turns his back to the Archangel that just won’t stop staring at him.

“What are you getting at, Lucifer?” Sam asks, pacing. “Just… stop dragging this out and tell me what you want.”

“Gladly. I’m willing to put the Apocalypse on hold, Sam. Will do it, just for you. On one condition. You give me two months of your time. You can use that time convince me it’s not worth it, that we don’t need to do this. How’s that for the deal of the century?”

Sam’s mouth is dry, and his heart is beating too fast, and he can feel how dilated his pupils have grown even though he can’t see them.

“And if I fail, once those the two months ends?”

“Sam, no-” Cas finally speaks.

Dean’s voice is louder. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for this-”

“After those two months, we pick up where we left off. I try to convince you to say yes, and you do whatever you like, like you always do.”

“Why?”

“Because, Sam. You say the Apocalypse hurts you, and I’m willing to put the work in if you are. Besides, you keep telling me there’s another way, that we don’t have to do this, and even though I am inclined to be doubtful, extraordinarily so, the truth is… I want to believe you. I want to believe we can have this, have us, without having to hurt you more.”

“But you hate humanity.”

“Yes. Well, barring you. And do I want them to live? Not at all. Do I want to give up everything that God did to make up for imprisoning me? No. But I told you I would try for you. And this is me. Trying.”

 _Because I love you_.

Sam can’t quite find words.

**You really mean it?**

_Sam. I haven’t lied or broken any promises to you yet. Don’t start giving up on me, now._

“How do we know this isn’t a ploy for you to get him to say yes, and jump his bones when he’s caught off guard?” Dean accuses.

Lucifer laughs.

“Because I wouldn’t do that to him, and he knows it. Hell, even Castiel here knows it, why do you think he’s been so dead set on keeping Sam away from me? But maybe that’s not enough for you. So. Read my lips, Dean. I don’t need to break the rules. I want Sam to want me, to let me in of his own accord, fair and square, no tricks necessary.” And the Lucifer is closer again, touching Sam like he can’t help it, other hand keeping Dean and Adam pinned as if they even had a chance at stopping him. “Besides, I can get him to say yes whenever I want. Well, maybe not yes, not exactly. But close enough. Isn’t that right, Sammy?”

And then he’s smiling that smile and Sam still can’t look at anyone again. He feels the flush creep over his skin.

“Say another word, Lucifer, and I’m going to stab you in the face.” Sam manages through gritted teeth, as if he doesn’t feel Lucifer’s true form swarming all over him.

Lucifer winks. “I’m sure you’ll try.”

Then he grows serious, tone deepening. “Look, this is a win-win situation here. You’ve already handled three horsemen, and I’ve got complete control over the last one. No one gets hurt, I’ll vessel hop responsibly if we even need to worry about Nick wearing out by then, which I doubt. And I’ll help you fight off Heaven, and call off my demons-”

“Yeah, and how’s that going to work, are they just going to be on board with you jumping ship?”

“They’ll do as they are told. Besides, I’ve already pitched the game plan.” Lucifer is certain, like always.

“Oh, really?”

“Of course. They just think it’s another step in the overall plan. Benefits of me being upper management, and all that. More importantly, you get to keep your body, Dean and Adam don’t have to worry about Michael while I’m on call, and I can heal you when you hunt, since Castiel won’t be an angel for long, and we can be together, just like ol-”

“I get the picture. You don’t have to keep selling it.”

“Just being thorough. So, you on board, Samuel? You ready to venture off into the great unknown?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always do, Sam. And if you don’t take the deal, I’ll just send you all off to that junkyard home of yours.” Lucifer’s tone is too casual. “It’s Bobby’s, right? Maybe add a few wards to keep Michael’s lackeys away. Besides, if you run into trouble, well. You know where to find me. I’m only a prayer away.”

Sam waits, thinking. Looks at Ellen and Jo and Dean and Cas and Adam and back to the floor.

Looking anywhere but Lucifer. His thoughts are in an all-out war.

“Sam, he’s lying to you.” Dean pleads. _Don’t let him have this,_ _don’t forget what he is… Don’t let him have you, Sam, he’s already taken too much,_ Sam can see clearly broadcasted over Dean’s face.

 **If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. This is definitely a trap.** Sam argues with himself, but then another thought bubbles up, even worse. **How many people have we seen where one half of a couple always think they can change the other and then it ends bad, ends bloody?**

Then, **But he wants to change, and… And he’s trying. People can’t make others change, but if he’s willing to do this, then he can change, because he wants to, he said so-**

 **And since when hasn’t anything like this gone wrong?** Sam’s cynical side musters.

 **He wants this, he wants us, we can fix this, we can bring people back if we play this right-** The desperation grabs hold, not willing to be left out. Practicality soon follows on its heels, Sam’s realism always reliable.

**And if it all goes to shit, well, we’ve bought Dean and Cas and everyone more time…**

Deep, deep down, Sam knows what his heart wants.

“Fine. Let’s do this.” Sam finally decides before his voice can betray him. “But if you try anything-“

“Sam, you wound me. You know I’d never do anything you don’t secretly wa-”

“Okay. Fine. Starting now. Please, stop talking.”

Lucifer obeys, then flies them all back to Bobby’s.

Bobby shoots the Devil with rock salt, not exactly in the know.


	34. Oh, Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by in this moment

"So let me get this straight," Bobby starts in after everyone has settled down, his voice gruff as always, although a bit more uncontrolled. "You got rescued from Heaven, and Dean was prevented from saying yes to Michael, by the Devil, who then raised Jo and Ellen after he decided he wants to put off the Apocalypse... All because of Sam. And he is going to attempt to not kill everyone in the world like some Disney Princess hopped up on an idea of true love? Am I following this correctly?"

Sam nods, Lucifer crouched by his feet, hand twined in his.

Dean keeps pacing, unable to stay still.

Bobby is very quiet after that.

Sam looks down, unable to hold Bobby's gaze.

There's a very long pause.

"I take it if you are staying with Sam, that means you intend to stay here." Bobby asks a bit stiffly to Lucifer, and Sam watches Lucifer's eyes meet his, the Devil's expression like a king addressing some odd curiosity he can't quite figure out.

"I go where Sam goes." He answers and shrugs.

"We don't have to stay here if you don't want us to, Bobby, this isn't-"

"No, Sam. If we're doing this..." Bobby resists the urge to curse or insult the entire premise on the account of the Devil's grace scaring the shit out of everyone, but it's a near thing. "Then I don't want you in over your head. You can both stay. At least then we can keep tabs on the Devil at all times. Make sure he doesn't... Well."

"Yeah." Sam murmurs.

With that going as well as it could go, Bobby hugs Ellen and Jo like he'll never let them go.

"I'm glad you two are back." He says, voice muffled.

"You and me both, Bobby." Ellen answers, voice a welcome sound.

Dean does the same, and Sam starts, hand falling from Lucifer's grip, and then... waits, unsure if it's welcome from him, all things considered.

Jo and Ellen hug him anyway. Sam doesn't let go until they do.

Lucifer rises, but hangs back. Sam can feel the arch of his wings ruffle and looks back at him, then Lucifer eyes them all, then looks anywhere else around the room.

Jo and Ellen look at each other and then Sam and Dean and Bobby. Adam hangs back, sitting on the side, watching, Castiel standing on the side, still watching Lucifer.

Everyone stands there in silence, not sure what to do.

**You... You could apologize, maybe?**

_Sam, I-_

**Look, are you sorry they died?**

_Well, yes._

**Then what's the issue?**

_I'm sorry they died for reasons I think you would not approve of._

**Lucifer, at this point, that's the least of our problems. An apology would at least be... something, for Jo and Ellen's sake, if nothing else. Think of it like the first steps of learning how to actually show consideration towards people who aren't me.**

_Sam, I said you could convince me to stop the Apocalypse, not make me like people._

**Same difference in my book.**

Lucifer finally looks back at Sam, who is still looking at him now that they're all just standing there, and then to Cas, who keeps staring him down. Sam suspects they've been having grace conversations of their own.

"Would you appreciate an apology?" He finally settles on, looking to Jo and Ellen with a blank expression.

There's another pause.

"I mean, it's not every day you get a personal apology from the Devil." Jo tries for levity to break the awkward tension that hasn't ebbed thanks to Dean and Lucifer barely being able to exist in the same space, still a bit thrown by everything.

Lucifer nods. "For what it is worth, I am sorry you died the way you did." His tone is less strained, but his posture isn't.

Sam sighs loudly.

"Lucifer, that is the worst apology I have ever heard in my entire life." Sam moans, head in his hands. "Ellen, Jo, I'm sorry-"

"No, that's fine." Ellen cuts in, eyeing Lucifer up and down. "It's a decent start, considering the source."

"I'm not accustomed to apologies. What am I supposed to say?" Lucifer asks, voice stilted.

"Oh, I don't know," Dean growls, half-pacing from unreleased violence, "Maybe, gee, I'm sorry I'm such a feathery asshole who happily ruins people's lives and hunts them down and mass murders them indiscriminately?"

Lucifer gives Dean a withering look of pure contempt. "See that would work, except I'm not." His voice remains flat. "And my methods aren't indiscriminate-"

Sam rushes in between them, hands up, voice controlled. "Okay, hold on. Dean, if you could... Ease off, please. Lucifer, try pretending you are apologizing to me when you apologize to them."

"Sam... I don't even apologize to you." Lucifer answers, puzzled. Dean mouths something insulting behind Lucifer's back.

"You did once." Sam argues back and crosses his arms.

"Yes, but... That was arguably not the best apology." Lucifer concedes, fidgeting. Sam's never seen him look this distinctly uncomfortable and he'll admit, it's nice to see the tables turned on their heads for once.

"It's a miracle, everyone." Sam exclaims with heavy sarcasm, then mutters, "Never thought I'd see the day you'd ever admit you were even slightly wrong."

"Don't get used to it." Lucifer sniffs.

"Okay, this is just painful to watch-" Bobby interrupts, expression akin to the look of someone who has eaten an entire lemon whole.

"If he lets Mom and I punch him, I'll call it mostly even." Jo cuts in a bit too happily, walking past Sam with determination.

Lucifer looks at Jo, head tilted as if he can't figure her out.

"That would break your hand, but if that's what you want-" Lucifer says without inflection.

"I'm still game." Jo pipes up.

Lucifer looks at Sam, who stares back.

_Sam, I can honestly say I am out of my depth here._

**You'll learn.**

_You seem a bit too on board with this._

**Hey, fair's fair, you did give the order that killed them.**

_As you wish._

Without further ado, the Devil lets Jo and Ellen punch him, then heals them when their hand breaks.

"I got to punch the Devil," Jo mouths to Adam and winks as she punches the air. Adam gives her a slight grin, but still looks drained.

"Adam, you okay?" Sam asks, checking up on him.

Adam hugs himself. "It's been a long day. With Heaven and being raised from the dead and..." He trails off, eyes still avoiding Lucifer like the plague.

"Yeah." Sam says quietly, then looks back down at his feet. Lucifer rubs his shoulder absently as if he doesn't even know he's reaching out to touch him, like it's just a habit. Dean looks ready to shiv him, but doesn't comment, and Cas huddles closer to him.

_I can never get over that you are here, with me._

**If you murdered less people we could have avoided that whole separation faster.**

_I'm a slow learner, clearly._

Bobby takes the moment to get everyone situated. "Okay, why don't Dean and Adam and I go make dinner." Dean looks rebellious but then sees the look on Bobby's face and storms off with Adam following behind at a slower pace, although not by much. "Jo, Ellen, you make yourselves at home. Same goes for you, Cas, do whatever you like. Sam... do your thing, I guess." He trails off and eyes Lucifer and then Sam again, wheeling away with a shake of his head, muttering something that sounds like, "God save us." Under his breath.

"Dad's not really one to pick up the slack." Lucifer calls after him, not-so-apologetically. Bobby wheels away faster.

Castiel doesn't move an inch or leave the room.

"Cas," Sam starts, shaking Lucifer's hand off, "Are you-"

Cas doesn't even look at him, still trained on Lucifer with intensity. "I told you I would keep Sam safe and that you would never take him." He growls, voice a low rumble.

"Well, it's your lucky day, Cas. I'm not possessing him. You got your wish, for now and possibly forever, if Sam has his way. Unless you mean taking in the biblical sense, in which case, we've already missed that boat, seeing as we've already done the deed-" Lucifer half-laughs.

Sam steps between them.

"I don't care that I am not strong enough to fight you, Lucifer. If you hurt Sam, I will end you. I swear." Castiel vows. Sam's feels his wings flicker against the air, a warning.

Lucifer tilts his head and claps one hand on Sam's shoulder again, the other hand punctuating the air as he points and says, "See, Castiel. This is why I like you. You're loyal, and you don't quit. Admirable qualities. Sam's lucky to have you as a friend... even if you aren't everything you used to be."

"Don't talk to Cas like that-" Sam warns, drawing back with a scowl.

"That's not an insult, Sammy. I'm just speaking the truth. Castiel is almost human now, Sam. We all can read the writing on the wall. He's given up so much for your cause, and Michael's folks are gunning for him right after you and me, so... All I'm saying is, it pays to have friends in low places, when the time comes. You remember that." Lucifer addresses Cas directly, mouth almost quirking into a smile.

"I will be watching." Cas answers, resolute.

Lucifer's arm loops around Sam's shoulders. "Hopefully not too closely." Then he winks at Sam.

Sam pushes him backwards, and Lucifer backs off.

"Look, you mind... just... giving me some space for a second, while I talk to Cas?" He asks, looking between them again.

"It's fine, Sam." Cas assures, giving him a smile of his own. "I've said my piece, he's said his. We understand each other. I'll see if I can get Dean to... process all this without self-destructing." Cas trails off. "If you need anything... If he does anything, pray. I'll be there."

"I will." Sam assures.

_Not that it would do him much good, poor thing._

**Stop.**

_He can't fight me toe to toe and win, Sam. That's just basic math. It's a tragedy. He's almost as stubborn and desperate as you._

**I'm almost offended.**

_I tell no lies._

With that, Cas walks away to find Dean and help with dinner. Sam and Lucifer watch him go.

"What... What happens now?" Sam asks, and swallows audibly. It's just the two of them, and now that everything settled in, that it's real, Sam suddenly doesn't know where to start.

"I'd say we can start slow, Sam, and that I'd give you more time to convince me, but I know we don't have long. Michael is going to be pushing the issue more once he finds out about us. And Nick won't last long if I have to get into extra scrapes." Lucifer sighs.

Sam grabs his hand. Lucifer starts, surprised and drawn in.

Sam kisses him.

"Thank you." He whispers, and then they are both leaning in close and kissing.

**Thank you for believing in us.**

_You only have yourself to blame, Sam. You are irresistible. You know that?_

**You've told me once or twice.**

And Lucifer kisses him again and then flies them outside, hidden by a tree.

In the meantime, Sam thinks he knows where he can start teaching the Devil why the Apocalypse isn't worth it.

\--

"So. That happened." Jo starts, helping peel some potatoes. Ellen gives a grunt in agreement. "That really happened."

"Of course it's Sam. It's always Sam," Bobby adds in, equally incredulous as he keeps braising the ribs they defrosted from the freezer. "I don't know what goes through that boy's head. Romancing the Devil, never thought I'd see the day-"

"Do you think it'll work?" Adam asks, very quiet. "Do you think he'll convince him?"

Dean drops the plate he was holding, but Cas catches it before it falls.

Everyone looks at each other, nervous. Dean's hand shakes.

"We'll see." Bobby answers, noncommittal. He looks back down at the ribs and keeps cooking.

What people want to happen and what they feel to be true are very different things, and they all know the Devil is already too dangerous to be underestimated.

"Sam is an idealistic, love-struck son of a bitch and this is the dumbest thing he's ever pulled-" Dean starts, and Cas grabs him and hugs him closer before he ends up throwing the plate with too much force into the stove. Adam takes the plate from Cas, and Cas holds Dean steady.

"Don't talk about your brother like that, Dean." Cas answers, weary and drained.

"Cas." Dean answers, tone brooking no argument. "He's trying to convince one of the oldest things in the Universe, who, oh, right- wants to kill everyone and has killed thousands of people, the one who made demons, the biggest bad to ever walk the earth, who helped engineer his entire life up until now- to give up what it sees as its own God-given genocidal crusade, in the name of true love. Excuse me if I'm skeptical." Dean shouts, not looking at anyone, and then his voice breaks. "How did he even fall in love with him, Cas? I know he tends to go for evil sons-of-bitches but this... this takes the cake."

"I don't think Sam sees it like that, Dean. You aren't giving him enough credit."

"How does he see it, then, Cas?" Dean growls, rounding on him, in his face. "Enlighten me."

"I don't think he really thinks he's going to convince him." Cas answers haltingly, eyes darting around.

"Cas, what is the point then-"

"I think Sam knows he's most likely just buying time and that he doesn't want to have to keep fighting Lucifer off in the meantime." Cas replies, more sure as he meets Dean's gaze. "That's not to say he doesn't love him, or that he doesn't want this endeavor to succeed. But Sam is Lucifer's true vessel. They have a bond through Sam's soul and Lucifer's grace, and it goes both ways, Dean. Sam... I think he is trying to use that bond, that understanding, to his advantage as best he can. He doesn't have any other weapons that will work, and after God said his piece, left this to play out... I think love is all that he can have faith in. I think it's the only option that he thinks he can make work in his favor." Castiel trails off numbly.

Dean stands around listlessly, taking that in.

"And if we're being frank, Lucifer has been wearing him out, Dean. We've seen it. And yet, despite everything, despite our own loss of faith in him and everything else, Sam has no intentions of saying yes. And he's been fighting him tooth and nail since he got out." Castiel admits. "He's been remarkably resilient if you consider that the moment the last seal broke, Lucifer had already found ways to contact him."

"Which you could have told me." Dean seethes, hand flexing and unflexing.

"Sam knew nothing was working to keep him out of his dreams, and he didn't want to worry you... And, Dean. Sam was scared you would stop believing in him."

Dean lowers his gaze, and they both don't comment on how that might be a bit too close to the truth.

"And this was the better option?" Dean grits out, meeting Castiel's eyes again. "Finding out like this? Rooming with him, like the Devil is Sam's new boyfriend he's taken home to meet the family, only turns out his boyfriend is a supernatural serial killer who has to be convinced not to nuke everyone?"

"Dean... I don't think that before tonight, Sam ever thought there would be a reason anyone would find out about any of this. Sam fully intends to say no until the end. And I think... I think he expected to turn Lucifer down and either die taking Lucifer out with him, or die when Michael made his move." Cas says, very, very softly.

Dean starts pacing again.

"That's not... We're not letting that happen, Cas. But that doesn't explain why he thinks he loves him-"

Cas shakes his head.

"That's a question for Sam, don't you think?" Castiel answers, a bit too quiet.

Bobby nods in assent. "There's a lot about Sam we don't know. Kids a hard one to crack, and Lucifer, even less."

Castiel continues, working off that thought. "And it is possible Lucifer has been contacting Sam... longer than we thought, if Sam's willingness to trust in this plan is anything to go by. Which is a testament to Sam's strength. But it doesn't answer any questions."

The thought isn't as comforting as anyone would like it to be.

\--

In the meantime, Lucifer allows Sam to start teaching him the basics of showing people basic politeness and not being an asshole as they sit up in a low-hanging tree.

"Did you forget how to be decent person when you left?" Sam jokes. Now that Lucifer's shown his hand, that he's trying, that he brought people back, Sam can't quite hold back on the feelings that have always been there, the familiarity, the thing he and Jess used to have.

It's hard to stay away. And Sam would keep his distance, he still feels guilty for everyone else who's died, but he doesn't know them, not enough, and Lucifer... Sam's doing something good here. He's fixing this. He's found a way to make this work, and he doesn't want to let go. If he's a little too happy to see Lucifer... It's only a point in his favor, because Lucifer feels it as much as he does and Sam needs this not to go wrong...

Lucifer pokes Sam out of almost-spiraling, all the emotions hitting him at once. His wings remain out to brace himself and keep Sam close by.

"Don't kid yourself, kiddo. I was never _decent_ or lovey-dovey, not even as Jess."

"True. You were always tearing people a new one." Sam almost laughs, but then he looks back at Lucifer, more serious.

"Thank you for bringing them back. Ellen and Jo. And for saving me, and Dean, and Adam." Sam says, suddenly shy. It's hard to fight this, to stay away, now that he has something that's not his own grasping desperation to hold on to. He believes in something.

He has faith not just in what he knows or what he believes or what he wills himself to be, but in someone other than himself. He has faith in what he had with Jess, with Lucifer, in Lucifer and what he'd known he could be if he tried, again. And it had been so long since Sam had felt less than alone in this, or that he'd been anything other than one human pitted against someone and something he'd loved deeper than he'd ever loved and yet still could not excuse, could not comprehend with all the depths of Lucifer's mutable hatred and violence mixed with all the kindnesses and threats laden in their joint memory of what had been and what could be.

"You're welcome." Lucifer's voice is rich and full of honesty and promise. Sam huddles closer, and the soft down of Lucifer's wings wrap tighter even as his fingertips glance over Sam's own. There is no edge, no hidden meaning in those touches, in what is left wanting. There is just them, and what they once had, and the things they could be for one another without taking or demanding beyond what the other was willing to give.

Sam leans his head on his shoulder for a moment, breathing it in.

They sit like that, enjoying the silence and the crickets and the dark of the night together, the lights on Bobby's porch the only thing lighting up the area save for the stars spattered over the clouded-filtered sky.

Sam hasn't felt this weight lifted from him in so long, and it aches, but in a way that doesn't hurt much longer.

The hope is almost too much, but it's a hope Sam can't let escape his grasp.

Not when they are together again, when they want the same thing, when they aren't on different sides...

"How did you get Cas, anyway?" Sam adds on, mirroring Lucifer's head tilt as his posture straightens.

Lucifer shrugs. "He was flying erratically, barely able to stay afloat. Took all he had to try and get back to you, only it wasn't enough. And Heaven's forces were trailing after him, not far behind... So I took initiative, killed the scouts, and milked the opportunity for what it was. If nothing else, he would be a good bargaining chip." Lucifer doesn't hide the truth. No point.

There's a pause as Sam just looks at Lucifer, expression scrutinizing, but the edge of his fears have dulled. There's no bite to Lucifer's words. Only a frankness that means there will be no more secrets, and that's just about the only thing Sam knows he can trust, when it comes to Lucifer and all the ways he can spin his silver-lined words in his favor.

Just as there is only one thing that will ease Sam's mind as much as can be managed, considering all the horrors that have come to pass already.

There is only one thing Sam knows that not even the Devil can run from, if he decides to answer. Sam will know it is the truth, and Lucifer, for all his faults, hasn't always been able to hide what could be lies when asked something so direct.

Sam knows, if he asks, he can get a real answer.

And it's all that is holding him back. All that's keeping those doubts from holding him hostage.

And Sam can't be a hostage anymore. He's spent so long dangling off a cliff without a parachute, and if he's going to take the plunge, he wants to believe there's someone ready to catch him on the way down, like there used to be.

"If you could go back... To when I freed you. If you could go back and do this all from the start, without killing or hurting anyone, and we could keep what we had, once. Would you?" Sam asks, looking back down to the ground, kicking out his feet.

Lucifer strokes Sam's face and guides it back up to meet his gaze.

_For you?_

"In a heartbeat, Sam. In a heartbeat." He assures, as ageless and certain as always.

Sam kisses him again. Lucifer kisses back harder, this time.

It's 2 am when they get back into Sam's room and fall over each other on the bed.

Sam is distinctly out of breath and is pretty sure he's lost his shirt somewhere along the way.

Lucifer muffles the noise and makes sure the door is locked so they don't interrupt anyone nor get interrupted.

It's only polite, after all.


	35. Undisclosed Desires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by muse

The first thing Lucifer does after he makes himself at home at Bobby's, and when left to his own devices, is take apart the refrigerator while everyone except Sam is still asleep.

Gears and wires and coils of antifreeze are laid out on the floor and the counters and the table as Satan tinkers away, not using grace, just Nick's nimble and calloused fingers, his eyes focusing on each piece as if he is on a holy quest to find a grail or something.

"Why?" Sam starts, only half-coherent as he makes a cup of coffee. Lucifer had been left to his own devices for thirty minutes while Sam was taking a shower (and refused to let him in), and this is how the Devil decides to spend his time.

"I'll put it back together again. Besides, I'm keeping the food cold enough, anyway."

He is. There's a block of ice sitting on the kitchen table, all the food and drinks and alcohol kept inside it.

"Doesn't answer the question." Sam mumbles as he stumbles into a chair and drags it next to Lucifer's cross-legged form, one foot poking the Devil's shoulder.

Lucifer doesn't look up, still fiddling. "I like seeing how things work. Taking things apart. Putting them back together. It's what I used to do, before I was locked up, when I helped Dad with creation. And I always told you I would learn how to repair a sink, and a microwave, and the fridge, so I figured this was the place to start. Bobby certainly has enough tools on hand."

"He's going to want his fridge back." Sam warns as he sips his coffee.

Lucifer waves a hand. "I can always put it back together the non-manual way if it's an issue. Don't know if Dean will swear off food because I touched it, but that's his problem."

Sam keeps watching him work and sipping his coffee until they hear movement, and then Lucifer repairs the fridge and packs up all the food like he never did anything with his grace.

Bobby wheels in looking a little suspicious.

"What are you doing up?" He manages to ask, still bleary.

"Couldn't sleep." Sam admits. He ducks his head, one hand lighting on the back of his neck at Bobby's too-knowing expression.

Lucifer tilts his head, voice low as he asks, a bit too meekly to be genuine, "Am I permitted to use your kitchen?"

"The Devil, asking permission. What do you need it for?" Bobby yawns, although he white-knuckles his wheelchair. 

Lucifer looks to Sam and smiles a half-smile. "I like to cook. Figured Sam could help."

Bobby looks distinctly flabbergasted at the concept of Lucifer cooking or doing anything mundane at all.

"Long as you don't poison anyone, knock yourself out." Bobby finally grunts.

Lucifer nods, turns to the stove, then turns and glances back at Bobby before he rolls off again. Lucifer's expression remains calculating.

"I could give you back your legs, if you like." He suggests. He's fairly certain that might be a faux-pas to some humans, but Lucifer's fairly certain that only applies in some circles, and generally not humans who were injured and lost their mobility as a result... Particularly when one of your demons was the one responsible, and said human feels useless and helpless due to his condition, even if he won't admit it.

Bobby pauses and turns back around. "What's the catch?"

Normally, Bobby would tell Satan to shove it. He doesn't need pity or charity or whatever bribe or insult that is meant to be, when he knows full well how much he's afraid he can't protect his family. But he doesn't, because when the enemy is staring you in the face, you see why they are trying to make nice or bluff and then plan accordingly.

Sam looks at Lucifer, measuring, knowing the power play for what it is, before his expression calms thanks to assurances Lucifer gives him.

And Lucifer winds his way around Sam again, who closes his eyes as Lucifer hugs him close. "There is none. Sam's been trying to stress being kinder to people as a general courtesy. Think of it as a thank you for letting Sam stay here and being good to him. That... And I was wondering..." Lucifer trails off, growing still.

Bobby's expression turns closed off and wary.

"Could I use your tools and take apart some of your machines and put them back together?" Lucifer's voice is a bit too hopeful as he holds up a wrench from behind his back. "I want to figure out how microwaves work."

Bobby's look of confusion returns with a vengeance, but he takes the deal after ironing out some very specific details. The only downside is if the two months ends in failure, Lucifer is taking the favor back, which Bobby could have predicted anyway. Lucifer doesn't want to give them any advantages to keep Sam from saying yes in that case.

Sam views the entire exchange as another victory and helps Lucifer set up the batter and skittle, spatula in hand. 

And if Lucifer's a bit more handsy as he works and cooks with Sam over the counters, Sam can't say he really minds.

Bobby watches them and sips coffee of his own, sees how oddly familiar they dance around each other and work together before he feels like he's intruding, then walks a few laps around his yard on his own two legs again, thinking deeply.

No one is dumb enough to believe Lucifer did what he did out of any consideration for anyone else except Sam. The only question is what he hopes to get out of it.

Bobby worries he might know.

The potential answer scares him more than he would like to admit.

\--

Once everyone is awake and done rejoicing over Bobby's regained mobility (although Dean does take him aside and they talk in low voices before joining back with everyone), the whole human crowd sits around Bobby's table. Sam pours mugs of coffee for everyone as Lucifer presents breakfast with very little fanfare.

The sight is somewhat surreal, although Lucifer does hide behind Sam, not liking all the human eyes on him.

"Sam wanted me to do something nice, and I figured if we are going to put the past behind us then I needed to give you all some kind of peace offering, like those human rituals where you break bread and promise not to murder each other. Hence, pancakes." Lucifer explains, expression relaxed and arms open as long as he's still within two feet of Sam at all times.

"Yeah, because that's going to solve anything." Dean mutters under his breath.

"When did you learn to make pancakes while imprisoned?" Castiel asks, suspicious, and only somewhat curious.

"It's called reading. And you pick up on things when you're surrounded by humanity day in and day out." Lucifer evades as he shrugs. "That and my children have a weird love for the cooking channel."

Even that admission doesn't put Jo or Ellen off entirely, since they are starving. Coming back from death does that. Even Adam looks a little less spooked. Barely, but it beats nothing.

**That's almost a lie. You made these for us every weekend.**

_What he doesn't know won't hurt him. And it's true. Some of them adore Rachel Ray and Gordon Ramsey. Not for the right reasons, but still._

Everyone except Dean starts piling the pancakes on their plate. It's done with some hesitation, although Adam doesn't hide how he pokes at them with a fork warily.

"I helped make them, guys." Sam sighs. "And I watched him the whole time. They aren't contaminated or poisonous."

People are much more enthusiastic about the pancakes after that. Except for Dean. He doesn't take anything. He just holds a fork in his hand like he's mentally planning how to shiv Lucifer with it.

The peace only lasts a minute. Longer than Sam would have expected, all things considered.

"So that's it, then? Everything's fine? Are we just going to ignore the giant elephant in the room?" Dean demands as he finally snaps. A fork clatters on the plate too loudly.

Everyone looks at him, except Lucifer, who still only has eyes for Sam.

"Which is?" Lucifer asks, a bit too nicely.

"You're the Devil."

"I think everyone is well aware of that fact, Dean-" Lucifer cuts in with a roll of his eyes.

Dean voice snarls louder as he talks over him. "You've been murdering people the moment you got out. You made demons. You sent Azazel after our parents. You sent out Lilith and Meg and Ruby and you are the reason everything's gone wrong. You ruined Sam's life-"

Lucifer straightens, his eyes narrowing to slits as he stares Dean down, hands still massaging Sam's shoulders.

"Okay, let's get one thing clear. I created demons like Azazel, yes. But I was not in the know about everything my children did. I was locked up, hands tied, no matter how much I would rather be anything to the contrary. The one time Azazel managed to get a line through, I gave him too much benefit of the doubt because I knew he was loyal. One mistake I would change if I could, because apparently I gave him too much freedom to twist my orders, and he took advantage." And then Lucifer is pacing, all motion, as he continues, "I told Azazel that Sam was to be kept safe, to be prepared for me, so that no one could hurt him. I instructed him to make the other psychic children so Michael wouldn't find Sam and possibly murder him in his sleep in case he wanted to try and keep him contained in Heaven before I made my way out. I told him to raise Lilith so she could break the seals and to do everything in his power to grant me freedom. Everything else? Everything he did, to your father and mother and your family? To Sam? That was not something I was even aware of, and if I knew it was happening and had any way to stop him, I would have. And he would be punished severely for even thinking about doing everything he did, especially to Sam." Lucifer's hand squeezes Sam's shoulder again. "And logistically, killing Mary was wasteful, considering she would have made a decent backup vessel if all else failed." Lucifer trails off at Sam's glare.

_I'm not going to twist the facts here, Sam._

**Still a sore subject and not the best call to make.**

_You told me to be more open and direct._

**Not if it means you are going to be more of a dick.**

"Doesn’t matter now. We can’t take back the past, and priorities change." Lucifer hisses, and then holds up a hand to keep going. "As for everything else, well. Ruby didn’t do what she did on my orders, and Lilith turned out to be less obedient than planned. Both of them hurt Sam in ways I would have smote them for, easily. But by the time I was out, you had already dealt with them. Other than that, don't pretend I'm the only one behind the Apocalypse, Dean. Michael is set on burning the whole place down, and if it's an arms race to the finish, then I'm going to win." Lucifer growls as he breaks off. He crosses his arms. "And fine, I’ll admit it. I'm no saint, Dean. Hell, Sam is the one good thing that's ever happened to me. So sue me, I didn't want to give it up. My whole entire life everyone's been convinced this was the only way I'd keep him. So yeah. I'm the Devil. I'm learning. If anyone has a problem with that, well, it's a free country. I can’t stop you. But I think Sam’s the one who gets to make the call if I ruined his life, and so far, I don’t see him agreeing."

And Lucifer's hands are perched back on Sam, possessive and desperate for contact. Like an anchor in an ocean. Or maybe just Lucifer's way of stopping himself from tearing Dean to shreds.

“So, what, we're just supposed to be completely okay with this? What about all the people you killed? All the Horsemen and natural disasters and everything-” Dean counters, jaw clenched tight.

“What, do you want an apology? I already apologized to those two," Lucifer points to Ellen and Jo, "And I don’t think an apology will really help anyone who is still dead. Otherwise, I’m not going to pretend I care. You apes are the whole reason I got locked up in the first place. They all had it coming. Your entire species has it coming except for Sam. And if it wasn’t for Sam being Sam, you’d probably all be dead already." Lucifer says stiffly.

"Lucifer-" Sam cuts in, a warning.

Lucifer ignores him. "Besides, I don’t like you. So any apology I give you in particular, Dean, would be insincere. And I don't lie, although I will make an exception and apologize if that’s what you really want here.”

“What I want is for you to get out of my brother’s life!” Dean bellows as he slams his hand on the table.

"That's not ever going to be an option." Lucifer says, too softly.

Sam sighs and clears his throat.

"Look. I get that this isn't ideal-" Sam starts, trying to defuse the situation.

"Oh, you think? Sam, he killed Jo and Ellen, or did you forget-" Dean interrupts, not having it.

Ellen and Jo look at each other and Sam, who looks ready to interject, then they all decide it's not worth it. Adam keeps picking at the pancakes, perhaps from nerves.

"Not directly. And I brought them back. You're welcome." Lucifer hisses at the same time, voice pure acid.

"Because that makes it fine." Dean grits out.

"Doesn't it?" Lucifer says, eyebrows raised. "Look, so I had Meg send my Hellhounds after all of you. Well, except Sam, he was just supposed to follow when they dragged your little band over to me, but your buddy system nixed that plan. Either way, not my fault you all chose the hard way out. I had my priorities and I wasn't about to let you get in the way. You made your choices, I made mine. And Sam could've come to me any time he liked. But he enjoys living in the land of denial and you all want to go out in a blaze of stupid human glory. Not my problem you haven't learned from your mistakes."

Ellen, Jo, Cas, Adam, and Bobby each meet Sam's tired eyes, then each other's. Silent communication and agreement passes between them. They can defend themselves and their reputations just fine, and aren't going to get involved or say their piece until Dean and Lucifer get their tantrums out first.

"Ignoring that pile of bullshit. You say you don't want to hurt Sam? Then you didn't have to send them after us in the first place."

"Didn't I? Should I have sent out embossed invitations?" Lucifer hisses. "You're acting like I'm supposed to care. Newsflash, I don't. You all mean nothing to me. Sam knows that. The only reason I am giving you any sort of courtesy right now is for his sake. And if he wanted to protect any of you, he wouldn't ask you to keep getting in the line of fire. He knows better."

"Don't you dare blame my brother for what you've done-" Dean grits out.

"Oh, I'm not. Believe me. I've never blamed Sam for any of this. He's blameless. This is Michael's fault, and God's fault, and the fault of your pathetic species. Sam is just a victim here."

"Yeah, a victim of YOU-" Dean snarls.

Sam lets Lucifer keep going, because the best way to deconstruct and fight his argument is to see what he uses to justify himself in the first place, preferably when he can't filter things out to make himself look better and spin his angle. Sam already knows to look out for that, it's just who Lucifer is, his aversion to admitting his own responsibility a coping mechanism left over from the Cage and his family trauma. His own unwillingness to feel responsible for his own decisions is a response to never learning actual coping mechanisms and a pervasive fear of rejection, much like how his need to be tactile all the time was the clear result of never having company and being touch-starved for eons.

It makes Sam's life difficult, to put it mildly.

Lucifer inhales, one hand rustling through Sam's hair as he cuts Dean off as if he didn't say anything. "No, Sam's problem is that he respects you all too much. He lets you call the shots and make all the reckless decisions to your hearts' content, despite his better judgement. And that's because you made him think he has something to prove, when he doesn't. If you didn't blindside him and make him think he has to go along with your stupid plans and pointless moral directives, which will save absolutely no one, we wouldn't be where we are."

Dean explodes, "Sam made the choices he did because he knows what you are and because he cares about people, unlike you!"

"Doesn't change the consequences or the outcome." Lucifer's tone is cutting, then turns into a groan. "Come on, Dean, you're acting like you have an argument to prove here. You don't. Do you hold conversations and moral discussions with cockroaches as they go about their day? Do you mourn termites and let them live in your house when you see a colony? No. You flush them out and eradicate them."

Everyone else looks a combination of sick and vaguely terrified at the comparison. Adam pushes his plate away. Bobby gives Sam a very, very pointed look, but Sam doesn't see it because he's got eyes only for Lucifer.

"Are you implying I'm a termite?" Sam cuts in, deadpan, to try and lessen the tension. He can argue about this with Lucifer later, when he's more likely to listen.

Lucifer gives Sam a look of pure angelic offense. Dean also doesn't look amused, but is too overcome by anger to speak at the moment.

"Sammy, why do you ask baseless questions just to spite me?" Lucifer sighs and rolls his eyes. "The answer is no, by the way. You know I love you."

"Just checking." Sam's words are lighthearted, unlike his prayers. He's going to capitalize on the opening as best he's able, while Dean can't talk and rile Lucifer up again, or vice versa.

**You really need to stop putting me on a pedestal-**

_It's not a pedestal if it is true._

**Lucifer, I'm not better than the rest of humanity.**

_I beg to differ, Sam. You already know my opinion on the matter. It's not going to change._

Lucifer keeps going. "Barring Sam, that's all your pathetic species is to me, although honestly that's an insult to the termites, seeing as they're far more useful in comparison. I'm not going to change my mind or feel differently about it, so expecting me to feel remorse isn't going to end well for you. However, that doesn't mean I can't be convinced not to kill you all, so just agree to disagree." Lucifer orders, waving a hand as his eyes narrow. "Besides, if anything, I've been more than generous, letting you hang yourselves with your own rope instead of burning you personally one by one."

"Because that's not horrifying or uncalled for or overkill at all." Sam groans, head in his hands.

"I am horrifying, Sam." Lucifer's tone softens as he tilts his head. "I'm a being a light and beauty and sound and terror. I was made that way, just as I was made to be holy and a machine of war. Just as Castiel was made to be... whatever anomaly Castiel is." Lucifer points as he looks over to the other angel.

Castiel looks distinctly disgruntled.

"Just because we're angels doesn't mean we can't change or decide for ourselves what we are or how we value God's other creations-" Cas starts in.

"Very true." Lucifer points at him, "Still don't care about humanity. Let it go."

"Like Hell I will." Dean shouts, finally having found his voice and having reigned in his almost attempt to stab the Devil with a piece of cutlery. "But fine. You want to talk about Sam? We'll talk about Sam." 

"I am right here." Sam cuts in evenly. He's ignored easily.

"You've been trying to isolate him from everyone who loves him since day one." Dean answers, fists clenched.

"Funny. I see it as setting him apart from people who would drop him the moment he does something they don't like." Lucifer says, his voice pure ice.

The mood turns on a dime again.

Dean turns a strange shade of purple. Ellen, Jo, Adam, and Bobby all inch away, because they can read a room and know that this is going to get even uglier than it already is. Castiel stays near Dean in case he has to stop him from doing something stupid, but mostly so Lucifer doesn't try something.

"That's not true. But who cares what you think? You're nothing but a parasitic, obsessive psycho and a liar. Don't think I don't see right through you. You don't want Sam except for what he can do for you-" Dean yells.

"Oh, really? Because that's not how I see it, Dean. I'm trying to keep him safe from a world that doesn't deserve him. Did you ever think that maybe then Sam would have saved more people if he didn't have you breathing down his neck making him feel like he has to say no? Oh, wait, no, because you keep telling him he's a monster and leaving him out to dry the moment he does something you don't approve of, never mind the fact he is a grown man who can make his own choices. Maybe, if you actually cared about his welfare, Sam wouldn't feel so much shame and he would have said yes earlier, would have saved more people before I ever got to them because he was able to make me go along with his perspective. But he didn't, and he won't, so now we have to work with what we have. And don't you dare act like I'm the only one acting out of selfishness, Dean. You dragged him back into this. You wanted to keep your brother for yourself, but not in any way that would protect him. You left him alone and defenseless and beat him down when he needed you most."

"Lucifer, stop-" Sam rises and puts a hand on his chest. Lucifer grabs his wrists and pulls him closer, gaze too bright and old and vengeful.

"No, Sam. I won't. I'm not letting your brother treat you like mine did. Once was enough." And then his gaze is laser-focused on Dean, arrested and condemning. "Did you go to bat for him after Ruby manipulated him? Did you support him when he broke the last seal? Did you believe in him when Azazel called him a monster and when your father ordered you to kill him?"

Ellen and Jo gasp. Adam looks horrified. Bobby looks down.

Castiel remains impassive, because someone needs to keep a level head here, when all is said and done.

**Lucifer, please don't-**

_No, Sam. This has gone on long enough. I am tired of watching you blame yourself for your mother's choices, for your brother's failings, and for your father's sins._

Dean turns white with rage, looks ready to leap over and punch him in the face, but Castiel holds him back, and Lucifer keeps going. "Oh, no, wait, you didn't. You beat him to a pulp and told him he was a freak and actually entertained the idea of killing him. Oh, and you let him take the blame for things that were not his burden to bare. You abandoned him and made him feel like he had to hide things because otherwise you'd lock him up forever or hunt him down like an animal. Sound familiar? And if Sam didn't have his own stubborn sense of morality and force of will, however much it might vex me, I would have won him over right then and there. So forgive me if you're opinion is worth less than my considerations of the human race, Dean Winchester. Your only saving grace is that, unlike my brother, you changed your mind and saw sense, however little you may have."

Dean doesn't know how to counter that, so he sticks with what he knows.

"Sam, how can you love this thing? Because that's what he is. A thing with zero regard for human life. A serial killing, remorseless monster who doesn't respect what you have dedicated your life to doing, which is saving people and keeping them safe. Hell, he killed me in the future when he was wearing your skin."

Sam starts and gets very confused at that, "Wait, what?"

"I'm an angel, much like your little crush over there, and I haven't killed you yet. And if Sam has his way, we won't even get to that future, although honestly, I'm surprised, seeing as even you could see that particular future you had it coming."

"What are you two even talking about, what future-" Sam interrupts, heated, but Lucifer and Dean keep staring each other down and don't let Sam in on that whole debacle.

"Although, in the interests of honesty, right now, I wouldn't be adverse to the idea." Lucifer keeps going as he mutters audibly under his breath. "You should thank your lucky stars your brother loves you, considering you don't deserve it."

"Lucifer, that's enough." Sam's voice burns as he finally puts his foot down. "Leave my brother alone."

"I will when he stops insulting you." Lucifer argues back.

Dean ignores him, eyes only on Sam.

"Sam. I want answers. Right now." Dean demands.

Sam can't keep his eyes from the floor. "I don't owe you an explanation."

"Oh, really?"

"No. My feelings are my own. I don't need to justify them. But I do owe you the responsibility of making sure this doesn't go bad, and that things don't get worse, and that people are safe-"

"Sam, no one is safe anywhere near this guy. Least of all you."

"Dean, I'm fine. I'm... more than fine, now, honestly. Not having the Apocalypse hanging over our heads even from one side is a pretty big deal. And Dean, people are safe when I'm around, Lucifer listens to me when he won't listen to anyone else, even if you don't believe me... Look, I know you think this is just Lucifer lying to try and get his way. I know. But I know him. And... if nothing else, Dean, even if this doesn't work... We're still putting off the Apocalypse. We're getting somewhere here, even if you can't stand him and don't like it. But if you want me to leave, if that's what I have to do to protect people, to try and fix this-"

"Oh no you don't! What, you think we're going to leave you alone with Satan, Sam? And let him spring whatever damn trap he's got waiting? No way, Sam. No way in Hell."

"Sam doesn't have to stay with you if he doesn't want to-" Lucifer starts up again.

"Shut up and stay out of this, Lucifer." Sam hisses. "I'm handling this."

Lucifer obliges, expression inscrutable. 

"Oh, you are? How are you handling it, Sam? Hiding things? Keeping secrets? Fucking Satan?"

"That's not entirely correct. Sam has already told me about Lucifer's intense need to be involved in his life." Cas interrupts. He isn't happy about any of this, but he's not letting Sam field this one with only Lucifer backing him up. It's a recipe for disaster.

Dean stares at him.

"And you were fine with this... Whatever this is? And you didn't tell me?"

"I was and I remain terrified for Sam's well-being, and did not want to break his trust. But as angel, I do understand, on some level. And you shouldn't blame him, Dean. The majority of the scope of true vessel relationships aren't entirely within a vessel's control." Castiel cuts in.

"That's not the point-" Sam answers, and Lucifer talks over him, too.

"Don't you dare insult my love for Sam, Castiel. I only want what is best for him." Lucifer sounds like he would like nothing less then to rip Castiel's wings off. "And besides, you're one to talk, considering how you've treated your vessel."

"I am not casting aspersions on your feelings or whatever attempts you've made at not being a murderous, morally inept dumpster fire, Lucifer. I am merely saying there is a power imbalance and other factors in play considering the nature of the soul and the bond-"

"Cas? Are you saying my brother is being subject to divine mind control?"

"Dean-" Sam starts in again.

"No, I'm saying it's complicated-" Cas vollies back.

"Complicated enough for Sam to throw away everything he believes out the window? For Satan?" Dean's voice grows louder.

"Dean! Listen to me." Everyone quiets when Sam starts yelling. Sam composes himself and keeps going, "I know you're not happy about this. I know it's... hard, and I get that you don't understand. I get it, okay? Lucifer fucking hates people and wants to eradicate them from the face of the earth. And he just waltzes in thinking he can just make things better by justifying everything he does and invading my dreams and making not-well-thought-out promises and killing more and more people only to take it back when it proves inconvenient for his plans. Believe me, I know. He's an exhausting, attention-starved, entitled, trigger-happy son-of-a-bitch who doesn't apologize properly and who doesn't understand healthy boundaries. No offense." Sam adds, turning to Lucifer briefly.

Lucifer keeps his expression neutral. "None taken."

_Although, what promises of mine aren't well thought out?_

**Not now.**

_And how am I entitled? I can't be entitled, Sam. I'm an archangel. Everything belongs to me. It's the natural order of the universe._

**I said not now. Although, we are definitely unpacking that at some point.**

Sam keeps talking. "But he wouldn't be here if he wasn't trying to change... And if he didn't love me. And I'm going to help him, so just... just give him a chance. Please. For me."

"God, Sam. You have it bad."

"Dean-"

"No, Sam. This is going to blow up in your face, just like it did with Ruby and Lilith. Then I'm going to say I told you so and we're going to have to clean up your mess-"

Lucifer interrupts, not taking prisoners. "Oh, that's rich, coming from the one who considered murdering his own brother when he was only using his powers to safely exorcise people. From someone who didn't support him making his own way in the world and getting out of the life, and oh yeah, the one who truly kicked off the Apocalypse but didn't take the rap for it. Real classy."

"Lucifer, that's not-" Sam interjects as he tries to break it up. By now, Adam, Bobby, Jo, and Ellen have made their way out of the room, unnoticed, Adam and Jo taking their plates piled with pancakes with them.

"He needs to hear it-" Lucifer argues.

"Want to say that again, Blondie?" Dean yells in unison. Castiel just waits off to the side, expression stony.

"Did I stutter? Did your pin-sized human brain lose the ability to comprehend words?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. This coming from you? Hello, Satan, I would have never gone to Hell if Lilith didn't drag me down there, all because I sold my soul to save Sam, because he was dead! Dead, because of what Azazel did, because, oh right, Jake killed Sam, and Azazel didn't care, because he wanted his special psychic children to battle it out to the death. So you wanna try again?"

"I own whatever I have done, Dean. I have to live with my failure to protect Sam while imprisoned, and I don't pretend to be something I'm not. I failed him while in captivity. I'm not going to fail to protect him again. But that doesn't change your actions. Face it, Dean. Sam trusts you and believes in you when you don't deserve it."

"Let's say I agree. Newsflash, Satan, then neither do you!"

Both of them break off, Dean breathing heavily, and Lucifer too still.

"Okay, now that you two have gotten that out of your system-" Sam asks, voice flat.

"Don't, Sam. Don't pretend this is okay." Dean argues.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but on that front, I agree." Lucifer adds. "Let's say Sam forgives us both, Dean. For all the things I've inflicted, by proxy or otherwise, and you for all your ghastly, short-sighted attempts to control his life. You know the difference? I never knew better. I have to learn these strange human concepts about life and love from the ground up. Sam's still explaining them to me, and I won't pretend to get it, because I don't. But you. You had a foundation of human morals to uphold as Sam's brother and friend, and you broke that trust and respect. That's worse in my book, Dean. Whatever Sam might think. You're his brother. And you betrayed him."

"And what are you, huh? What are you to him?"

Sam tries to interject, but both Lucifer and Dean aren't listening anymore.

"I am his other half, Dean. Time to face the music."

"You wouldn't be anything if he didn't let you out, if you didn't trick him into letting you out-"

"While I am grateful Sam bought me my freedom, here's a refresher of the cold hard facts you know so well. Sam might have broken the last seal. But at the time, he thought he was stopping Lilith from breaking it. He thought he was stopping the Apocalypse at the cost of his ability to live his life. But you broke that first seal all on your own, without any prompting except for the release from your own pain. Let he without sin cast the first stone. Face it, Dean. Your brother is a better person than you."

"I know! And that's even worse! Because he trusts you. He trusts you too much and you haven't earned it. And Sam doesn't deserve what you're going to put him through, or what you've already put him through! And nothing, not Sam's love, not his trust, none of it... It doesn't change what you are, what you are going to do when all is said and done-"

"Are you so sure? I love Sam, Dean. I've always believed in him. You don't know what makes him trust me. And we both know Sam has always had good intentions. You don't, and you can't say the same. So back off." Lucifer growls.

"You can't make me."

"You want to bet?"

"I am going to protect him from you no matter what it takes-" Dean vows and charges forward.

And Castiel holds Dean back again as he meets Sam's eyes.

"Who says he needs your protection, Dean? What has your protection ever done for him?" Lucifer hisses.

"Who says he needs yours?" Dean bellows.

"The host of Heaven, for one, considering all that they've already done to him. And have you considered maybe I'm protecting him from you-"

"That's it. Lucifer, let's go. We're not getting anywhere like this." Sam says, tone brooking no argument. Sam gets in Lucifer's face, taking up his field of vision.

"Fine by me. You can attempt to get me acclimated to the rest of your less annoying human family unit later, after you've convinced me not to set your brother on fire."

Then Lucifer flies Sam away, expression as furious as a brewing thunderstorm.

\--

Not long after, Dean punches a wall.

Castiel just watches, tired. This was enough of a mess already.

But if he's going to protect Sam, he has to play this safe. Engaging Lucifer where he has an advantage won't help anything at all.

This debacle only proves it.

Dean grows very quiet and his eyes look out the window.

"Cas, he's going to eat my brother alive... And Sam just might let him." Dean chokes out.

Castiel pats him on the back, because there is nothing left to do at the moment.

"Can we follow them?" Dean asks, pacing again.

Castiel shakes his head. "No way to track them. If Lucifer want to stay hidden, he will."

"How do we know he isn't stealing Sam away forever or trying to get him to say yes?"

Cas stares, expression resolute.

"He won't. He wants to win Sam over, Dean. He is trying to prove himself in a way that will bring Sam closer to him. Abduction doesn't support his angle at the moment. Right now, Lucifer think he thinks he's winning."

"How do you know-"

"I can generally tell when other angels lie. Lucifer is good, I'll give him that. He spins things to make himself look better. But he doesn't lie directly to Sam. Or at least, he believes his own lies." Castiel admits. "And Sam is wiser to his game than you give him credit for."

"Then why did he-"

"Let Lucifer say all those things? Because he's trying to figure out the best point of attack, Dean. Sam wants Lucifer to want to cave and choose him just as much as Lucifer wants Sam in all his glory."

Dean sits, a bit broken by that assessment.

But Castiel can't ignore the truth, either. "And if Lucifer is going to steal Sam away against his will... It's going to be when he thinks he's lost and has no other options. We need contingencies for if that happens."

Dean refocuses, staring down Cas like he's seeing him for the first time.

"You have my attention. What were you thinking?" Dean asks.

"We could pay a visit to another Archangel. Lucifer has at least one brother who isn't trying to end the world." Castiel answers, eyes unblinking.

And in that moment, even with his fading grace, Castiel doesn't seem an ounce of human at all.

Ellen and Jo and Bobby and Adam wander in soon after, to try and get a handle on things while Lucifer is away.

\--


	36. Stardust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by IAMX

Lucifer flies them a motel Sam knows well, and Sam wonders if Lucifer just has a room on hold indefinitely for whatever he feels like using it.

When they land and Sam rights his balance, Sam crosses his arms and disengages, his expression far from patient.

"Lucifer, you can't ask me to just go along with this when you can't even exist in the same room as my brother without having a meltdown." Sam decides to start with. Safe enough topic now that they aren't anywhere near Dean.

Lucifer sighs. "He just gets under my skin, Sam. I was trying."

"Try harder." Sam demands as he holds Lucifer's shoulders, face scrunching.

"Okay, okay." Lucifer answers, palms raised. "I get the memo. I was out of line. Message received."

Sam starts pacing.

"I mean, you're an Archangel." Sam adds, throwing his arms in the air. "You're billions of years old. Act like it."

Lucifer grabs Sam when he gets close enough and reels him in with a wink. The icy grace hums between them, frequencies of soul and angel sending tremors from the crest of their heads and shivers down their spines, the skin contact not enough for them to stop themselves from huddling closer.

"But I never act my age, Sam." Lucifer croons before he kisses him, and Sam responds, until Sam swats him off playfully.

"You know what I mean. Be the mature one." Sam huffs as he pouts, then his gaze gets a bit more distant and closed off. "This is hard enough for Dean as it is. And it's hard enough for you and me on our own. We don't need to make this even more of a mess."

"I hear you loud and clear, Sammy." Lucifer mouths into Sam's neck as he kisses him again. Sam leans into the feeling.

"I mean it, Lucifer. No more death threats, or anything remotely similar." Sam's tone is still steely and unconvinced. "Dean has my back when things go bad. You don't have to be so paranoid about him."

"I'm not paranoid, Sam, I'm just being realistic based on how he's treated you." Lucifer snipes back.

"Lucifer, he's not Michael." Sam answers, straightening.

"Maybe not, but Sam-" Lucifer whines, movements jerky as he gesticulates.

Sam intercepts him and holds him close. "No, Lucifer, you need to get this through your head-"

"Sam, you remember what he did to you. You remember how he acted when we got you up to Stanford and all of it. Do you expect me just to trust him, when I know his track record?" Lucifer yells, hands gripping Sam like he can't physically let him go, and then his voice turns pleading, "He hurt you, Sam, he did things to you you never deserved-"

"Same could be said of you on the other end-"

"Sam, I have never laid one hand on you or purposely ever done anything to hurt you-" The pain shines through Lucifer's expression, stricken and heart-wrenching and Sam almost wants to back off but can't quite do it.

"I know, but you have indirectly, and the others don't know you like I do. You need to get a grip." Sam finishes with authority, arms falling to his sides.

"Sam..." Lucifer answers as he tenses up, wings ruffling as he bites his lip.

"Lucifer, I know you have a lot to work through. I know you're still angry, you're still hurting, that all of this is not what you are used to. And I know you want to be there for me and protect me. I know. I understand. But you need to get this through your head: Dean isn't the ticking time bomb you think he is. He's going to come around, and this will all work out. Okay? This isn't your family history repeating itself. Trust me, please." Then Sam's voice grows gentle as he leans closer and strokes Lucifer face, "You might see too much of your brother in mine, but they aren't the same."

Lucifer stiffens at that, but Sam's expression softens, and he kisses him lightly on the mouth, all chaste. "And I know you think you have my best interests at heart, but that doesn't change that Dean is my brother, and he matters to me. And I matter to you, and you matter to me. So try to show some consideration for how this is for him, for my sake. Please." Sam asks.

Lucifer's wings curl around Sam as his hands grip Sam's hips, his mouth ghosting over Sam's again.

"I'll follow your lead, Sam." Lucifer answers, all solemn. Then a muscle tics in his face as he adds, "But if he insults our relationship, I reserve the right to torment him a little."

"Key word being a little. Exercise restraint. No speeches." Sam demands, fingers digging into Lucifer's collarbone.

Lucifer nods, stubble nuzzling the underside of Sam's chin.

"I'll behave." Lucifer promises, blinking slowly. Sam gets a little lost just staring at him, and they both stand there, suspended, still not able to quell the feeling of how close they are. 

They kiss, Sam going in first, both of them going harder and more open and hungrier this time, until Sam disengages from their embrace and pokes Lucifer's chest playfully.

"Good. Otherwise, you won't get your damn reward for good behavior." Sam starts in and starts undressing, pulling his shirt clean over his head.

Lucifer's eyebrows raise as he eyes Sam up and down. His lips almost curling into a smile as he adds, reverent, "Are you trying to bribe the Devil, Sam?"

"Depends. Is it working?" Sam slings back, shoes and socks slipped off and pants discarded to the floor, one bare foot walking out, then the other. Lucifer leans into him as Sam is peel off Lucifer's layers of clothes, throwing his jacket to the floor and sliding that damn t-shirt over his head, fingers sliding up his chest. Lucifer closes his eyes as Sam starts undoing his belt and unzips him, hands cupping the wings of his pelvis with a controlled strength that makes Lucifer want to bring Sam begging on his knees.

And then all contact is broken as Sam steps away and leans back on the bed, legs spread with a cavalier confidence and want that almost brings the Devil himself to shame.

"I'll need to look a little closer. Take your proposal out for a test drive..." Lucifer says as he licks his lips, and then Sam is pulling him down and rolling over on top of him and giving them both some much needed stress relief.

\--

A hour later, they both lay in each others arms under the covers. Sam is out of breath, and Lucifer imitates the humanity of the gesture out of intimacy and for the sake of it.

"If this is what all our lessons are going to start off with, I'd have given you far more time to convince me." Lucifer starts in, rolling on top of Sam to kiss him again, first aiming for Sam's mouth, then creeping lower and lower as he goes.

"You could always," Sam starts, then inhales abruptly as Lucifer spreads Sam's legs wider and kisses the inside of Sam's thighs, and Sam manages to gasp out, "Give our deal an extension," before Lucifer centers himself, tongue licking all the way back to Sam's navel before Lucifer lowers his head again, starts sucking, and keeps going to town. Sam whole body jerks and trembles and his back arches against the bed as Lucifer keeps him under the sway of his tender mercies. Sam whines and weeps and thrusts in synchronicity with each bob and dip of Lucifer's head, all while the Devil's fingers remain tightly coiled around Sam's wrists, holding Sam right where Lucifer wants him.

"Mm. If only I could." When he lets up, Lucifer's voice is breathy and sounds genuinely put out by the limits of his own terms, but war is war, and they don't have that kind of time. He slides back up higher all while his fingers glide over Sam's skin, tracing his ribs and chest and thighs before he crooks his fingers and starts fucking Sam with rougher, more controlled movements. "Such a shame, though. If this is what all our makeup sex is going to end up like, consider me converted. If I didn't keep my promises I'd have to start more fights just to get you alone."

"Shut up, Lucifer." Sam growls as Lucifer cleans them both up. Then Sam diverts Lucifer's arms off him and rolls over on top of him.

"You'll have to make me, with that perfect mouth-"

Sam cuts him off with a sharp, violent kiss, not playing games.

The Devil's legs wrap around Sam's legs and press against his hamstrings as Sam's fingers do some exploring and stroking and pumping of their own, Sam leaving some hickies and bite marks over Lucifer with a vengeance.

That is, until Sam tells Lucifer to ease off, and then Sam turns him around, kisses his chin and the underside of Lucifer's neck where his pulse jumps.

Then Sam painstakingly outlines every single reason Lucifer should try to be a better person and not end the world in against the back of Lucifer's head in vivid detail as he thrusts inside him and makes the Devil groan, only wanting for more as Sam fucks him again and again.

\--  
When they finish Sam's very memorable lesson, they check in with Bobby and Cas, and Sam tells them that no, he has not been kidnapped (yet, Lucifer mouths behind his back with one hand cupped and winks), and then they go for a walk deep in the woods somewhere Sam doesn't recognize. Based on all the pine trees, Sam suspects it's in the northeast somewhere.

"Why do you even want the Apocalypse, anyway?" Sam begins with as he glances around. There's a butterfly resting on a pale flower near a creek, and Sam watches its wings flutter before it flits away.

"I've told you, Sam, humanity deserves it," Lucifer bites a cuticles and spits it on the ground, body still coiled up with too much energy unreleased, "Michael and the rest of Heaven need to pay, and it's God's reparations for locking me up and keeping you away from me-"

"Yes, I know that. Believe me, I know, you've been very, very, very explicit about that. But what about the rest of the Earth? What happens to it if you finally enact whatever evil plan you've been concocting?"

"I'm not going to hurt this planet. Why do you think I hate humans so much? Your species pollutes and abuses and destroys it. Whole species and environments and far more useful creatures and ecological niches are being wiped out every day. It's a travesty."

Sam stops short, both eyebrows raise as his nose scrunches. "Are you seriously telling me half your reason for wiping out humanity is ecoterrorism and population control?" Sam asks slowly.

"I didn't mention that before?" Lucifer sounds puzzled and actually thrown for once.

"No." Sam sighs, then his tone grows colder. "Lucifer, when you weren't asking me to say yes, you've spent every night since you've gotten out giving me a verbal diatribe of all your emotional reasons and justifications for doing what you are doing and kept telling me how you were doing this for us and that resistance is futile because our future is inevitable while trying to convince me to let you fuck me at the same time. You never really got farther with explaining anything else."

"Whoops." Lucifer sounds less than bothered. "I thought my reasons were straightforward, although I'll admit, that is a glaring oversight, I'll be sure to be more... thorough, in the future."

Sam snorts and ignores the implications left unsaid. "At least some things don't change."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lucifer asks as he stretches. Pine needles crunch beneath their feet.

"Lucifer, you were a biochem major with minors in ecology and neuroscience. I don't even know why I didn't see the writing on the wall." Sam answers, tone resigned. "Plus, remember when you set up those debates and fundraiser galas for save-the-whales and save-the-rainforest and save-the-treefrogs and all that? Basically the same thing you're doing now, only with less murder."

"I plead the fifth." Lucifer says a bit too enthusiastic, one hand clutching his chest.

Sam sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't even want to know. Oh, that reminds me. Why were you so interested in stem cells and cloning if you saw the birth of the world and watched humanity being made and all of that?"

"Wanted to keep tabs on the current literature. Plus, I was trying to find a way to maybe keep Jessica's body or make temporary vessels more permanent, but humanity has barely scratched the surface. But at least it always gave me a good laugh for when I got bored."

"Sometimes you worry me, you know that?" Sam replies with a shake of his head.

Lucifer perks up and bumps Sam's hips with his and winks. "Only sometimes?"

Sam grabs his hand and doesn't let go as they keep walking, and Sam keeps deconstructing every argument Lucifer poses and talking the Devil down with even more abandon.

\--

"So what's our plan?" Jo asks.

"Get Gabriel and see if he thinks this has any chance of working." Castiel rumbles, shoulder back.

"Are we just going to ignore what Lucifer's true angle is here?" Ellen cuts in, wringing her hands after washing up the counters from pure nervous energy.

"Which is?" Dean turns to her.

"Look, we have four options here." Bobby starts in, and Dean turns back to Bobby, who paces. "Either it's a trap, and he's lying about everything like a no-good-sonovabitch, and Sam is in deep with the worst murderous psychopathic supernatural piece of evil known to man. Or, he's not, and he's an out of touch angel who never learned to care that murder is wrong and is genuinely trying to be good for Sam because he's in love with him and focused on redemption."

"Fat chance." Dean snorts.

"Don't interrupt, although I am right there with you. Option three, he isn't lying about his feelings, but the Devil falls off the bandwagon because he's not one for resisting temptation, and he has a backup plan to deal with it. Option four: He's genuinely in love with Sam but has no intentions of actually changing and has another plan entirely. That's the worst angle of them all..."

"How's that the worst out of all those options?" Dean queries.

"Because if he's lying and has no feelings, Sam will get over it and probably kill the bastard himself." Bobby gruffly answers with a shrug, then continues, "If he's not lying and actually reforms, we're all good and have an ally to stop the rest of the Apocalypse. If he falls off the bandwagon and regrets it, he might try again or Sam might be able to strike another deal with him. But you ever seen what people do for love, boy? If Lucifer really does want Sam as he is, and if he loves him as much as Sam does, then we're well and truly fucked up a creek without a paddle. Because even if Sam says no until the end of time, Lucifer is going to stop at nothing to keep him, even if he has to entirely change his plans for the Apocalypse around to accommodate. If he thinks he loves Sam as much as he says, then Sam is his priority. And if he can't get Sam to side with him, it's going to get ugly, and he'll do anything to get Sam reliant only on him, which makes us the prime targets on the chopping block."

"Wouldn't we be safer? Comparatively, I mean? He's already killed us, and if he wants to stay in Sam's good graces, then he'd want to keep us alive, even if he imprisons us... Otherwise, why would he bother to raise us from the dead?" Ellen asks.

"Not if he thinks we're a threat to Sam, although you're right. He might not kill us. He might just keep us imprisoned and threaten to torture us or worse forever so Sam can't leave him. I doubt he has qualms killing people more than once. Either way, if he's as far gone as I think he is, Lucifer will burn the whole place down just for Sam's sake, or what he'll say is for Sam's sake, Heaven and Hell included. And I think we've all dated enough crazy to know the tip of that iceberg, when people love someone to the point where it ain't quite love at all."

"Thanks, Bobby, I feel so much safer now." Dean grunts.

"Bobby makes a valid point. There's no safe with the Devil, Dean." Cas corrects. "And his Achilles' Heel was always love to begin with. That's why he fell. The idea is more feasible than you think."

"So, what you're saying is, we're screwed?" Adam interrupts, perched uneasily on his stool like he could fall of any moment.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Cas answers primly.

"Hey, guys, we're back-" Sam calls from the door.

Everybody looks back and hurriedly hides their plans as discreetly as possible.

Lucifer notices, but just clasps his hands behind his back and does nothing as he follows Sam into the room while Sam starts making lunch and asking people what they would like.

"That reminds me," Bobby starts in. "How are you even able to get in here?"

Lucifer tilts his head, and then turns back and points to the door. 

"I don't care that you're the Devil, don't get smart with me. I meant how did you here in the first place. Do we have to worry about Michael crashing my house, too?"

"Oh, your wards and sigils are more than solid. Beautiful work, actually. Cas certainly taught you well." Lucifer compliments as he pretends to be surprised at human competence, and then taps his mouth. "I just... added some extra ones the last time I was here. Specific to me, no one else."

Everyone freezes, even Sam, who looks back at Lucifer from making lunch, surprised but not enough and more suspicious. Lucifer raises his palms at him and shrugs, like, _what else were you expecting._

Any calm Dean managed to regain is immediately broken, his voice frantic as he glances at Bobby and Ellen and then back to Lucifer. "What do you mean, the last time-"

"No need to give yourselves a heart attack. I was spying on you and knew his location anyway. Not a big deal. More like a necessity, considering how everyone targets Sam so often." Lucifer ignores him and keeps going, turning to Bobby, "Which reminds me, I'm going to have to drink up some demons to stop this body from degrading more, soooo.... Should I go outside? Do you have a designated spot? Don't want to intrude on your hospitality or get your floors all... scuffed."

"We've got a room, although since we'd prefer to keep an eye on you, here is fine, provided Sam isn't near the stuff." Bobby manages to keep his voice level, although he's far from nonchalant and his eyes are still wide. "But first, if you could answer Dean's question thoroughly, seeing as I'm mighty interested in your answer as well."

Lucifer shrugs again, all matter of fact. "I check up on Sam sometimes. I'd prefer to do it when he isn't asleep, but usually he is less than thrilled. Much easier just to stop by when he already thought he was asleep or was otherwise indisposed and couldn't do anything about it."

Everyone looks at Sam, who looks at Lucifer like he both wants to kill him and is completely and totally mortified. There's also a slight blush there, and Dean is more than suspicious.

"Sam, you said Lucifer can find you when you die. Did you die in Bobby's house and somehow not tell anyone about it?"

"No." Sam says quietly after a pause, washing his hands to distract himself.

"Well, then did you invite the Devil over and forget to mention it-" Dean's voice gets rougher.

"No. Hell, no. It wasn't like that-"

"Which made my nights so long and broke my heart, Sammy-" Lucifer mimes being stabbed in the chest and dying, then starts making another circle to summon a demon that counteracts the wards to stop that kind of activity. Ellen, Jo, and Adam take that as their cue to exit the room.

"Then why didn't you tell us Lucifer had been here before-" Dean demands at the same time, still staring at Sam.

Sam looks at his hands, but holds his ground. "What were we going to do about it? We had no sigils to stop him, believe me, I checked more than once, and I didn't know he added anything to the wards. I was kind of distracted."

"Distracted that he showed up?"

Sam nods.

"Among other things." Lucifer mutters under his breath, but Sam shoots him a dirty look and everyone else ignores him.

"And why didn't you mention that after it happened?" Dean's tone is a dangerously low grumble.

"Uh, boys-" Bobby starts in, but he's ignored.

"You would have taken me out of the game and locked me up somewhere, Dean, don't pretend otherwise, which would have meant he would have just shown up and abducted me. I know, because he described his whole backup plan in detail." Sam's face scrunches in distaste.

"And you were okay with that?"

"No! But it's not like he's been reasonable this entire time, kind of par for the course since Lucifer has no sense of restraint."

"True." Lucifer hums absently. Only Bobby pays him any mind.

"And how was I supposed to bring it up?" Sam continues and sounds a little more higher pitched than usual. "Oh, by the way, Dean, Lucifer was here and can find me almost any time he damn pleases provided-"

Sam's brain finally catches up with his mouth, which he covers up with his hands. He is definitely is blushing now and doesn't say anything.

"Provided what?"

"Doesn't matter." Sam murmurs.

"Sam-" Dean warns.

"I said it doesn't matter-" Sam is furiously throwing his lunch together now with hasty and uncontrolled movements.

"Sure sounds like it matters, Sam-" Dean almost gets in Sam's space, but Lucifer holds up a hand.

"Leave him be." Lucifer warns, and there's a note in his voice that makes everyone shut up and freeze in their tracks.

Sam fidgets.

Lucifer summons a demon and goes to drink, but by now everyone's not distracted by Sam but by the demon who has been silenced and whose throat is about to be cut.

"Sam, don't look at me like that," Lucifer sighs, noting his expression, "The demon already burnt them out. All I'm doing is taking out the trash. No human murder is occurring in your childhood home, pinky promise."

"Oh, no, you aren't doing that here-" Dean interjects.

Bobby is more incensed.

"What did I just say?" Bobby fumes.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and arches his eyebrows as he answers, "Sam will be fine, trust me. I wouldn't do that to him. Besides, that ship has sailed a long time ago."

Sam doesn't look at anyone still, particularly when Dean, Bobby, and Cas all stare him down. Cas looks... More than concerned in comparison, all the gears in his head turning as he puts two and two together.

"Oh, really? Because he sure as Hell wasn't okay the last time, when Famine..." Dean bellows now, more forcefully, but then something dawns on him and he trails off. "Wait a second. Sam, how are you not over that? Lucifer's the one who released him, and we had to lock you up and everything afterward."

"Um." Sam can't quite come to his own defense and he loses his nerve.

"Funny story, that." Lucifer hums too lightly as he drinks, blood staining his palms. "Seeing as that's the night Sam slipped up."

Sam only glares at Lucifer. "You said-"

"I said no such thing-" Lucifer goes to suck out more blood, but pauses when Dean turns to look at him and Sam again.

"Sam, what is he talking about?" Dean demands. Sam sighs.

"Lucifer can find me whenever I drink demon blood."

"And you... didn't think to mention that?" Dean's voice chokes off.

"Well, I wasn't planning on drinking any." Sam hisses.

"What if I demon forced you to?" Dean demands, winding up again. Sam looks distinctly uneasy and nauseous at the idea, the premise dredging some things up.

Lucifer's tone is acid as he finishes the demon off, sucking the blood off his fingers before he waves all the evidence of blood and the demon and the summoning sigils away. "If they listened to me, they wouldn't, although I admit they've been really bad at the whole, 'don't touch or harm Sam in any way, shape or form' order, so I guess that's a valid concern, except for the fact then I'd show up and kill them myself immediately after, so it wouldn't have ended too badly." Lucifer tries to be reassuring.

"Wait. You send Famine after us-"

"Not after you. Sam wasn't paying attention to me, and you were glued to his side, and it was Valentine's Day, so I took initiative to get us alone. Sam did all the rest of the legwork himself."

"So you magically influenced Sam to lose control and had Famine send demons after him-"

"I had nothing to do with those two demons, Famine forgot his place. They showed up, Sam drank, then I showed up. We shared some quality time once I assured him I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and then I dropped him off to save the day. It was a long time overdue, and then I rescheduled our date after Sam blew me off. Everyone got what they wanted. I got Sam, you and Castiel didn't die and got your Horseman bling for all your troubles, and Sam got my Valentine's Day gift and got to kill a rampant force of evil. So you can stop looking at me like I'm dirt on the bottom of your shoe who took advantage of your baby brother who is an adult, might I remind you. He has needs."

"Sam was craving blood, not your company-" Dean slings back, but he stalls at Lucifer's too-slick expression and Sam's very, very red face.

"You so sure about that?" Lucifer's tone is too innocent and Sam actually sits down, head in his hands, this time. 

"Lucifer-" He chokes out, but Lucifer pats his shoulder. Bobby grabs a beer from the fridge and starts drinking.

"He needs to get used to the idea, Sam. We can't dance around it forever."

Sam laughs hysterically a little as Dean starts in again.

"Yeah, like I'm going to be so okay with this. You got Sam high and manipulated him, and then just left Sam to ride out the aftershocks. Sam, how can you-" He stops at Sam's expression, not looking shamed or upset, just embarrassed and more than miffed. Dean turns back when Lucifer's voice cuts through the silence like a knife.

"Dean, about that. I'm not Ruby. I sobered Sam up before we hung out. Trade secret." Lucifer vows, and Castiel looks distinctly too knowing about what remains unsaid there as Lucifer continues, "Consent, and all that jazz." Lucifer holds up a hand. "Scout's honor as an angel."

"Then why was he freaking out and in pain, screaming for help-" Dean answers, stance combative.

"When you three left him all alone in a basement to detox, because that's not unnecessarily cruel? Are you so sure that was him?" Lucifer's tone is a bit too dry, and he draws himself up to his full height, his expression is less than kind. "You think I'd let you do that to him again?"

Dean looks back at Sam, who looks ready to tackle the Devil.

Sam hisses, "Lucifer, I am going to kill you."

"Somehow, I remain doubtful." Lucifer smiles, wraps his wings around him, and kisses his cheek. Sam isn't quick enough to stop him.

"Sam, while we're on the subject, what else am I missing here?" Dean cuts in.

Lucifer winks, "Best to get it all out at once, out of your system-"

"Shut up, Satan."

Sam clears his throat to shut them both up and scuffs his feet. "Lucifermayhavekindofabductedmeagainforadate." He says in one breath, barely intelligible.

"You wanna say that again, slower-"

"Lucifer and I had a thing. On Valentine's Day. Like a date." Sam is still looking at the floor, and Castiel is still staring at him, silent. Bobby just stands there, hands at his sides, and then grabs another beer from the fridge and swigs that one until it's dry, too.

Dean's brain malfunctions.

"Sam, you were... That... That early?" He manages to stammer, shock still overriding every other emotion he might feel. Bobby hands him a beer as well.

Sam nods while Lucifer hangs off his shoulder, beaming.

And then Dean is suddenly very intent and vehemently tearing into both of them for answers, "Is that why you trusted him with this whole deal?"

Sam nods again. "Partially."

"You said again, Sam. What did you mean by again?" Cas finally manages to interject, tapping his foot while he glances at Sam, who goes even more still, lunch forgotten.

"Sam, if you could answer Cas' question." Dean manages through gritted teeth, the anger finally showing it's face.

"He's found me other times outside my control." Sam admits, looking out the window. Lucifer rubs his back and it takes all of Dean's willpower not to punch him.

"What about the week where there were no infernal signs? That one of those times?" Bobby finally says from the other side of the room.

Sam hugs himself. Lucifer tilts his head, ruffles Sam's hair, and eyes them all with actual solemnity.

"Sam got jumped by some hunters. They shoved demon blood down his throat after threatening to kill Sam's fellow bartender, some girl." Lucifer's tone is a bit too dispassionate. "So I showed up and finally found Sam, after Sam kept avoiding me, sent the girl on home, killed the hunters for their assault on Sam, and then took care of Sam while he was under the influence. Not like Sam had any of you to help him."

"Reggie, Tim, and Steve wouldn't do that." Bobby argues.

"Oh, but they did." Lucifer hisses, expression feral again. "Well, two of them did. One of them died attacking some demon and they blamed Sam for it."

"So after Sam tried his best to hide from you, you waltzed on in and made him your prisoner?"

"It's not like he was in his right mind to be left alone. And he wasn't my prisoner, Dean. He was very high and very lonely and very vulnerable otherwise. I was just making sure he recovered."

"Couldn't sober him up immediately as an Archangel?"

"Sam wasn't on board at the time. Had to trust me a bit more first. So we just waited it out slowly, and then when he was sober I just... Didn't leave." Lucifer answers and shrugs again.

Dean looks back at Sam and bites his lip, eyebrows scrunched.

"Wait. Wait just one freakin' minute. Sam. You said you were with someone. On the phone. When we asked you to keep your head down. You said... Oh, God. You were with him, weren't you?"

"Dean..." Sam can't quite say anything else and hides his face in his arms.

Lucifer face twists into something as he mutters, "Dad wasn't really a topic of conversation, kinda ruins it..."

"You were. This entire... Holy... Sam how did you think this was okay? How could you hide this?"

"I... I wasn't really dealing with it, honestly." Sam mumbles. "I wasn't even sure how to process it, never mind talk about it."

"He really wasn't." Lucifer assures. "I had to deal with so much denial, you don't even know. Don't look at him like that! He figured keeping me occupied at least meant no one else was dying, so he wasn't actively trying to betray you. And what else was he going to do, say no?"

Only then the words catch up with him, and everyone freezes. Lucifer looks at Sam, whose fists are clenched and mouth set as Lucifer puts on a hand on his shoulder, which Sam catches and pushes away.

_Sorry._

**Not now.**

Dean almost answers that but then thinks better of it, face promising retribution, as he grits out, "This is all your fault."

"Guilty as charged." Lucifer replies, nonchalant.

But when Lucifer starts muffling his laughter, Sam instead glares at him, tone full of promise, "I am making you pay for this later."

"Looking forward to it." Lucifer replies, eyes shining. Lucifer tries to kiss Sam again, and Sam smacks his shoulder, but then Lucifer hugs him closer and goes in to kiss him again.

Lucifer walks away when Sam shoves him off, standing closer to Castiel.

Bobby turns to Sam, voice low. "Sam, how in the Hell..." Then he and Sam starts talking so low no one else can hear them over Lucifer and Dean's raised voices, which argue about some things Sam pretends he isn't listening to about Lucifer taking advantage, with that being the most flattering and least-curse ridden descriptor. Lucifer takes it in stride.

"You... You..." Dean is incoherent again as he just stares the Devil down, looking like he'd much rather break his glass of beer and stab him with it. "Sam, how can you want him? He's stalked you and wants to wear you like you're an angel condom! He's the one who sent demons to make you drink the blood in the first place!"

"Dean-" Sam sighs, palming his forehead, but Dean's not done.

"No, Sam! How are you okay with kissing him or fucking him or anything? How... How do you not feel used and disgusted or find him in any way dating material...? I mean, his face is starting to burn off, for crying out loud!"

Sam goes to counter him, judgmental, but Lucifer beats him to it.

"First, rude, and maybe not the best thing to point out considering how much hassle it took to get this body. Second, I never make Sam do anything, it's his choice, although I might influence things so I can get him in the same room. And if we're going with your earlier comparison, Sam had to drink the blood to get ready for me, for safety reasons, because he is only human, even if he God did make us, what's the word, uh, soulmates? You can think of the blood as kind of like lube-"

"Lucifer, don't you dare-" Sam chokes and dashes over to try and cover his mouth, but he doesn't get there in time.

Lucifer finishes the sentence anyway, voice a deeper rumble as he keeps grinning, eyes alight. "-And he has to take so much of me in, so it helps to have something to ease inside while I fill up _every_ inch of him."

Dean actually vaults forward past the chair and punches the Devil clean in the face this time strong enough to break his hand, and then he breaks the beer glass on the counter and tries to stab him with it (which fails), for once his face lacking in fear and instead replaced by a combination of horror, righteous and protective brotherly anger, all topped off with complete and utter mortification.

Sam lets him, face burning, his head falling into his hands. "Dean, I'm sorry-"

"I'm not." Lucifer interrupts a little too giddily.

"Lucifer-" Sam mutters, still not looking at anyone.

"I made a tactical decision, Sam. He was being rude, asking about our sex life, implying things with less than glowing connotations when he should just kiss that constipated face of ye old angelic accountant over there already and stop taking his dating woes out on us. Talk about a lack of boundaries. Now maybe he'll be scarred forever and refrain from sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

When Sam looks up, Dean fist still shaking and his face looking a bit green. Cas heals his hand, not looking at Lucifer, either.

"Lucifer, I love you," Sam groans, "But sometimes you make it really hard for me not to want to stab you."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find a way to make it up to you-" Lucifer sings and winks. "Besides, it's not like you'll kick me out."

Sam punches his arm, a vein pulsing in his jaw. Lucifer barely feels it.

"Bobby might." Sam mutters, and then his voice raises again, "Lucifer, I swear, on all that is holy and otherwise, if you say one more word-"

"Okay, Sam, I'll zip it. Silent as the grave." And Lucifer mimes zipping his lips and finally shuts up.

Sam just looks at Dean, still beat red, and then shuffles his feet and looks down again. "You... You might just want to take a walk, Dean." Sam manages to say.

Dean's body slumps as he walks away.

Cas eyes Lucifer and says in Enochian, "We'll be talking, later." And then he looks at Sam and shakes his head.

Sam points Lucifer towards the door in exile at his behavior.

**I expect you to make up for all of that.**

_Anything for you, Sam._

Then Sam sighs and stops Bobby on his way out.

"We need to talk." Sam admits shakily.

\--

"So what are the odds that went badly?" Jo asks with a sigh.

"I bet it's worse than we thought." Ellen answers as the sound of raised voices they can actually make out now. Then she looks over to the window where Adam is sitting again. "Adam, you seem kind of out of it, still. Have you been able to sleep?"

"Yeah. Readjusting is hard... And I'm just thinking..." He pauses. "Do you think any of them are going to be okay? Any of us?"

They all look at each other, uncertain.

Dean stomps past them, Cas in tow, although Cas stops and joins the group to help all of them while pouring over the news, radios, lore, and everything to keep countering the rest of the Apocalypse that hasn't stalled. Lucifer, strangely enough, joins them as well without Sam, which throws everyone off, but he's actually more than helpful since he's been tracking everything Michael's been doing and coordinating his own movements in response, so he knows where his forces are and where Michael's are and how many casualties have been hitting both sides.

That, and no one wants to be the one to tell the Devil to get lost.

\--

"Bobby, I don't mean to keep secrets..." Sam starts, uncertain, as they sit next to each other. Sam sips a beer of his own. Bobby's on his fifth. "I'm just..."

"I get it. Say what you need, Sam. We're long past, well..."

"Yeah. I know. But Bobby," Sam's tone sings with intensity, "You can't tell anyone. You understand? Anyone. I mean it." And then Sam's voice breaks, "Please. I can't..."

"If that's what it takes to get some answers, Sam. I'll pay that price. Now what's going on? What the Devil has you head over heels with the Devil?"

Sam rubs a hand over his face, then looks down at his palms.

"Bobby, I don't know how, but I know it's true, and... Lucifer was Jess. He was Jess the whole time I knew her."

And Sam tells everything he knows and that he can to Bobby, because he's tired, so damn tired, and he needs to talk about it to someone who is human, who knows Sam, and has let Sam down the least.

\--

Bobby joins the team ten minutes later, Sam following in tow. Everyone decides to stay on decidedly neutral subjects when not tackling the best way to counter Heaven trying to nuke the earth on it's own.

\--

After Sam and Lucifer go off wherever they are spending their time, Bobby sighs, wipes the sweat from his brow, and huddles up the rest of the team plus Dean once Cas goes to get him.

"So it's worse than we thought. And it looks like option four is the unlucky winner here." Bobby says in hushed tones. "Both Lucifer and Sam have feelings and Lucifer has gone farther than we thought he did to get himself situated in Sam's life."

"How do you know for sure?" Ellen asks.

"Trust me. I know." Bobby says with finality. Sam might have sworn Bobby to secrecy when he fessed up to everything, but that doesn't mean Bobby can't use that knowledge to his best ability to help.

Cas has an inkling, and asks, "Did Sam tell you why he's so... invested?"

"Yep. And he isn't going to tell anyone. Don't ask, or he might know I hinted at something, and then he probably won't tell me anything. But I can tell you he's not going to be okay with us icing Lucifer if we have to."

"Bobby, I have to know, is it mind control-" Dean asks, insistent.

"No. It's actual, real feelings. And Sam has them for reasons that actually make sense, more than I would like to admit, but it also makes this entire situation worse. So just get on board with how we're gonna stop Lucifer from blindsiding him. You hear me?"

\--

Lucifer and Sam end up going to a highly populated area to teach Lucifer more reasons he shouldn't kill everyone and to try and get him re-acclimated to large groups of people without immediately feeling the need to level the street. That, and it's punishment for his earlier behavior. After two hours, they hit up an abandoned farmstead Lucifer knows to work out more personal issues, seeing as today could've gone much better, all things considered.

Sam decides to broach the subject of families, afterwards, because he knows Lucifer is only being more difficult lately because he's not dealing with this arrangement as well as he would like. 

Sam knows that. It's why he put up with all the bullshit earlier. Figures it's best to catch Lucifer when he's less on edge and more agreeable, although the latter descriptor isn't entirely apt.

He's always like that when it's just him and Sam, though.

They fly back to Bobby's at 6:30 pm. Sam goes to help Bobby make food, asking Ellen and Jo and Adam what they would like, while Lucifer, oddly enough, keeps more distance than he otherwise would. Distance here being ten feet instead of two.

"Sam mentioned you liked pie." Lucifer greets Dean on the way back. "He picked it out, since we all know your opinion of me."

Dean takes the pie with a glaring, obstinate fury. "This doesn't change anything."

Lucifer shrugs. "Maybe not. But Sam loves you. So for his sake, I'll make nice. I'd appreciate you doing the same."

And then Lucifer wanders off to bask in Sam's radius again.

They all play poker after they eat.

Cas and Sam actually conspire to beat Lucifer, and miraculously, they do.

\--

As everyone is wrapping up and going to their rooms, Sam catches Dean alone as they pass between the bathroom.

Lucifer is waiting in Sam's room, antsy, but doesn't follow Sam everywhere. Sam won't let him.

"Look, Dean... Just, just talk to me. Please." Sam begs as he catches his shoulder.

"What is there to talk about, Sam?" Dean answers, voice flat. "You're in love with the Devil and trying to reform him. Not much I can say."

"You know he only doesn't like you because he's scared, right?" Sam says, too gentle. "All his brothers gave up on him, and he never got over it. But you haven't given up yet. It scares him because he thinks you're either going to fall off the bandwagon and back Michael, or you won't, and he's worried that means I'll give up on him." Sam says quietly.

"See, Sam, how do you know that? How do you know anything that you know about this guy isn't fake?" Dean pleads, voice growing higher at the exhaustion.

"Because it isn't, Dean. For better or worse... We understand each other. And I love him. And I have to believe I can help him." Sam says, determined and eyes beaming.

"Sam-" Dean's voice breaks, too much emotion there. He's been trying to protect him, and he's been running on empty, and Sam's the only one screaming they need to find another way this whole damn time, and now his other way is suspect because turns out, he loves one of the people propagating the apocalypse and Dean didn't know this whole time.

"Dean. Please. I can't do this alone. I will, if I have to, but it will make it so much harder, and our lives are hard enough." Sam begs, although his voice is pure steel.

Dean lowers his gaze, then hugs his brother. "I'll try. But you better take precautions, Sam. I don't trust him."

Sam closes his eyes and exhales. "I know."

And then they part. And Sam heads back to his room, back into the Devil's waiting arms.

Dean watches him as the door opens, sees his glance over for a second before his eyes rivet back to Sam.

Sam closes the door behind him.

And Dean is shut out of whatever this is going to be.

Later that night, Castiel finds Dean outside, working on Baby. He sits in companionable silence as Dean shines up the car and absently does some touch-ups to clear his head.


	37. Ghosts of Utopia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by iamx
> 
> also if I could do anything differently I'd have made grace all italicized and been more specific with who is talking, but I ain't altering anything now

"So you just invited him over?" Dean keeps up the hushed whisper outside on Bobby's porch, no one quite sure where Lucifer and Sam went off to or when they'd be back.

"We need a cover to meet with him, Dean. Otherwise, this isn't going to work. Besides, as distasteful as the Archangel is, he knows Lucifer, and that might help him slip up and reveal more than he otherwise would." Cas assures.

"Do we know when he'll be here?" Dean frets, hands clenching the rag in his hand harder.

"I told him 4 pm or else." Castiel's blue eyes glitter with promise.

"And he went for that?"

"He did." Cas's voice rumbles, almost sardonic but not quite. "He found my delivery funny. I think he understands the gravity of this situation. And I know the whole Apocalypse business scares him, more than he would ever admit."

"Well, I trust you."

Cas smiles, although it's almost watery and too-insubstantial, which is not the norm, even when Cas feels beaten. "I wish I had the same certainty you did, Dean. I'm not sure how I am supposed to protect your brother. Not from this."

\--

Inside, Sam pours over the data they have about Michael's movements with Lucifer and Adam. Jo, Ellen, and Bobby are out on a case to let off some steam and cabin fever, with everything that's been happening so fast. Sam thinks that since it's been three weeks now, the shock about the Devil's whole deal is giving way to more acute unease and fear, since Lucifer isn't exactly easy to live with when he's not your biggest fan. And with Michael hanging over his head, he's not that easy to live with when he is your biggest fan, and even Sam admits it.

And Sam's been trying to reach out to Adam more, when he can. Adam isn't exactly on board with any of this, but he's scared stiff of Michael from Zachariah and he's terrified of Lucifer and he's just not that close to anyone else except maybe Jo, and Sam never really got to be a big brother to him. He wants to prove that he can get this to work, because he knows the alternative isn't really an option. 

But hey, at least they all are on the same page when it comes to Michael. That's the other thing that's got them all on edge. Heaven's been busy, with some mass disappearances, some odd signs, weird storms no one can explain... But it's been oddly quiet, and it's the kind of quiet before the storm hits.

Speaking of which, Lucifer's whole arrangement with his demons and Death has been absent from all discussions, mostly because of the baggage it carries around Ellen and Jo, but Sam knows he has to bring it up eventually. Lucifer might be laying low and taking a break from his plans for humanity's mass extinction, but Sam knows he'll do anything to keep his advantage over Michael's forces. The question is how he's doing that right now if he isn't converting souls and isn't making direct moves.

Luckily, Sam knows how to press his advantage to learn that information, and Lucifer has been less-than-stingy about revealing some details or slipping up, possibly because Sam's been closer and taking more of an interest. That, and the whole soul-vessel-bond thing and the angel blood and Sam's powers. Lucifer's been far more willing to volunteer information there, and since Sam's been practicing and indulging him a bit more, he's also been able to dig for more information there, even if Sam knows Lucifer's holding back on explaining everything.

He does get very distracted by Sam showing off, though, and it makes him clumsier than he otherwise would be. Not that that's saying much, because Lucifer on a mission doesn't really leave loose ends, but it gives Sam an advantage he otherwise wouldn't be able to capitalize on.

The only issue there is Sam has to keep hiding things, although he's pretty sure his hints to Cas have gotten through. He only hopes that is enough to keep everyone prepared and on their toes, because it's a badly kept secret Dean, Cas, Bobby, Jo, Ellen, and Adam are all planning something around Lucifer, and both Sam and Lucifer know it.

As long as it doesn't set him off or ruin the deal, Sam's on board. Anything that can help them stop the Devil from falling off the rails or going back to whatever desperate pining actions fueled his murderous rampages in the first place.

And Sam knows Lucifer's trying to win him over, too, trying to tip him over whatever compromise he can. But he knows he can't do that without compromising his own position, and he needs this deal as much as Sam, right now.

They missed this.

And now that Sam has something to fight for, has a way to fix everything he can, can build his future again-

Sam can't let it slip through his fingers again.

He's lost too much already.

And Sam hopes Lucifer can see that. That Sam wants him back, would keep him, would say yes if it didn't mean the end of the world. The end of humanity.

The end of everything Sam's tried to protect.

\--

By four on the dot, the doorbell rings.

Dean answers the door.

"Cas said you might drop in." Dean says, roughly. On the door handle, his fingers aren't steady.

Through the doorway, Sam sees the familiar face of someone he has more than lukewarm feelings about on a good day and less-than-stellar flashbacks about on a bad day.

All of Dean's deaths play on repeat, Heat of the Moment playing on repeat, and Sam tastes nothing.

Then Sam takes a breath, and steadies himself, the weight of Lucifer leaning into him. Grounding him.

Lucifer hasn't let go of him, not once. Sam his anchor as much as Sam is his.

He's stone. Immobile. But Sam can feel his wings tighten around him from the strain, smothering, possessive, resisting every urge to fan out and blind his brother from the hurt, the hurt Sam knows Lucifer still feels.

There's a reason he's angry, sees himself as betrayed. Thought his family betrayed him first.

It's everything Sam's been trying to keep contained. Helping Lucifer through, one day at a time, if it means he'll choose happiness and peace and not the violent, bloody silence he's convinced is the only way.

"Gabriel." Lucifer starts, a bit too calm and still. He holds on to Sam like a lifeline, like he'll slip through his fingers if he's not touching him. His grip almost bruises Sam's wrists, but doesn't.

He can't break the one person who still loves him. Who took him back. Who he needs to see things his way.

Sam doesn't deserve to pay for the failures of others.

Gabriel eyes him from the doorway. "Heard the rumors you were living it up with the Winchesters. Didn't believe it at first until I heard it from the horse's mouth..."

"What are you really doing here, little brother?" Lucifer asks, and his voice is no longer controlled. It quakes, a low-tone growl, and it's bitter, and suspicious. Lucifer's eyes narrow, and his vessel's lips thin. There's no mirth now. Only jagged wariness, and mistrust.

"I'm not entirely sure." Gabriel admits, shifting on his feet. Almost stepping back, but not. Like he's terrified, because he is. "But I was invited over for dinner."

He steps into the threshold of Bobby's doorway. No one stops him.

Lucifer pulls Sam closer to him and backs away a little, then glares at everyone.

"Why is he here?" He demands, voice louder, rougher.

Dean's the one who answers. "Thought that since you met Sam's family, it's only fair we got to know yours better."

Lucifer's expression closes off, and he says, curtly, reigning his composure in. "Not the best call." Then he turns back to Sam, "Sam, do you want him here?"

Sam takes a moment to inhale and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm not a big fan of Gabriel, but this might help you, and as long as he behaves... It's not like I can criticize them for doing this, Lucifer. I mean, I brought you back with me. So let's just see how this goes? That okay?"

"Fine. If you think it best." Lucifer's voice still sings with an undercurrent of off-note unease, and it sounds like a threat, but he turns back to his younger brother. "It's been a long time, little brother."

Gabriel wrings his hands as if he doesn't realize he's doing it. "You can say that again, Luci."

Lucifer actually flinches and his pupils are thin as he looks his brother, his spine still hunched over Sam like if he's not holding on to him at every point of contact Sam would disappear like smoke.

\--

Sam asks if he can trust Lucifer to be okay if he takes a breather.

Lucifer lets go and says nothing. Just nods. Takes a step back as Sam takes one step, then rushes to the hallway by the bathroom, pulling Dean and Cas along with him.

"Excuse us." Sam calls back over his shoulder. Not sure why his cracked voice bothers, or who he's addressing. Adam, maybe.

Although he looks oddly unbothered.

So he knew this was happening. Of course he knew this was happening. That's probably why Ellen and Jo and Bobby left, although why they left Adam here, Sam doesn't know.

If this is the extent of Dean and Castiel's and their plan...

Sam's not sure if he should be leaving Lucifer unsupervised.

But if there's any indication that he can exert some level of self control and not break Bobby's house...

Sam can't run interference 24/7. And he had to get Dean away for Gabriel, even if it's just three minutes. He's grateful Bobby is out of there too, remembers all too well the stake and everything and not being able to get Dean back-

But Lucifer promised he wouldn't let Gabriel go nuclear, just as he promised Sam he wouldn't go nuclear himself.

It will be fine.

Sam still wishes he could've pulled Adam into the hallway, too.

God, when did this become Sam's life.

Then Sam looks at Dean and Cas, rubbing his face, running his hands through his hair, shifting from foot to foot.

"Guys, maybe next time, you could _tell_ me when you're inviting Lucifer's folks over. You know. As a courtesy." Sam manages to say.

Dean had the grace to look down, but doesn't look apologetic, just uncomfortable.

Cas stares at Sam and pats his shoulder.

"We would have." Cas tries. "We couldn't risk Lucifer getting any idea of the involvement. We needed a way to see if he's..."

"In control?" Sam supplies.

Cas nods.

"Yes. We also didn't want to chance anyone else finding out, in case it would endanger everyone. But we will try to keep you informed, in the future." Cas assures.

 _Sam. Seeing as you are no longer emotionally about to freak out... If you could please, please come back now. I would appreciate it_.

 **On my way**.

Sam walks back to the kitchen.

Dean and Cas follow, and sit next to Adam when they get back.

Dean doesn't stop palming the angel blade once. Force of habit, even if it's useless. He makes sure there's still holy oil hidden in the flask Sam undoubtedly thought was full of Jack Daniel's.

Precautions. Always be prepared.

If Dad could see them now...

\--

By the time Sam and Dean and Cas have come back in, Gabriel and Lucifer are still eyeing each other across the room. Not getting closer, or further.

Studying each other. All silent communication, years of silence and loss and unresolved anger and abandonment between them.

Two stars in a nexus, crackling with power that floods the room.

Gabriel shuffles forward and sticks out a hand.

"Truce?" He asks with a quirk of his lip.

Lucifer takes his hand and then envelopes him in a hug.

"This doesn't make us even." Lucifer hisses, hugging him tighter.

Gabriel looks all Archangel for a second, all terrified, lost younger brother, and then he rolls his eyes, makes a face at Cas, and unfurls his wings, hugging Lucifer back.

"You really need to learn to relax, Luci." Gabriel suggests.

"Sam is a great help there." Lucifer answers, but deep down, there's still danger welling. Warning: don't talk about family. Don't talk about the past.

Gabriel notices the way Lucifer's voice doesn't shake. The careful modulation of it all. 

Feels the energy, restless and lashing out and wanting to burn everything down despite the fact he's reigning it in.

"I can see that." Gabe almost quips, but then decides better on it. That would just be a reminder.

And it's not like he isn't scared to death. He knows how set on the end of days his brother's have been. And heck, he'd just wanted it over.

But now Lucifer, of all people, might just back down, because if anything he's always been a sap for people who loved him, possessive and obsessive in the extreme, and Gabriel wonders just how Sam got this far. Gabriel didn't even think making this deal was possible. He's not sure, even, his brother knows what he is doing.

Scratch that. He knows Lucifer doesn't know what he's doing.

Because if he did, he would've just taken what he wanted already, and torn Gabriel to pieces.

Gabriel can see feel how angry he is. All the grace bubbling beneath the surface. The accusations.

You left, you destroyed- Gabriel wants to argue, but doesn't. The echoes still whisper, there, unconstrained. Lucifer notes them.

Just as he knows what Lucifer would say.

_You said nothing, when God cast me out. You didn't look at me when I walked the Earth. You let me rot in Hell. You would see Michael try to kill me, or me him, and you can't say a word about it-_

Because I know stopping my two older brothers would've done jack shit.

_True. But you could've looked for me. Could've said something. Could've sought me out._

**_I left. I didn't back them up. And I don't want to die, brother. Michael wouldn't let me near you, even if I tried._ **

Lucifer relents. Understands that grief. Shares it.

And I'm not sure I trust you. I'm not sure if I can ever trust you again, after what you did. Gabriel doesn't dare to think. Because he's not sure who he brother is. What the real deal is, now. Gabriel has committed his fair share of crimes. Killed people. Tortured, not by his standards, but theirs. He knows humanity, and it's fickle, petty materialism and bodily needs and clumsy, messy lives. No archangel leaves a mark on the world without causing some damage. They are too bright, too absolute, to not leave a mark on God's favorites.

But Gabriel is fond of them, fond in a way he knows Lucifer will never be.

But Sam has clearly done something. Made some argument. Done something for Lucifer to veer off course when he otherwise wouldn't.

Otherwise he wouldn't be here.

And Gabriel knows his brother, or knew how he thought, once. He thought he knew. But so far, Lucifer has been...

He's just been broken, and waiting, and desperately holding on.

Gabriel wonders if he built up all the memories of Lucifer's endless rage, all the blame, all the things he thought Lucifer was up, as an excuse. To feel less guilty for staying away.

Then again, Lucifer was always good at making him feel guilty for things that were not always his fault, even before things got bad. Gabriel's not sure of his own memory.

But he wants to believe.

And he knows what hasn't changed. Lucifer was violent, and needy, and hellbent on his singular pursuits. Right now, that was Sam. Every particle of his being sang of it.

And Gabriel...

Gabriel isn't sure what he's looking for.

A way out.

A new path.

Something to believe in, if Sam can change the script.

Gabriel hadn't wanted to hope. But he does, if Lucifer didn't rip him apart on sight, like he knows Lucifer would have otherwise. This had been a litmus test for more than one thing.

Lucifer has always seen things without any shades of grey. With him, or not with him.

And right now, he sees this as Gabriel taking a side.

Except he isn't. But Gabriel can't say that.

Then Lucifer pulls back and latches on to Sam again.

Sam allows the extra contact, the leaning into his neck, the too-close handling.

He knows when Lucifer is on the brink of not dealing, and mentally sends over all the places they can go to cool off, just the two of them, if it means Lucifer calms down.

Lucifer, for what it's worth, let's Sam's thoughts, even and measured, calm him down, a wave after wave, keeping time, as do his heartbeats, which Lucifer counts.

\--

They decide to go outside. Have a picnic, of all things. Gabriel is bizarrely fond of food, and Sam doesn't want him near TVs, or HBO, or electronics, or anything he can use for additional innuendo that might goad Lucifer into wringing his neck and because Sam doesn't want to listen to it. Adam, of all people, runs as much interference as he can, seeing as Gabriel's a stranger to him and much more approachable, as archangels go, and Sam isn't exactly one for talking to Gabriel, still annoyed by him even if it's not constructive and he's trying, and Lucifer is quiet, unsure of what to say, so Gabriel just babbles on and on about everything until the ice is broken and Lucifer eases, ever so slightly. Like he's convinced Gabriel won't try to rip Sam away.

After being tired of being crushed by the Devil as a makeshift teddy bear, Sam stretches and goes to toss the pasta salad, arguing with Dean, who is restocking the cooler as they go. Sam takes a beer when he offers it and chugs. There isn't enough alcohol in the world enough to drown out Gabriel, and if Sam has to be sloshed to get through, he will.

Lucifer needed some kind of closure. Some way of anchoring himself and relating to what happened to him without having Sam as his only lifeline or talking him through everything.

Sam still wonders why Cas thought it best to bring Gabriel in, seeing as that's clearly not their main motive, here.

"You know when we were working that fairy tale case, and I asked you if you could be more gay?" Dean starts in.

"Yeah, I corrected you because I'm bi, you jerk," Sam challenges, trying to lighten the mood.

Dean keeps talking over Sam, unable to reign his emotions in now that there's two archangels hashing it out around his brother and him. "And said maybe you'd find your fairy godmother? An angelic sugar daddy is not what I meant!" Dean answers.

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Wow. Dean, being around Gabriel really isn't good for you. Normally you'd at least think before letting that out."

Dean sighs. "Look, Sam. I don't get why you're fussing so much and bending over backwards to accommodate his emotional needs." Dean scolds, motioning to Lucifer. "If anything, you should be the one upset. I mean, aside from all the other stuff, he's practically cradle-robbing you, literally and figuratively."

Sam makes a scathing noise and gives Dean a decidely unimpressed look.

Dean keeps going. "And I don't get why you have to coddle him. He's billions of years old-"

"Yeah, and he has the emotional maturity of a five year old." Sam answers, rolls his eyes and gives Dean a look like he's being more stupid than usual. "Let's not kid ourselves on whose the more responsible party in this duo."

"And babysitting an angel is appealing to you?" Dean needles.

Sam sighs. "He's really not that bad. He's just... angry. Really, really angry. Once you get past that, he's mostly just a messy, needy smartass." Sam continues.

"Once again, Sam. Aside from the obvious, what about that is attractive?" Dean huffs, tossing another bratwurst on the barbecue.

"Because Sammy likes to support people, just like he likes feeling needed. It goes both ways. Sam likes focusing on messes he can fix to avoid his own denial, mainly because he doesn't hear that he's important enough, in my opinion." Lucifer supplies, stepping up from behind him, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist. Dean grumbles about not asking his opinion, and doesn't say, "Don't call him Sammy," because that's been a losing battle, all of which Lucifer ignores as he peeks out from the side of Sam's head, smiling, as Sam keeps tossing the salad, then takes another swig of beer. "And he's always had a soft spot for cynical never-do-wells who are rough around the edges, particularly ones who stick up for him when the chips are down or who support his intellectual pursuits."

"Yeah, okay. Describe yourself as rough around the edges again, you ass." Sam warns, waving the spoon in Lucifer's face. "I dare you."

Lucifer's face is the picture of innocence as he leans closer, and Sam leans back into him despite himself, letting the Devil carry his weight.

"But Sam. You like the rugged, fixer-upper types. Or I should say, you like people who can keep up with you and all your adventures." Lucifer adds, all mischief.

Sam rolls his eyes and side eyes Dean, looking more relaxed than he probably should.

"I'm in it for all the history." He jokes, and Dean tries to smile, and fails, but Sam keeps going anyway. "Imagine all the lore we can learn from the oldest nerd in all of creation."

Lucifer laughs.

When Lucifer kisses him, he falls forward, and if he is a little more aggressive, well...

**You get what you dish out.**

_Mm. I am not complaining._

Dean makes a strangled noise and looks away, snagging another beer.

Sam should feel guilty, but he doesn't.

"You're better than primetime." Gabriel catcalls.

Lucifer stiffens, and Sam tries to distract him again.

He'll get used to Gabriel. He can.

He has to be a positive example for both Lucifer and Dean, if he's going to make this work.

Lead as a positive example for everyone, really, since he's the only one who hadn't given up yet, before Lucifer made the deal that Sam is hanging on to like a lifeline.

He's lived with Lucifer before.

He can convince him.

He can do this.

He can get what they had back, if he just tries hard enough-

\--

All things considered, it takes an hour, two sunshowers no angels stop to keep their cover from being detected, four uneaten hotdogs, one hastily made flower crown Gabriel has piled on his head, three near smitings when Gabriel almost said something too suggestive and Lucifer nearly attacked him, before things actually take a turn for the worse. Mainly because Dean has decided to bring up people dying, again, after they all moved indoors and he lost a round of poker and Gabriel and Lucifer started arguing about the crusades and Cas and Sam tried to change the subject. Dean, of course, decided to latch on to his other favorite topic to try and figure out just why Sam is holding on to Lucifer so hard, when for the past few months he's been terrified out of his mind.

"Sam, explain that." Dean demands. "Explain the double standard."

"What, you think I'm okay with genocide?" Sam accuses, all calm forgotten. He's shaking with anger, and Lucifer's wings rush over him, soothing, same as his fingertips glancing the nape of Sam's neck, like Jessica always did. "That I'm okay with people dying?"

"No, Sam, that's exactly the point. Why does he get a free pass-" Dean gesticulates at Lucifer, mouth set in a frown.

Lucifer laughs out loud and then hides it in his hands when Sam glares at him.

"I'm sorry, it's just..." Lucifer pretend wipes a tear from his eyes. "If you heard Sam lecture me about everyone I've ever killed, directly or indirectly, you would not be so quick to play that card."

"Then why is he okay with you? I don't get it! Sam, you always are saying unless something's killing people, it's not a monster. However, once something's killed someone, well, we hunt it, it dies, problem solved. What makes him different?"

"Well, let's see. For one, you can't kill me, so no solution there." Lucifer says, ticking down his fingers, counting as he continues, "Two, Sam loves me more than anything and couldn't hurt me even if he wanted to, uh, three, Sam and you and all your friends have killed so many people at this point, it's started to blur together, uh, four, things aren't nearly as straightforward for you two anymore, five, true vessel bonds, six, I'm an angel, and God made it my job to kill and judge things, what's doing it a little early, and seven, well, seven's not something Sam would want me to bring up as dinner conversation, eight, it's just good strategy, which Sam resents, but understands from my perspective, and nine... Sam, you want to field one? Those are just off the top of my head, but I can go on. Don't want to hog the floor."

Sam gives Dean a look, pleading, all tired and drawn, and Dean can't find it in him to keep up the fight, to get angry, because Sam just looks so small...

"Honestly, I don't know why he's the exception there." Sam sighs. "I just... don't want him dead."

 ** _That's terrifying._** Dean doesn't say. **_Don't you realize how terrifying that is, what he's been willing to do to get to you-_**

Gabriel gives Dean and Cas a look from the corners of his eyes, and Dean looks down. Saw something in his brother's eyes that got him all jittery again. Gabriel taps his foot, wings flexing in and out. Visibly uncomfortable. Visibly feeling not-safe. Castiel feels it. Lucifer would, if he cared enough. He doesn't.

Lucifer pays it no mind, his eyes riveted on Sam.

"Wow, Sam. Way to make me feel loved." Lucifer answers as he shakes his head.

"Lucifer, we've talked about this." Sam narrows his eyes, his voice is steel. "I put up with a lot, but the moment you joke about people dying is the moment I start kicking your ass."

"My bad." Lucifer says with barely any effort, one wing looping past Sam's shoulder.

"And you still really suck at apologies." Sam criticizes as Lucifer pulls him into his lap, hands lighting on Sam's waist.

"Maybe I just want more private lessons on technique." Lucifer suggests, eyebrows raised, and then he's ducking down to kiss Sam again, who dodges.

"Cas, you have an angel blade on you?" Sam asks out of the side of his mouth.

"Yes, do you need to borrow it?" Castiel's dry voice contrasts with the way his eyes smile at the question. He will deflect and help Sam diffuse the situation as best he's able. But he will get to the bottom of whatever Gabriel has seen. That's why they brought him out here, aside from asking about the other archangels and tracking the angel blade and making a plan if Lucifer tries to steal Sam and restart the Apocalypse another way. Gabriel knows Lucifer better than most. He's able to see what Castiel might miss. The warning signs.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and moans, "Okay, okay, point taken. I will genuinely try to not make fun of dead humans because they matter to you, Sam. I just thought maybe you might get on board with the whole not all humans deserve your sympathy train, or at least accept that not singling specific humans out is more fair than other options."

"There is so much wrong with that statement I don't even know where to begin." Sam answers, a practiced one he's all too used to, and crosses his arms, specifically turning away from the Devil, who is still trying to win his attention back again.

"You know, Sam, even if he wasn't a murderer, you could still do so much better." Castiel says once he decides to throw his hat in the ring.

"Yeah. Like Jessica. She was loads better than this guy." Dean contributes brightly, until he backpedals and realizes that's probably not the right call to make, because it might hurt more than it helps. "I mean, Hell, sorry Sam, I meant... You know."

"It's fine." Sam says, tone something a bit too soft. He looks at his hands, entwined in Lucifer's.

Lucifer, oddly enough, preens in silence and looks a bit too not-jealous with that assessment. Gabriel looks back up and turns suspicious. He knows when Lucifer is too aloof. When he's hiding something.

Sam's expression still fluctuates between stricken and wanting and something else Dean doesn't recognize but almost thinks looks like determined, possessive purpose.

Then Lucifer smiles at Sam, his voice rumbling from his chest, "You know Sam, he has a point. Jessica was far more laid back than I am in the here and now."

Sam shoots him a distinctly calculating glare. "You didn't know her like I did. As for that second assessment, don't expect a rebuttal. You are so high maintenance sometimes."

"Maybe I just need extra stress relief." Lucifer posits and nuzzles Sam's cheek.

"Maybe you'd get more if you actually showed me this is working." Sam sighs, and holds up a hand to ward off Lucifer's fingers from mussing through his hair.

Lucifer's expression sobers into something not playful at all as he tilts his head in actual concern. "I thought I was making decent progress?"

"You are, but... I don't know, you don't feel like we've hit a wall somewhere?" Sam gestures, reaching.

Lucifer looks down, expression growing colder and darker and more broken and his grace is icy cold as it leeches out and starts setting everyone on edge. Sam's expression softens into something warm and patient as he feels the careening fear of being abandoned hovering in his chest cavity even though Lucifer is doing his best to keep his panic locked up.

"Look, I'm not saying this isn't working." Sam assures, hugging Lucifer closer. "I just... I want to help, Lucifer. And I'm not sure if I need to change my tactics."

Sam presses a kiss to his jaw, gentle and understanding and promising that he's not going anywhere.

Lucifer shifts underneath him, sharp fear receding, the cold less like knives now, and his expression clears a little, like sunlight through a cloud, but he still looks tired. "Are you asking me for suggestions?"

"I'm asking what you need from me. Feedback." Sam prods, then kisses Lucifer's jawline. "I just... need some more ideas on what might actually give you... I don't know, coping skills? Because it's not the logic of the argument that's holding you back. It's emotions that you aren't dealing with."

Lucifer, for once, doesn't turn that into an evasion with easily maneuvered physicality. He just settles in, actually looks like he's racking his brain for anything that might fix this, and Sam relaxes, closes his eyes, and rests his head on Lucifer's shoulder while Lucifer's fingers grasp and fidget Sam's clasps hands, entwining Sam's fingers with his.

The atmosphere shifts, and Cas and Dean actually feel like they are intruding on something despite themselves. Watching the two, they get a sense of what it must be like when it's just Lucifer and Sam, what it must be like when Lucifer drops his rough, sarcastic mask with Sam as his only witness. It's not like they haven't realized the difference- there are moments where Lucifer isn't constantly cracking jokes or trying to maul Sam with physical closeness, where he's just quiet as he watches, reverent, like he can't believe Sam is so close, that he can touch him, that he's even near him, like Sam is his everything, and it would actually be sweet if it wasn't the most terrifying, intimate intensity Dean's ever laid eyes on from someone just looking at his brother. It's been easier to cope and mellow out the past few weeks by pretending that Satan was just some asshole boyfriend instead of some primordial murder entity with eyes only for Sam, so beyond human consciousness knowing what was going through his head was like trying to crack the parts of Cas Dean's never quite figured out yet, even if Dean's never forgotten what either angel truly is. But that look always reminds Dean that what they're dealing with is not human at all.

But Dean doesn't want to nurse the far-flung hope that maybe Sam was already accomplishing something, if Lucifer was actually letting some honesty bleed through around company. He really wishes he could, despite his total hatred and disgust for Satan, only because Dean's seen that look Sam's face gets when he catches Lucifer when he is and isn't looking, and it's a face Dean's never really seen Sam have with anyone else. It's dangerous, and he needs to protect Sam because they can't trust Lucifer at all, but God Dean wishes they could, that this was like a Hallmark movie that would work out, because it was really obvious the two of them were drawn together like hapless magnets and adored each other to pieces, even if Dean will never understand it, not for the life of him. Dean still hated the fact it was happening, but he wants Sam to be happy, too. And this, he thinks, is the trap Bobby warned us about.

So Dean tries to be helpful.

"Have you ever tried smashing inanimate objects to get out your rage?" Dean suggests, fidgeting in his seat. Sam's eyes open and he sits up, Lucifer following his movement. Otherwise, Lucifer looks distinctly inhuman again, evaluating Dean from the corner of his eye like Dean's a lab sample via microscope, almost as if he's thrown by Dean's changed tune. The Devil settles on looking patient and almost-pleased.

"Not really. I prefer moving targets." Lucifer admits, and then looks back at Sam as if asking if that's okay to say. Sam kisses him again and pulls him closer, not bothered by the honesty.

"Well, let's try this, Mr. I'm Too Down with Murder." Dean ushers them both to their feet and leads them outside. Sam knows where Dean is going, and he stands off to the distance once Dean hands Lucifer the option of a crowbar or a sledgehammer.

Lucifer takes the sledgehammer without comment, and runs one hands along the length of it as Dean beckons him to the junk pile of not-yet-crushed or stripped for parts scrap of cars Bobby almost has no use for.

Lucifer crushes apart the cars with the sledgehammer, glass shattering and metal rending easily. The cars in question get ground into dusty sands of silicone and metal real fast.

Lucifer looks back at the sledgehammer blankly, lips pursed.

"Did that help?" Dean asks, tone neutral.

Lucifer's eyes narrow and he shakes his head. His tone is matter-of-fact as he answers, "Isn't quite squishy enough. You know, like a stress ball. A very wet, fleshy stress ball."

Dean's coping mechanisms and willingness to humor Satan only stretch so far. "Sam, you gotta field this one. I'm out." He yells, and throws up his hands.

But then the hair on the back of his neck rises, and he looks back at the Devil despite himself.

For once, Lucifer isn't caustic towards him. He's just... quiet. "Thank you." He finally settles on the words. "For trying... For Sam. And for reminding me to listen to him more."

And then there's another look in his eye that's decidedly wild and not-in-the-here-and-now one bit, and it scares Dean more than anything. He stands there, frozen, unable to look away, because he's almost seen that look on Sam before, when Sam thought he was being left behind by Dean forever, when Dean called him a freak, until Lucifer turns away and heads back to meet Sam halfway, looking a bit put-out and sheepish and almost apologetic as Sam is already closing the distance between them.

Dean lets them have their alone time and space while he goes off with Cas. Dean's all contemplative, too quiet, and Cas shoots him a look.

"Dean..." And then there's a hand on his shoulder as Cas asks, "What is it?"

"Let's say... Let's just go out on a limb and say the Devil is really trying to actually change for Sam and wasn't lying."

"Dean-"

"No, listen, Cas. Let's say he is. What do we do if he's too broken to meet his own standards and he knows it? What do we do if he goes off the deep end because he can't handle his own bullshit? Because I don't think our plan has a contingency for that."

Cas looks pained and solemn and resolute in that way only Cas does.

"We should probably remedy that."

"Yeah. I was thinking the same thing."

The clock reads 5:13 pm when they get inside and see Gabriel and Bobby talking in low voices, Ellen and Jo and Bobby having returned. Cas glances back out the window at Sam and Lucifer, who are walking around, arm in arm, keeping tabs on any sudden stillness that might mean they are flying back instead of walking.

\--

It's 7:00 when everyone's started drinking more, except Sam and Lucifer and Cas. Even Adam gets a little drunk, although he's far more conservative than Jo and Ellen and Gabriel, although Dean's still not sure how that works or if the Archangel spiked his own with something stronger, or if he just likes pretending he can get drunk.

The peace gets broken the moment it starts pouring, and lightning flashes, and nearly shatters the windows.

Lucifer and Gabriel look up.

Collectively, the entire group is surprised that Raphael is still alive and kicking around on Earth after he shows up outside Bobby's property. They only know from the lightning storm, the lights flickering, and Lucifer, Sam, Cas, and Gabriel all looking up at the same time in the same direction before they all look at each other in unison. Dean's not sure how Sam is in on that, but he doesn't like the implications.

"You invite him, too?" Lucifer manages to add in a jibe towards Cas anyway, but his tone is more vicious now, has that edge that makes everyone flinch back like they are going to become fleshy bloodstained stress-relief if not for Sam. Sam puts a hand on his arm and Lucifer eases off, but he's got that protective, too-ready-for-murder look in his eye no one will ever become comfortable with. He changes on a dime, like a particularly fickle cat that can't decide if it wants to play with it's food or break it's neck and move on to the next one.

"No." Castiel says, and he looks at him, frosty and affronted. Gabriel looks 100% spooked beyond all belief and looks like he's going to bail, but Lucifer's grace reaches out and stops him, ice creeping over the carpet.

"Oh, no, little brother. If I have to suffer Raphael's company, so do you."

"Nice to know some things haven't changed." Gabriel's tone tries for lighthearted fun and fails when he shoots Lucifer a look that is all bitter. Lucifer meets it head-on, expression less than charitable.

"So are we going out in that?" Sam points.

Lucifer shakes his head and sticks out his forked tongue.

"Not likely." The Devil assures. "Not chancing you getting pneumonia. That and if there's a wet t-shirt contest, and you're in it, I'm getting you alone." And then Lucifer is leaning over Sam, fingers playfully sliding and tapping up Sam's rib-cage.

"Only if you insist on talking to him." Gabriel adds in airily and shrugs.

"What, you just want to leave him out in the rain?" Sam jokes to try and lessen the frantic burning waves of hate and pain and violence he can feel warring inside Lucifer a mile off.

"Honestly, yes." Lucifer answers, and his lip curls. He still almost bares his teeth, though.

"Raphael deserves it." Gabriel agrees and nods his head.

 ** _Gabriel, Lucifer, and the rest of you worms. I have a message from Heaven. I suggest you take it._** Raphael grace rumbles over to them like a thunderclap.

 _I don't take orders from you, if I recall. And insult my vessel again, you won't like the consequences._ Lucifer's grace is all poised, all ice, kingly and ringing, all deep ocean thrumming on an even deeper frequency, even more frenzied, Sam can feel the difference like it's night from day.

**_ It's a request that can only be to your benefit. And I'll be...civil. _ **

_That I doubt._

Yeah, I'm with Luci on that one. Gabriel chimes in. You've never been civil in your life.

**_ Billions of years and the second Lucifer joins you in your cavorting with humanity, you are back on familiar terms, littlest brother. _ **

Oh, shove it up that tight ass of your, Raf. You know what always brings families together? Joyfully ganging up on the other sibs. Besides, I wanted to see the evidence for myself. You know Luci. 'Ew, humans, they have cooties, let's burn them like ants under a magnifying glass,' until he gets his hands on this lanky one and then he's all smitten.

**You mind?** Sam chimes in without thinking.

Wait, you can hear this? Sam Winchester, on our frequency? Gabriel's grace sounds more shaken than he would prefer, and Sam watches him swivel around and look at Sam like he's grown two heads. Cas also looks thrown and stares at him.

**Is that not normal?**

The answer is a big wet nope.

Gabriel looks concerned again, eyeing Sam and Lucifer like they are a puzzle he can't figure out.

Lucifer's grip on Sam tightens, but he readjusts so Sam is nestled more comfortably in his arms, both of their jawbones touching and their faces pressed cheek to cheek. Sam feels the grace rising around him and feels wings press against his neck, and eases into the feeling, like slowly wading into cold water so cold it feels warm, feels safe-

_Sam, please, if you would let me handle this. They don't deserve your delightful company or any interaction with that perfect soul of yours._

**But I thought only you could hear me?**

_Usually, yes, although they are more surprised you can hear them, not the other way around. Prayers, all that._

**Is it a True Vessel Thing?**

_Yes and no._

Sam notes that pointed evasion.

**What about Dean?**

_He could potentially learn how or have the skill activated, but he does not have it intrinsically, so he's deafer than a tapeworm, and Michael wouldn't even considering giving him that kind of advantage. Look, Samuel, you are unintentionally jacking my frequency. So we can discuss this later, when there is no unwanted interference._

Sam eases off whatever he managed to do in the first place, and with that, his head starts pounding less. Lucifer massages his scalp and Sam leans back into the feeling.

Like I said, smitten.

_He's **mine** , Gabe. Back off and know your place._

Gabriel would cut in with a rejoinder, but he's too scared to actually commit.

Raphael interrupts, **_That shouldn't be possible, not even if he is your true vessel. What did you do to him?_**

Lucifer doesn't bother to answer that, considering it's not Raphael's business. And since his patience isn't one to be trifled with, and he isn't taking this little intrusion well at all, to understate the obvious, Lucifer lets a little more of his true nature bleed on through, enough to set Sam's teeth on edge and for him to almost feel the blood boiling under his skin.

_Say what you have to say and leave._

**_ I'd prefer a face to face conversation. _ **

_You know, I don't care. Say your piece and get out._

_If I may interject. It might be safer to summon him here._ Cas chimes in, not hesitant. _He won't try anything with both of you present, the aftershocks alone would fry vessels that Michael wants safeguarded._

**_ No one asked you. _ **

_You know, Cassie, I think that's a wonderful idea._

_ That should disturb me. _

_But we were getting along so well these past few weeks. And I am surprised at you, allowing Dean near another archangel._

_ It's not like we haven't trapped and mocked Raphael before. _

Sam laughs out loud despite himself and startles everyone who isn't an angel.

"Uh, Sam, mind filling us in on what's so funny?"

Sam shakes his head. "They're arguing." Sam says with a shrug.

"About?"

"The best way to take Raphael down a peg. Indoors or outdoors angel trap. Cas was funny in context." Sam tries to explain, then gets shy, and looks at Cas, and then down again.

Dean's eyes are flinty.

"Is this a psychic thing, or...?"

Sam nods and ducks his head.

Lucifer keeps one hand on Sam's arm.

_ That's only thanks to Sam. _

Dean rubs his hands together. "So are we inviting the third archangel in for family therapy, or...?"

Lucifer looks at him, considering.

"Whatever you think is best to ensure Sam's wellbeing, I will support." Lucifer answers, projected as much calm as possible.

"Thanks. I feel so reassured." Dean grumbles. The air is still cold, and there's still frost crackling over the armchair. Lucifer keeps his focus on Raphael and his position, now that he's in their radius, not keen on allowing him to escape.

"I'm not going outside. If we're doing this, we're doing this in the comfort of human habitations." Gabriel mutters.

Lucifer smiles at him, all sharp.

"Some human things have grown on me, I'll admit. I can see why you saw the appeal." He says quietly to Gabe. It could be a barb. It might not be.

Neither Sam or Gabriel are sure, even though they can still read Lucifer's moods fairly well, despite Sam's youth and Gabriel's long absence. Gabriel always knew Lucifer better than his other brothers. They'd been close, once, Gabriel under Lucifer's wing as Lucifer clung to Michael's.

Deep in Lucifer's blue eyes, Sam sees the same dangerous edge he's been trying to work through, and Sam makes his plans.

Lucifer feels threatened, and then he lashes out. So he just has to feel in control, and then everything will be fine.

Sam can monitor this. Help him figure out how to keep a handle on things without resorting to overkill and the need for murder.

And they'll kick Raphael's ass if they have to, or lock him away, and Michael won't find out about this and Lucifer won't go down the same paths Sam has been trying to get him not to focus on.

Like Michael killing them.

That still isn't a subject Sam thinks he can win an argument about.

He's been working up to this slowly.

Time to test out the waters to see if anything Sam's been trying will stick.

It's the moment of truth.

\--

Negotiations don't go well.

But it's still a stalemate, the peace that settles afterwards feels even more artificial.


	38. Kingdom of Welcome Addiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by iamx

"So you fight to protect people because you see value in their lives. But what if you don't see value in them, Sam? How am I supposed to account for that?" Lucifer asks, as he stares at the trees.

"Lucifer... Why do you love me?" Sam dares to ask.

Lucifer looks back at him, eyes glowing.

"Because you're mine, Sam, made for me."

"I know that, but what else? What made you want to take this chance and give up what you wholeheartedly believe in? I know you love me and the earth itself. So... What are the little things that make you care?"

Lucifer looks a bit thrown by the subject change even though it is one he prefers, and is kept at a loss for words, because he doesn't really have the means to describe it.

"Sam... The limits of speech don't adequately describe everything I feel."

_Not even grace can, really._

"Try anyway." Sam prompts, patient.

Lucifer does his best.

"Sam... You are kind, and steadfast, and determined, and driven, and beautiful, and you love with your whole being, and you fight with your whole being. Your soul... It's so bright, Sammy, and yet it holds so much shade, so gentle, like a resting place, like you try not to blind people. You aren't touched by the things that mar this world, Sam, whatever you might think. And as for the earth... Just look at it. Look at the billions and trillions of things God placed on it, all the things that evolved and grew and intersected in their mutualism. Look at the herons and the ants and the shells and the seagulls and the iguanas and the grey parrots and the nautilus and the horseshoe crabs and the moon and the bromeliades and the sunset and the spiders and the clouds and the deep sea vents and the snails and the sharks and the palm trees and the scorpions and the tundra and the desert and the owls and music and ultraviolet light and the giraffes and the archaeans and the jellyfish and the anenomes and the lobster and the hyenas and the belugas and the goats and the piranhas and the marshes and even beyond it, with the suns and the nebulas and the rings of saturn and the supernovas and the black holes and Venus and the entirety of the cosmos. And you, Sam... You are more than all of that. You are perfect in every way."

"But I'm not perfect, Lucifer. I'm flawed. Just like everything else."

"Difference in perspective. You don't see it like I do, Sam. I can see everything in how it all comes together, can see all the spiraling parts of your soul as it reaches out and touches the rest of the world."

"Okay. But can't you take those ideas and expand on them? Can't you find small details in the little things, like flowers in the sidewalk, that make human things more tolerable?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Okay, let's divert this for a second. What made you... Want to be Jess in the first place? Especially if being around humans is the last thing you wanted?"

"You needed me, Sammy. And I wanted to be near you, to look after you, to make you happy."

"But how do you deal with living among humans as her? What made it bearable?"

"Just being near you is almost enough, Sam. I mean, it's not just enough, I know you know, but being with you is the point. I ignored your insufferable species as best I could and did things because they made you happy, Sam. You needed it. You already suffered so much... And I knew that once I was let out, things wouldn't be so easy."

"Did you not like the things we did together? Did you like pool? Like movies? Like taking machines apart?"

"I liked them because we were doing them together, Sam, or because they reminded me of other things, like the physics and intersections of this great world God has made. I liked them because you liked them, and you liking them made you happy, which made me happy."

"Lucifer, you can't just... Do things because I want you to or just for my sake. You need to, I don't know, find something in it for you as well. Which I know you are fully capable of doing, you did it all the time when you got us started on this whole Apocalypse in the first place-"

"Exactly. When I do things I want, I might do something you don't approve of, and then you'll hate me, and then you won't love me anymore and you'll leave-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. I'm not going to drop you or abandon you just because you do something I don't like. I mean, I can't promise I won't react or fight you or try to stop you if it's something major, since you are pretty extreme and an archangel and when you freak out people tend to die. But what I'm getting at is... I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I love you. And even with all that, there's got to be something in this for you that you can use to find appreciation and value in others. I know you have the ability to care. It's just a matter of application."

"But I don't want to care about them, Sam. They ruined everything." Lucifer answers, a slight edge to his tone soon giving way to something ugly and broken and bitter. "And they don't deserve it. Humanity has never deserved it."

"Okay. Okay. But... What would distract you, then? I'm not... I'm not going to be enough to keep you satisfied, Lucifer. I know I'm not. There needs to be something you can hold on to that isn't just... me." Sam posits, desperate.

"Sammy..." Lucifer sighs. "All I've held on to is my hope for freedom, my holy mission for justice, and you. That's all I've had for a long, long time."

Sam hugs him.

"But those aren't your only options anymore, Lucifer. You have choices. You have your freedom. You can find new things to latch on to."

"I don't want to let you go, Sam."

"Finding other things that make you happy doesn't mean you love me any less."

"Sam... Let's say this works. Let's say I find something. Then what?" Lucifer asks. "What happens then? How am I supposed to... Just... Move on, after everything God and my brothers and Heaven and everyone else has done?"

"Lucifer, God can't hurt you. Michael can't hurt you. No one else can hurt you now. You are stronger than them. You got out. You can move forward. You can heal. But you need to believe you can heal. And I'm here for you every step of the way. But you need to believe in it yourself for any of this to matter."

"But they can still hurt me, Sam. They can and they will if they try to take you away, and I won't let them. How can I heal with that hanging over our heads all the time? Michael won't stop. He's like me. We set our minds to something and we don't let go."

"But you can be better than him, Lucifer. I know you are. You've already proven it. You're trying and I know how hard this is for you. But you can't give up on yourself."

"What if I don't know how to heal, Sam?"

"No one does. It just... happens. Slowly and painfully, but it happens."

"What if I want to hurt people and keep hurting people. What will you do?"

"I don't think you really want to, deep down, Lucifer. If you did... You wouldn't be here."

"But what if-"

"Lucifer. Here's the raw deal. The truth is: You are the only one in control. Only you dictate your choices. And sometimes, things don't make sense. Sometimes things just happen. But you keep going. You keep trying, even if sometimes you need to curl up and break down and feel all the pain that's there. Life is messy. There's no roadmap. And no one can tell you what the right answer is, because there isn't one. There's just... the things we do to survive and live together. That's part of what being alive is."

"But things aren't supposed to be like that for me, Sam. I'm supposed to have all the answers."

"Says who?"

"Sam, I need all the answers-"

"Why?"

"Because it's the only way to keep you with me, to keep you safe-"

"Lucifer... If you want to truly be free, you can't base all your decisions around me and protecting me and anticipating everything that's going to happen. You have to let go. You have to focus on yourself, on what you need, on how you can move forward and keep yourself from falling apart. I can handle myself. You have to trust me that this is how things will work out. If you can live for yourself, find ways not to let the past eat you alive... Then everything will fall into place. And I'll be there, right there, with you. I promise."

"But I'm not human, Sam. What if the human solution doesn't work?"

"Then we'll find something more suited for Archangels. Lucifer, please. Please trust me. I want you to be safe and happy and free just as much as I do. And I believe in you. I believe in us. But I need you to believe in us, too, not the way you've been, but in the messy, uncertain way. Not the way where you have a plan and we're just along for the ride until the bitter end. Believing in a way that allows for us not to know what's going to happen. Where we just... live. Because that's freedom, Lucifer. Not... destroying everything else because you're scared it will only hurt you again. That just gives it power over you. By trying to fight it all the time, by trying to counteract it... Then you're still in the game, still playing by their rules, still living in the same chains that have kept you locked in this battle for years-"

"But whoever makes the rules wins, Sam."

"Not if you aren't playing, Lucifer. Not if you can find a way that the rules don't matter anymore."


	39. Old Habits Die Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title based on a song by allie x
> 
> also this was a conversation that trailed off and never got finished but oh well

Outside, on Bobby's porch, crickets chirp. Sam sits in the rocking chair, for once alone, without Lucifer trailing after him. He's got a book of lore in Enochian that he's been trying to learn, trying to figure out how to crack angel radio and the Heavens like he thinks he can just find a way to talk to them and call all this off.

Lucifer's deal had made him more desperate to ask for the impossible, and it hadn't done him any favors.

There's still deep bags under his eyes, even though Sam's been sleeping easier the past month. Dean knows. (He's checked, making sure Lucifer hadn't stolen him in the night, and Sam and Lucifer allowed it for different reasons. Sam because he was used to sharing close quarters and barely having privacy, and he knows Dean's panic has been growing steadily ever since the deal started, and this is the one brotherly thing Sam can give back to him, permission to seek him out like he's six and needs supervision again only allowed because of the pained, lost look in Dean's eyes and the fact he knows just how possessive Lucifer is, and that isn't making this any easier, and Lucifer goes along with it because making Sam feel like he can make Dean feel more comfortable is something that only works in his favor. That, and Dean has more than a sneaking suspicion Lucifer likes pretending to be an open book, to show just how far down the rabbit hole Sam has fallen. They all know it's a hopeless test, anyway, because if they didn't want him to barge in, the Devil had already found ways to keep him out. Dean doesn't know where Sam's trust came from, but it certainly was the one thing weighing him down the most.

Because Dean had seen them curled up with one another, Sam breathing slow and steady, eyes shut, hair brushed out of his face.

And the fallen Archangel would just stare him down with the faintest hint of a smile, with Sam passed out on his chest, the latter completely fucking oblivious. It hadn't been a smug look, even. Just too piercing, too sure- too much, like Sam had already fallen, and Dean had already lost.)

As he heads back inside, Dean pauses, then stops leans on the railing as he heads back in from polishing Baby's mirrors for the third time today (being around Lucifer had made him more than a bit compulsive about it, Baby and Cas and Bobby and Ellen not always able to keep him from flying off the handle, and Dean is too nervous to leave Sam alone if he went off to hunt something just to blow off steam).

Sam glances at him and hands him an extra beer that's still ice-cold by his feet as Dean gets in closer, mouth opening as if he's going to ask a question, something banal, like "How you holding up, Dean?" or "Are you alright?" or "Any news?" or anything to defuse the look of hopelessness Dean is currently failing to hide, like, "Want to help me decode this fucking book of fucking lore while we pretend everything is fine?"

And Dean can't quite let him do that. Takes the beer and doesn't meet Sam's eyes as he asks before Sam can even get a word in, "Sammy, level with me here. First Ruby, now Lucifer... What is going on?" Dean sighs, nervously fidgeting with the label of his beer bottle as he takes another swig. "Why... them?"

Sam blinks, looks down at his hands, closes the book, and looks back up at him.

"I didn't love Ruby." Sam says pensively, looking pained and angry and his voice just so damn tired. "I know you thought I did. But I didn't. It's not the same."

"Okay, before we tackle that whole deal, enlighten me. Why did you let her-"

"Get away with what she did?" Sam interrupts.

Dean nods. 

Sam's nose crinkles in self-disgust. "I just... You were gone. You were gone and I failed you and I wanted a way to fix things. And then everything got worse and I wasn't thinking clearly, I can see that now, but before... If playing her sick game got me the results I needed... I thought I was helping. And if I had to pay the price for that... I don't know, Dean. It seemed like the only way to win. And I was saving people, before the end. I didn't care what it was doing to me, so long as-"

"-You thought you were saving everyone else." Dean finishes for him.

Sam nods. "Yeah."

 ** _And why are you letting Lucifer get away with the same thing?_** Dean thinks, but doesn't voice it... yet.

\--

"It's not the same!"

"Sam, do you even hear yourself right now? You can't fix him-"

"I'm not trying to fix him! He wants to fix himself. And I want to help him do that, when he doesn't even know how!"

There's a pause as they both stare at each other, breathing too hard, and then Dean breaks off, makes sure he is calm when he finally dares to asks what it really comes down to, in the end.

"And you think he's being honest?"

Sam rubs a hand over his face, and sighs, all the fight gone out of him.

"As much as he can be. I think he's trying, and he wants this to work as much as I do. I don't think he wants the Apocalypse deep down, Dean. He just wants... Closure. To feel like he has a reason to keep going and that working with us will be better than trying to wait it out and accept what he sees as inevitable. He wants to feel like he has a choice, and that it can mean something, and be better than what he was working towards."

"You sure that's what he wants and not you?"

"I think we both want to be happy, Dean, without feeling like the world is ending or our families have to be torn apart. I think the certainty of thinking he knows everything hurts him more than it helps. And I think he wants to change the future and not have it stick because knowing how this was supposed to go is worse. Even if he doesn't say that. He doesn't want to kill his family, Dean. He wants a home again. And even if he was willing to burn everything to the ground to have something... I think he'd rather have peace, if he thought it could be achieved. I can help him think it's possible. Everything else, afterwards, is just getting him to heal and move on and not take it out on everyone else."

"And if he is lying, or unable to do that?"

Sam looks away.

"Then we're in the exact same position we've been in this whole time, and keeping an eye on him and temporarily ending the Apocalypse doesn't hurt anyone else."

 _Everyone except us, and you most of all,_ Dean thinks, and then he hedges, exhausted-

"Sam, this isn't going to last. You... You have to know that-"

"I want to believe it will, Dean. I want to believe we can all do better. Just... let me try. Let us all try. Isn't that what free will is, at the end of the day?"

And Dean knows exactly how Sam is caught, whether he wins the war or not.


	40. I Hate Everything About You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by three days grace
> 
> major tw again
> 
> also note to self this is probs out of order

"Sam, stop!" Lucifer holds Sam's arm back as he struggles against his grip, eyes wild.

"Let go of me-" Sam snarls.

Lucifer hisses with a vicious, immediate fear. "I forbid you from hurting yourself."

Sam keeps straining to escape and grab at something on the floor.

Dean notes the blood on Sam's wrist and the razor on the floor and scoops it up before Sam can grab it again. 

And Sam is yelling, "You think I don't know how this ends? You think I can't see what you're doing?"

"Sam, that's not-"

"THEN WHAT IS IT, LUCIFER? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU GET OUT OF THIS?" Sam howls and starts struggling more.

Lucifer's voice is as quiet as Sam's is loud. "Sam, I'm not trying to hurt you, please-"

"It doesn't matter if you do. It hurts. And it's my fault. I let you out." Sam's words tumble out all over one another, barely coherent. "And all those people and everyone are all going to die because of what I did and I can't stop you and I just-"

Dean steps forward, aghast and horrified. "Sam, then why... Why did you agree to this?"

Sam looks at him, eyes wet and mouth twisted up in some strange expression Dean doesn't quite recognize.

"Because I wanted it to work." Sam gasps, and then he chokes on the words and struggles again until Lucifer keeps him still and then he looks back up at Dean, defeated. "I love him. And I just wanted to be happy." Sam sobs. "I wanted to have something good for once before it all went bad. I had faith in him, in doing better. Even if he doesn't."

And then Sam slumps in Lucifer's arms and stops trying to fight the Devil off, crying.

Lucifer cradles him closer, one hand stroking Sam's forehead as he whispers words Dean can't quite make out entirely.

"Shh, Sam, it's okay, I've got you, you don't need to do this, you don't have to be afraid-"

Sam's voice is shaking so hard it's hard to make out the words as he sobs, "But I am, Lucifer. I'm afraid all the time."

"I know... I know that's on me, Sam. And I don't know how to fix it, but I promise, I'm struggling, but I am trying. I believe in us. I've always believed in us."

But what he believes is half the problem.

Sam's silence reflects more than anything else. Just because he wants to believe and he wants concrete actions to back it up, doesn't mean, deep down, that he doesn't know all the ways Lucifer lies and wishes it to be true, or the way he lies to himself most of all. The way Sam isn't sure Lucifer knows what the truth is, because what he wants is more important than the consequences of his actions, and that is exactly the problem.


	41. Bonfires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by blue foundation

It's a testament to how everyone isn't dealing that Dean Winchester actually encourages Sam to go to the beach when Lucifer is the one who brought it up in the first place.

That makes Sam listen.

Dean never goes along with anything Lucifer says. And he isn't going to again if he can help it.

But today, even Dean can see how much Sam is hoping and not daring to hope and terrified of what they can all feel is so close now.

The Apocalypse isn't just a gag around Sam's mouth or a noose around his neck.

It's a hand palming his heart. Too close. Too warm. Too tight.

Dean feels it close around him, too, but in a different way. It's detached and remote by now, because Sam's the one who brought the Devil home. Home, into Bobby's carpeted cabin and tiled kitchen, like the Devil's an unassuming bag of flesh and not a being of blood and teeth and smiles.

Lucifer's continued company keeps Dean's heart jumping in his throat, but not for the same reasons.

Every day Lucifer stays and doesn't leave, every day he wakes up next to Sammy, every day he holds his hands and makes Sam coffee and hugs him close and laughs deep in his throat and cups Sam's face and kisses Sam's eyelashes...

Every day that Sam looks at Lucifer like's he's the sun is a physical weight inside Dean's chest, a ball of slushy ice full of gravel and shards of glass that makes him wince.

Because he sees how Sam gets drawn in, a fly willingly tangling itself in a spider's web, a moth to a bed of magma, beckoned closer and closer, and if Sam didn't stop himself from saying what everyone could see his soul was singing, it would be the end.

It's not yes. It's never yes.

Yes isn't even the right word.

It's so far afield of the right ballpark that yes can never be strong or potent enough to light a candle to the emotions Dean has watched from stolen glances at Sam's face when he thinks Lucifer isn't looking.

It's complete and utter devotion, one part need and seven parts love, a love so white-hot and indestructible and gentle it could melt even the Devil's ice-sculpture borrowed skin into vapor.

And Dean knows his brother like the back of his hand, and he knows when Sam is so far gone there's no talking him down. These days, he'd fight Heaven on his own if it meant Lucifer would just exist, without the Apocalypse, without his brothers, without even anything to focus his rage on...

If Lucifer just chose this, chose life, chose the mundane banality of existing, chose to live like an almost-person without a vendetta enacted against everyone he deemed unfit, then Sam would give himself up forever.

Sam would make himself the pivot point the Devil spun on, his compass pointing north on whatever one-way street future he'd have hogtied to the Devil. He'd give and give and give, let himself be consumed so slowly, would hang on Lucifer's arm and on every word if it meant Lucifer chose him and moved on from ending it all and walked off the chessboard to exist as whatever he would be, aimless and unable to salt and burn and tar the earth's denizens because he'd be too focused on wherever they might be going, with Sam's aimless need riding shotgun with Lucifer pretending it's in the driver's seat.

Yeah. It's simple, really. Simple in all the worst ways.

Sam's love is so strong it's long since turned back on itself, turned inside out and become no, the loudest refusal, because Sam won't give up his body and his life and his love and all of himself because he knows he already has. Because saying no is the only way he can keep this and show just how much he loves the Devil, because Lucifer loves Sam for who he is, and Sam would not be himself if he didn't dig in his heels and fight for what he knows Lucifer really wants, what he needs, which is ultimately the same thing as what Sam doesn't let himself take.

He doesn't want to give Lucifer up. He won't unless he has to, and even then, Dean's uncertain he ever will, even if Sam kills him. He's not sure Sam would be able to survive himself.

Lucifer matches that addicted devotion with a tenacious, horrifyingly exact intensity. 

It doesn't matter if Sam's love for the Devil is the same love Sam has for everyone he loves. It's the same fierce devotion, the same promise, the same determination, except the stuff he keeps on tap for the Devil... Everyone can tell, it illuminates something from inside him, seems to grow more and more the more the Devil just lets himself in.

It's as if Sam takes every piece of love he feels and lets it radiate out, a lighthouse in a desert that keeps him going on the inside. Like it's a drumbeat, a stopwatch, a heartbeat ticking down and down and down and when it stops Sam will just collapse where he stands. Only it's like he's a dead corpse that has kept walking for so long that Sam's heart started back up and his chest filled with air and now he's alive again.

So it's no surprise to Dean that Heaven is couching it's fear in writing Sam off with adamant assurances. Admitting otherwise would send the angels running scared.

And Dean doesn't wonder how Michael looked at that and wisely decided Sam's the biggest threat, even on his own, even without Lucifer.

It scares Dean more than it does the Archangel.

Sam is his brother. Sam is young. Sam is free and wild and willfully blind in a self-inflicted way he hasn't been for so long. He's someone who knows too much that pretends at being a fool.

What scares Dean more is that he wants Sam to have that happiness he's been so desperately seeking, even though he wants Lucifer to choke on his own blood with a blade through his chest. Dean can see how much they love each other. It hurts his eyes to look at it, at all the naked emotions staring back at him.

And he knows...

Sam shouldn't be so close to something as bright and ancient and hungry as the Devil, even if Sam's wanting exceeds even Lucifer's own.

Sam is flying too close to the sun, and it is going to swallow him whole and never let him go.

But what scares Dean the most is the fact Sam knows that, knows it all too well...

And he keeps getting closer, anyway.

Beyond even that, Dean can see the danger unraveling right before his very eyes, and even with every particle of his being screaming for him to drag Sam back from the precipice, to get him away from this being of light and sound and violence, part of him wants to let go if it means Sam will finally be happy.

Dean never wanted to let go before.

He doesn't want to feel that. He knows it's not right.

So he hyper-analyses Lucifer's every movement, instead, telegraphing out every option he has in case Lucifer snaps today.

Lucifer keeps looking back at Sam like he wants to keep him warm, like he always does, even though that's the opposite of everything he's ever been.

He can create light and heat, but he isn't made of it. That's why he sought it out in the first place.

That's how he made it grow with his own two hands, because everything God made him for said otherwise.

Said that he was empty and starving and cold like the edges of the universe where God first made him, bioluminescent, a precursor to blind predators at the deepest trenches of the ocean, except he was a lure for things older than that.

Lucifer shone so bright to hide the fact his light burned cold.

\--

As it stands, Team Free Will and it's trigger-happy plus-one are ready for the inevitable.

Michael's forces are nowhere to be found.

But the war hasn't ended.

There's no signs at all. Not even a cattle death, or a crackling storm.

Michael has been silent for weeks.

They wait for the wave that comes to break everything apart, to tear everything back down to it's foundations, in the false-start calm that pretends to be peace.

They can feel it rising in the backs of their throats, sour and slippery, basic like soap, and everyone's skin always seems washed out by gooseflesh and hair standing on end every time the birds don't quite chirp in the morning.

The wind is quiet whisper in the grass, beyond breath or true sound, just a rush of movement pretending to be a symphony.

The silence sounds like death.

\--

Lucifer flies Sam to the Devil's Slide, their beach ever since Stanford, ever since Lucifer made Jessica's feet dance in the sand and made her hands pull Sam up to hold him close and kiss him, soft and pure and endless, as they slow-danced under a red-as-blood moon.

Sam wraps his arms around his knees and leans his head on Lucifer's shoulder, picking at the bandages crisscrossing his arms and hands.

Lucifer pulls Sam's head closer to his chest, protected from the endless wind spitting up sand and dust and salt.

Lucifer could calm the weather with a thought. He doesn't. Sam wants normalcy. Wants Lucifer to let go. Wants Lucifer just to exist, just to breathe this in, just as he does.

Lucifer can give that to him.

Sam remains quiet. He's barefoot, a contrast with the rest of him all bundled up in five layers and Lucifer's borrowed hoodie.

Yet inside Sam can't think about anything except the feeling of Lucifer, how he's so hot all the time, and all he wants is the ice-cube glacier feeling of Lucifer inside him again.

Sam's wrists are still bandaged even if he whittled a few around his knuckles loose. He wouldn't let Lucifer heal the tendons there after he cut them and Lucifer brought him back yet again.

Lucifer knows not comment on it.

Not now. Not so close to last night.

And Lucifer would be angry, for Sam breaking his promise, but Sam's human and always been a liar, and Lucifer is too scared to be angry.

Both of them can tell something has to give, and soon, otherwise it will all turn to ashes before their eyes.

Sam remains hopeful, despite his despair. Lucifer has never understood that juxtaposition. But Sam knows he will be himself until the end, knows he has given all the love he has to give, and can't quite regret that. Can't quite regret being all of himself, and maybe the Devil can understand that, after all.

Still. The Devil won't say he's gotten used to Sam's back and forth moods even if there is one constant in the equation.

Sam is okay until he isn't.

But he knows what pieces he has to glue back together when Sam tears himself apart. He is an angel, after all, and grace was made to fill the spaces between atoms and song and skin.

And Lucifer will fill in all the raw places and numb them until Sam can't feel anything but soothed and wanting and joy and ecstasy. Sam deserves that. 

Sam deserves to feel happy even if he thinks he's unworthy of it.

He's always been worthy.

Lucifer kisses him and asks, "You remember when we slept here overnight?"

Sam nods, says, "Yeah." Only his voice breaks on the syllables.

And Sam cries until he's laughing and kissing Lucifer with all the abandon in the world, arms tight around Lucifer's worn down ribcage like he'll never let him go.

Lucifer does the same. And when they break apart, Lucifer hums, and sings in a language he's barely taught Sam yet, and he rubs the exhaustion and fear out of Sam's back and arms and spine until Sam is slack and shivering from the things he can't quite let himself have.

 _You promised you'd love yourself as much as I love you once I was gone._ Lucifer reminds, grace a whisper, warm and bold.

 **But I don't need to, anymore. I have you back... For however long you get to feel the love for both of us.** Sam answers.

"Sammy. Just love yourself as much as I love you. And I'll stay." Lucifer vows, so quiet and soft as the slow-dying sunbeams on their skin. "I promise I'll stay."

"Don't make promises you won't keep." Sam warns, voice muffled and stuffy.

"Sam. I'm not leaving you. Whatever happens-" Lucifer's voice is higher, much too quick, breathy in it's desperate assurances.

**You're mine, and I'm yours. I know.**

"That's not what I'm afraid of." Sam answers, voice hollow. His chin dips, bowed to his chest. His eyelids flutter when a hand combs through his matted hair, the feeling soft and soothing and careful as it brushes the whorls of sand out.

The silence hangs there, as Lucifer sits, one hand in Sam's hand while Sam remains a statue.

 _Stop being the judge, jury, and executioner to yourself. I am the only one with the divine right to judge humanity for their sins. And yours are wiped clean, because you are perfect and transcendent and kind and good in your imperfections, as gentle as I am not. Is that not good enough reason for you to let me wash the pain away_?

**I don't know if anyone's told you, but I'm not too good with authority figures telling me what to do.**

_I'm not asking you to love yourself from a position of power, Samuel. I'm asking as your equal and your friend._

**So you admit humans and angels are equal?**

_You and I are. The rest can't reach us where we stand. But I'll allow them to stay if I can keep you. Please. Sam. Please. We've given up all we can give. We can't sacrifice much else._

"What else can I say?" Sam asks. It's not like he's wrong. They've compromised however much they'll both allow.

Now it's all just a waiting game while Sam prays Lucifer can keep it together, just enough so they can just live and move on and be free like they're supposed to be...

And Sam ignores that his idea of freedom and Lucifer's are, for all their similarities, different animals completely.

_...Want to sleep over here again?_

Sam smiles at the snapshot memory of the two of them, of Jess curled up in his arms, the once-uncomfortable pits of sand hard on their backs cushioned by the sleeping bag that kept them tangled in each other. Watching the meteor shower as it started, all laid out on their damp towel, bright eyed and free, as they traced the path of the stars. Sam feels the stuttering echo of joy and weightlessness. At the innocent ease before all of the world settled around him like quicksand and held down his wrists and ankles and throats with invisible chains that dragged him deeper and deeper underwater until the pressure was crushing his lungs and ribcage and everything inside it.

**I'd like that. I'd like that a lot.**

Lucifer helps Sam to his feet. When they approach the shoreline, the cold water nips at Sam's feet, soaking the edge of his sweatpants just enough to be noticeable.

Only Sam stands in the cold violent foaming waves and lets the water burn and numb his toes with more ferocity...

It's still not nearly cold enough.

Sam could weep from how much he doesn't feel whole, except Lucifer is snuggled up against him, soft and inviting, and the rest of it is all right there, tantalizing and real and so, so very very close-

So Lucifer wraps his wings and arms and claws around Sam's waist and shoulder-blades and neck and lets him feathers brush against him, prickling, all silk and fuzz and ice crystals.

Sam leans back, leans into them, knees going weak as Lucifer supports his weight. Then Sam tips his head forward and presses a kiss to Lucifer's forehead and then meets Lucifer half-way as he gives an open-mouth kiss, and their faces slot together, mirroring each other, and then Sam falls further forward and sucks the cold skin of the Devil's throat.

Lucifer's hands cup the wings of Sam's pelvis, one armed snaked around Sam's waist, and he doesn't let go.

And when Sam finally shakes off his coat and peels off his layers to reveal one sweat-soaked wet t-shirt underneath, Lucifer fingerpaints sigils of frost over Sam's bare arms and cheekbones and kisses him until all Sam feels inside is soft and welcoming and elastic is heat radiating out, warming the pit in his stomach, pooling out from his navel and up his sternum and a wordless sigh of want and need and love seeps out from his mouth, slow and languorous, like molten metal dripping off his tongue.

Lucifer drinks Sam's breaths in, eyes never closing as he drinks in taste of Sam's bitten, dry lips and stares, unblinking, at the look in Sam's eyes as they gaze back at him, pupils so wide they might as well be the wide yawning mouth of the universe.

That's all that the Devil wants, is this one man standing in front of him.

Lucifer would weep with all the glory of creation for all the loneliness Sam chases away from him, from all the warmth Lucifer doesn't remember how to feel but holds on to tighter, anyway, because Sam is a match in the darkness that grows and grows into a supernova and Lucifer can't let it escape, can't let the warmth and trust and surrender and pure, unselfish love freely given ever escape him again.

No one else loves him. But Sam loves him more than enough.

He loves Lucifer so much maybe Lucifer's ice won't melt into poison, again, because everyone always said that's all love ever thawed him out into. Liquid poison.

This doesn't feel like poison, or betrayal, or fear, or pain, or abandonment.

Sam feels like home, and more than that, because Lucifer thought he was home, once, and it didn't feel anywhere close to this.

\--

After he's cheered Sam up and gotten him laughing and focused on seashells and sharks and other things, not the end of the world, Lucifer steps back and watches Sam splashing in the shallow water before Sam pulls him deeper.

The ocean itself is violent and full of riptides. Going out too deep would be dangerous, if Sam didn't have Lucifer with him.

They let the waves crash over them, Lucifer keeping them steady and braced and almost untouched except for the shock of the water hitting them, and Sam craves that numb shock of real feeling to snap him out of this, to ease all the aching of his not-satisfied bones, and Sam's teeth might chatter and his lips might be blue but Lucifer won't let him catch so much as a cold, and Sam leans into Lucifer's weight, both their clothes sopping wet, as he tries to drink up the cold when all he can feel is that he's constantly, constantly burning, so hot his skin feels inflamed and puffy to the touch.

The waves crash, loud like thunder, and the wind hisses through the grass of the dunes they left behind, a quiet building whisper Sam pretended was a drone to drown out all the things he's been failing to ignore.

The waves are louder, though. They succeed in freezing Sam's spiraling thoughts where the earth did not.

\--

After they've cooled off, Lucifer watches as Sam skips, tracking footprints that fade when the next waves surge in, and Sam whoops and shouts at the skyline, arms out, taking in the sunset and the wind and the salt with open arms.

Sam turns back with a smile all his face, dazzling and clear, then leaps into Lucifer's arms.

Lucifer catches him and they twirl and the Devil doesn't let go.

Lucifer sings, and Sam hums along with him, and they dance to a tune they belt out with only the gulls to hear.

\--

"Maybe we're thinking about this all wrong." Sam starts, inhaling a deep breath of sea air like it's a lifeline. His shoulders shrug, relaxing under Lucifer's touch as he massages the back of Sam's neck.

"What makes you say that?"

"Maybe we think we have to win a war when all we have to do is wait." Sam answers, so sure. Lucifer and Sam don't talk about the obvious omission there.

That they don't have time.

Laughter bubbles out of the Devil, and he holds his sides but doesn't stop himself from falling in Sam's lap. He looks up at him, eyes bright.

"What?" Sam asks, taken aback. "I meant what I said."

"You really do take after me, Sam. I've been waiting for so long." Lucifer says fondly, two fingers stroking Sam's neck. Blue eyes with a shadow of red stare at Sam's face with so much promise Sam has to look back up at the pinpricks of light on the waves. The sun is orange and bright and the dark blue of night chases it down, a half-circle against the fuzzy beyond of the ocean however far out it goes.

Lucifer whispers, "But now I'm done waiting, Sam. I've got you." And Sam shivers and suppresses a moan as the tingling feeling of everything Lucifer is even though his grace and its many tongues slide down his throat and graze against and under his skin, tasting of sin and musk and perfect ice-cube cold, 

Lucifer's voice turns all rough, all rumbling as he adds, "And you make me so very impatient."

Sam makes his smile turn into a roll of his eyes as he intercepts Lucifer's hand as it snakes up his thigh. "I still stand by my answer. Maybe we just have to outlast them."

"War of attrition?" Lucifer asks, voice aching with so much unsaid Sam feels it rumble in his bones.

Sam nods.

**Maybe if we just use up all their resources and find a way to seal Heaven up, they won't be able to do anything. Is that... Is that possible?**

Lucifer considers, taken aback. His head tilts and his expression morphs into flat blankness, a type of serenity that's not a mask, just his default look when he's all angel and not acting human enough to pass. 

_Possible, yes. Plausible... We'd have our work cut out for us._ Lucifer's wings wrap tighter around Sam, applying more pressure. _Although I'd feel much better knowing Michael can't ever find a way hurt you, if we're baring our hearts here, and there's only one permanent answer to that._

**But it can be done?**

_Have I ever lied to you, Sammy?_

Only then Lucifer sits up and looks pensive and moody again. Sam closes his eyes and breathes in the feeling of his head cradled in Lucifer's hands, then gathers his courage and asks what he's sure will be a stickier issue.

"What's really eating at you?" Sam asks.

Lucifer's hands don't stay still. He stares at his knuckles, fidgeting without purpose. One foot points, peering out from under his crossed over knees.

**What aren't you telling me?**

"What if we seal them up and I..." Lucifer hesitates, then asks, breathier, more subdued, wings hunched over himself. "What if I'm still... me, Sam?"

"I love you for who you are." Sam answers very softly, placing one hand against Lucifer's shoulder.

"You know what I mean." Lucifer wrings his hands, not bothering to shrug it off.

"Lucifer, you don't... You don't have to stop hating humanity just because I say so. I just... I mean, I want you to see humanity for what it is because human lives have value, but if that's not the only reason why. I want you to see us in a better light, perhaps selfishly, because I am one. And I don't know how you can love me if you hate what I am. That's something you have to understand."

_But Sam, that's not... That's not how it works. I love you more than everything. And I'm an angel, and even I discriminate between angels, Sam. This isn't unique to your species. They're just the most egregious offense._

Sam continues, bullheaded and resolved, "I guess... I thought, maybe I could help you understand..."

**I didn't want to lose you-**

_I won't let you, Sam._

Sam ignores the house of cards he's built around that same fear, the fear he might not stop Lucifer from not letting him go-

Sam continues, more stubborn, with more fire, "But even if I fail, Lucifer, what matters is... What matters is our actions. And if you don't act on how you feel..." Sam trails off, anticipating Lucifer's forlorn expression.

Sees his clenched fists and glued together jaw and slumped wings.

"...There's no reason this has to fall apart." Sam whispers, huddling in on himself again.

"I'm not known for holding it together, Sammy." Lucifer warns, looking at Sam like he's a puzzle he can't quite figure out.

"Now who isn't giving themselves enough credit?" Sam challenges, narrowing his eyes.

Lucifer remains quiet.

Sam sighs and hugs him close, eyes not leaving his face once. "Lucifer, I know you want to heal. I know you want this. I know you want me. But why can't you believe you're capable of holding on to this? You don't have to be afraid anymore." Sam inhales and starts up again with more fervor, more certainty, "I'm right here. Just like you're here with me. And I'm not giving up on you. But you can't give up on yourself. And even if you don't think you can change... Change isn't always bad, you know? Change isn't always loss. I changed without meaning to when I left for Stanford. Sometimes all it takes is taking a leap and hoping it all works out, that someone's looking out for you even when you don't know what you're doing. And I'm looking out for you. Do you understand that?" Sam breathes, holding on to the Devil as they look over the horizon. "Can you?"

Lucifer stares at Sam, blue eyes arrested, darting gaze following every small dips of Sam's head.

"Maybe I don't have to. I have you, and maybe..." He concedes, voice trailing off into a whisper as he cups Sam's cheek. "Maybe you can understand it enough for the both of us."

The sun falls below the line of ocean. Waves lap at their feet where they sit, legs splayed out in front of them.

Sam kisses the Devil.

Lucifer kisses back.

And then they are tripping and rolling in the sand, earlier footprints long since erased as they tumble and fall on top of each other, separate from everything and everyone.

They remain the only thing in each other's line of vision, feeling as if the only two alive things in the world.

"Stay here." Sam can't help but beg.

**With me.**

"There's nothing I want more." Lucifer answers.

Sam's mouth burns with a perfect imprint of frostbite.

The afterimage fills his heart up to the brim.

\--

Lucifer dries them both off with a pat of his wings and a rush of icy grace, then carries Sam to a warmer, dryer part of the beach where he lays them both down, Sam nestled in his arms, his own head pillowed by sand as he holds him close.

Sam drifts, head buried in Lucifer's chest, legs curled up so his legs hit his abdomen, as a hands strokes the back of his head.

Lucifer kisses his forehead and whispers a prayer in Sam's ear.

Sam answers it. Then he kisses him again, and Sam asks, it's not long before it's Lucifer saying the words he had asked Sam for so often, the "Yes," So bright and soft and adamant on his lips.

Sam is carefully taking off the layers surrounding the Devil and Lucifer slides the shirt above Sam's head and Sam is kissing Lucifer's lips and chest. More clothes are crumpled and cast away. And when Lucifer asks, Sam fills the Devil up, hard need tempered with patience and kindness and a desperation to banish the tension from Lucifer, to fill him up with warmth, to chase away the hurt and thaw the ice so Sam can take it for himself.

Lucifer gives freely, hips rucking into him, knees bent and back arched, and not even sand can make this messy, seeing as he's pure archangel, even if he feels human and matches everything Sam gives. All the tension drains from both their limbs just as the Devil's hands find their way inside Sam, and then he crooks them and makes Sam gasp his name in supplication with each thrust of Sam's hips.

When Sam is sticky and his breaths turn all huffy and sharp, Lucifer rolls them over and lets Sam slide out of him, shivering and gasping for breath, and then he sucks his true vessel clean before entering inside him. He thrusts, deep and slow, every telegraphed movement heavy and overwhelming, the full weight of Nick's body pressing Sam into the ground.

Sam bucks into him, seeking him out, thighs clamping tighter and torso arching closer and closer so physical proximity will fill him up more.

He's so hot and breathless and Lucifer keeps fucking him, faster and rougher, until Sam can't hold his head up or clutch Lucifer's shoulders and he lays back, bandaged hands uncurling, arms and legs shaking from so much need and electric, wet pleasure that a muscle twitches against his thigh and Sam can only tilt his head back, mouth open, begging Lucifer to steal his breath and push farther inside.

When they both finish, Lucifer's grace cleans them off, and then he wraps Sam up in his flannel shirt and zips up his pants and slides both their clothes back on.

They lie back down, and Lucifer keeps Sam's back tight against his chest, arms wrapped over Sam's own, hands cradling Sam's self-inflicted injuries gently, numbing them as both of them stay huddled in each other's arms in the sand, cheekbones pressed against each other.

\--

When he wakes, Sam watches the sun rise with wings wrapped around him, cold, but insulating him from the rest of the world.

The sky lights up with orange and gold, and Sam thinks there isn't much difference from sunset or sunrise, an ending or a beginning, just like Sam and Lucifer are trapped in each other's orbit no matter how hard they try to contain it.

Like them, the earth circles the sun all the same.


	42. Clementine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by sarah jaffe

Lucifer likes to tell himself he'll change. Not necessarily because he wants to.

But because Sam looks at him like he's finally at peace when he says it, and Lucifer doesn't want to lose that feeling Sam evokes ever again.

Problem is...

Lucifer's sin has always been the double-dipped contradiction of both endless doubt and too much faith.

He doubted his Father's creations, his infallibility, his foresight.

And he'd had faith Michael and Gabriel and Raphael and the Angels and God himself would see that he was right.

And because he loved and lost so deeply, Lucifer distrusts love, because everything else that's loved him decided to choose otherwise long ago.

Everyone and everything except for Sam, that is.

Lucifer knows this. Has had a long time to come to terms with it. Eons and eons of silence and waiting and quiet, burning rage and the certainty that not only was he right, but he would win, would show them all, in the end.

And when he did, Sam would be right there with him.

And just as sure as he is of that fact, he knows Sam will forgive the one he belongs to for all the hurt, for all the prices they had to pay, for all the slopes they had to slide down to make the world theirs.

Because Sam isn't like everyone else.

He's perfect.

But it doesn't change the fact that sometimes, Lucifer would do anything to be the fragile, merciful creature Sam saw somewhere in his heart.

He liked how Sam looked at him, then. Like he wasn't brighter than the sun and was something softer than he has ever been, someone to be protected and held close.

Like Sam was the one who was supposed to keep him safe, when it's the other way around.

Sometimes, Lucifer wonders why God bothered to make him an Archangel. He wouldn't trade it for anything- he's too proud and sure and vengeful and endless to be anything else. 

But sometimes, sometimes... He wonders, if God knew how this all would play out, why he couldn't have just made him the lonely, proud, breakable blonde animal Sam had thought he'd been, once. Why he couldn't be some simple, uncomplicated, messy thing, like Sam, to hold on to, and not know the sting of siblings and family that turned it's back on him the moment he'd struck out on his own.

He wonders, but then again, the Devil knows why.

God wanted them to suffer and then emerge with victory so sweet, because it was about learning a lesson, about pain and agony and wreaking it all upon the ones who made it necessary in the first place.

A lesson Lucifer didn't really care to learn.

Which is why he'd win.

Still, if God wants them on a hamster wheel just to see what happens, and then just left.... Maybe after it was quiet, he would finally come back and see just how completely he had broken him, had abandoned them-

And if he didn't regret it, Lucifer would make him.

Lucifer would make him feel that lesson he'd tried to impart so hard on everything he created, thinking he was above it all. Maybe that was his right as God, perhaps.

But as his Father... God had one too many crimes to answer for.

And when he won, when Sam and the Devil were the ones standing with the bright, alive world at their feet...

It would just be him and Sam and no God or brothers to tell him that's he's not good enough.

Maybe God would remake them. Maybe not.

But either way, he'd answer for what he'd done, or give Lucifer the gift Lucifer isn't sure he entirely orchestrated from the beginning, or if he only condoned that because his belief in choice and fate was part of something bigger.

Lucifer had long since given up on trying to figure out God's motives.

He's more concerned with keeping Sam, now, any way possible.

Any way to keep him from looking at him, so broken, as he had so many times, because Lucifer hadn't wanted that, even if it was necessary.

Lucifer just wanted him home safe, ready and rearing for absolution as much as the Archangel has been for so long now.

Sam is young in all the ways Lucifer is not.

That's why Lucifer needs him. Sam sees a future, sees options, sees new life wherever Lucifer sees a place to tear apart. 

It doesn't make him right, not one bit.

But it makes Lucifer's burden easier to bear. Makes him believe in something when he'd had very few things left to believe in.

Sam gave Lucifer certainty, purpose, and sensation in a world that otherwise was silent and indifferent.

And having Sam, having that, meant all the doubt left Lucifer's mind.

Because as long as he has Sam...

He has everything he needs to conquer anything in his path.

And if Sam isn't on board...

He will be. He'll understand.

And if understands and hates it, that won't change what must be done.

Sam's anger was a force to be reckoned with, even Lucifer will admit that.

But he never could stay angry at Lucifer for long.

Not when it counts.

That's why Lucifer knows everything will work out.


	43. Good Intent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by kimbra
> 
> also heavy tw again

Dean usually is out of the house by the time Lucifer and Sam make it to the kitchen.

Today, he's not so lucky. But it's not like he was going to leave. Not when Sam is more of a mess than he thought.

Then again, he should've expected it. All of this arrangement was too good to be true, and Dean wasn't falling for Lucifer's game, even if Sam thought he didn't have a choice, because Sam was just desperate enough to try anything if it meant he wasn't being accosted by the Apocalypse all the time. If he could do anything to stop it...

He would.

Sam keeps sleeping in, undisturbed. Bobby's outside. Has been all night, except when he's gone to check on him, making tea for when he wakes up.

Cas just kept standing in the Hall, stiff as a board, every bit a soldier. He keeps watching Lucifer, eyes tracking his every movement, never blinking. Sometimes they glance at Sam's half-ajar door. Making sure Sam was stable, after trying to die.

Dean sees the corner of the quilt Sam had received as a gift from one of their teachers from who-knows-where. It's stained with blood, and patched up over and over, but Sam loved that damn blanket. Always felt safe wherever he hauled it around.

Lucifer had wrapped him in it as a means to stop him from trying to stab himself repeatedly. Sam had snapped out of nowhere, making dinner. No one had said anything. He just looked at Lucifer, saw how still he was as he looked out the window, and then something in his expression just shifted and he looked like the world had already ended for him.

Dean thinks Sam drew it all out on purpose, that he aimed for his stomach just to make it hurt himself the most, to make his death agonizing and slow. Like hurting himself hurts Lucifer, like it's the only weapon he has, like it's all the shame and betrayal and feeling of weakness he's kept bottled up, that Dean pretends he hasn't seen behind his eyes ever since Ruby told Sam just who he let out.

The knife never got there. Lucifer went from stillness to all motion, appearing right in front of Sam, wrestling him against Bobby's stove as he wrenched it out of Sam's grip.

Sam had screamed at Lucifer until his sobs were barely articulate. "You promised. You promised, and if it meant nothing at all, if you can't fucking help yourself, if you can't choose us..." Then his voice gave out, a rasping noise from a constricted throat and not being able to get in enough air. "If you're going to kill everyone, if that's what matters most to you, I'm sure as Hell not going to watch. And I'm not going to be a part of it. I'm not going to be there at all. I don't want to see it." Then Lucifer is keeping Sam from wriggling to go for the knife again after he lunged, pinning his arms with his own, with Sam yelling, throat raw, "No. No! Don't touch me. No, no, get off, you can't bring me back again, you can't-" Sam wailed, as the knife had clattered out of his hand again.

"Sam. You promised you would stop this." Lucifer's voice turned to steel.

Sam glared right back at him, face red and puffy and eyes slits.

"Yeah," Sam's voice broke, "And you promised you'd give us a chance. And I still fucking believed you. Shows what I know-"

"Sam. I'm not going anywhere." Lucifer had whispered, so softly, holding Sam's wrists, eyes inches from Sam's own. "Please. If you want to lash out, hurt me, but not yourself, not you-" Sam looks so lost, so heartbroken, and Dean wants to pull Sam away- except he knows Sam, knows the twitch of his mouth and the glint in his eye, and knows if he gets closer, Sam really would go for the knife again.

Sam wouldn't look at him, just his wrists and the knife he can't reach askew on the floor.

"You were considering it." Sam hisses, eyes burning before the tears fell, and then Lucifer is hugging him close, whispering comforts that aren't comforting. "Just wiping everything out, slowly, one at a time..."

"Sam. I'm not used to things working out. Just because I had a small crisis of faith in my ability to do this doesn't mean-"

"I know you, and your convictions. This isn't about you doubting yourself. This is about what you want. And there is nothing I can do to stop it." Sam accuses. "So let me go."

And then Dean can't stay away, because something alien and closed off flashes across Lucifer's face, something ugly and possessive and ancient and hungry, and it scares him more than anything else he's ever seen, with Sam just staring back at the look like he's used to it. Lucifer's expression smooths over, and he keeps one hand around Sam to restrain him, the other stroking Sam's shoulder.

He doesn't say anything else. He knows that will just be seen as a lie, or an excuse, by Sam right now. It wouldn't be wrong. But he needs Sam to calm down, so he goes for the next best thing, just whispering, "Sam, Sammy. Look at me. Look at me and tell me that I'd ever give up on you-"

"It's not about me, Lucifer. It's never been about me." Sam growls, the sound throaty and ragged.

"Sam-" Lucifer sighs, wrapping the blanket tighter around Sam.

"Just because you were waiting for millions of years doesn't mean I owe you this." Sam rasps, still vicious, and then his voice quakes again, "I don't. I don't owe you anything. You don't get to have me and act like-"

Lucifer tucks Sam's hair behind one ear, and says, "Sam. I'm not asking for anything from you. Just stop hurting yourself. You've made your point. And I love you. I love you. It's going to be fine. It's all going to be fine."

"I don't believe you." Sam answers.

"I'm not lying."

"I don't care. I don't want to live like this."

"Sammy-" Dean had gasped, crouching down next to him.

Sam had looked at him like he was a stranger, and then Sam had ducked his head down and couldn't look at him.

"I'm sorry, De. I can't. I..." Then Sam's looking at Lucifer again and heaves in a breath. "This is the only thing that scares you. Tell me how else I can make you stop, and I'll... Lucifer, just... please."

And then Sam's voice fails and he can't say anything at all, with Lucifer closing his eyes.

When he opens them, there's something distinctly terrifying staring back.

"Sam. You aren't going anywhere, and neither am I." Then he hefts Sam up and pulls him up on his knees, hugging him close, with Sam still sobbing. "And if you think I'm going to let you punish yourself..." He lets the threat hang, voice turning gentle. "Just trust me, Sam. Trust I'm not giving up on you."

"What about everything else?" Sam mumbles. "There is nothing I can do to stop you. What else am I supposed to do?"

Lucifer just cradles the back of Sam's head as he carries Sam to his room.

"Just rest. And what I do is not on you, Sam. It's never been on you."

Then the shock had set in as all Sam did was keep twitching before collapsing into Lucifer's arms, and just giving up.

Dean doesn't know how many times Sam has apparently tried this for it to be something considered routine, for Lucifer to be so angry and so accustomed to it. Like it's a bad habit Sam wouldn't quit.

It makes Dean sick.

He still doesn't say anything. All the words he want to say are too angry. They'd just wake Sam up because he couldn't stop himself.

And Sam needs rest where the Devil isn't haunting him. Because he can't be. Because he's pacing between the hallway and the kitchen because Bobby told him that if he wants Sam to be okay, he needed to get out of Sam's room right this second, or he'd find some way to give the Devil his due.

Lucifer listened. Not because the threat did anything- he had certainly been offended enough that Bobby thought he'd lost any right to Sam. But he did want Sam to feel safe, and not collapse inwards on the weight of all the things pressing down on him, so he knows, in this case, Bobby is right.

The pacing is silent, but the movement gets on Dean's nerves anyway.

Dean downs two shots of whiskey. It's not even 6 am yet.

\--

Sam gets up in silence and stays inside all day. Lucifer keeps a bubble of distance so Sam doesn't break down again, but doesn't leave the room he's in.

Except for once. And when he enters the kitchen, he says nothing. Just stares at the wall. Lucifer keeps pacing, giving Sam space but looking spooked. He keeps looking in, and Cas keeps watch.

Sam somehow hides the fact he snuck drain cleaner in his drink, and his knees buckle and he goes down when Dean is on his way back from the bathroom.

Sam dies slow, with Dean just yelling, trying to get to him, feeling helpless-

Lucifer kneels next to him, hand on Sam's jaw, and then Sam is breathing again, just like that, choking in air, foam at his mouth gone-

Sam looks at Lucifer like he's betrayed him. But it's Lucifer who speaks first.

His words make Dean freeze, ice creeping up his spine.

"Sam. You aren't going anywhere."

"Maybe. But if I have to weaken you over and over if it means you can't hurt anyone-" Sam's mind is a desperate, caged thing. He doesn't want to die. He also knows dying isn't really on the table, and that having Lucifer do what he does is the only kind of power he wields.

"Sam." Lucifer sighs. "I'm not lying. I'm not going after Michael, or going anywhere. Don't force my hand. Stop doing this to yourself-"

"Or what?" Sam challenges.

"Do that again, and I'll take you to Hell, and I'll take everyone you love with us and keep you there until the earth is mine." Lucifer snarls.

Sam says nothing, and Lucifer turns exhausted.

"Sam. I'm trying. I am."

Sam remains unresponsive.

Then Sam gets knocked out again, after that. Cas stays by his bedside.

\--

Lucifer accosts Gabriel afterwards. "Help me kill Michael."

Gabriel looks thrown. "Neutral party, remember-"

"Gabriel, if you don't find a way to get him out of the way, I'm going to have to do something drastic."

"Okay, hold up." Dean growls, interrupting the both of them.

Both of them eye Dean like they aren't sure what to make of him, but Lucifer schools his expression into something that isn't disdain, while Gabriel just gives him a look of "Godspeed, this won't do shit, but props to you for trying."

Dean keeps talking, anyway, just to shut him up. "We are all firmly anti-Apocalypse in this house. So no talk of killing, or whatever. We're gonna find another way. That's why we're here, right?"

And Dean tries not to let the accusation burn in his mouth, because he still doesn't trust Satan and knows the lie and they both know it but it's not like they can do anything about it just yet.

But Sam... Sam is drowning, and he needs an anchor, and he's listening at the door and if Dean can have faith for once, for the both of them, maybe it will help him in a way nothing else has. That's the only reason why Dean bothers, right now, and for once, it feels like Lucifer wants the same damn thing, even if he's the one causing all the problems to begin with.

"You've seen my brother. You know what he's like." Lucifer challenges. "Can you blame me for not trusting he'll move on?"

"Trust is not the issue. He's only marginally better than you." Dean growls back.

"He'd smite the earth to make it uninhabitable. I'd be merciful, on comparison." Lucifer concedes.

Dean's not sure why he is talking to him.

Maybe just to dispel the haunted look in Sam's eye.

"You can't burn everything to the ground and pretend that it's a preventative measure for the forest fire in the first place. I think we can all agree on the logic there." Dean tries.

Lucifer crosses his arms.

"Fine. Dean, if you have all the answers, what would you do? Are you willing to talk to my brother to get him to lay off, or do you think that's a plan destined for failure, too?"

"I think we could trick him. Possibly. And that might give us enough time to make a plan."


	44. Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by breaking benjamin

Sam's voice is too conversational for the things he's admitting, and it sends Dean into a tailspin.

"I killed myself, you know." Sam whispers, still looking at the fire. "When he told me I was his true vessel. I told him I'd kill myself before letting him in and he told me he'd bring me back. So I killed myself. And he brought me back. So I tried again and again and the same thing just kept happening. But it never worked. And you and Cas needed me, so... I just stopped trying."

"Sam, you deserve to live." Lucifer flies in and stares and him, hands trembling. "You, of all people, deserve to live."

"Why...?" Dean trails off, not sure how to ask the question he needs answered to the Devil and too overwhelmed to say more.

Lucifer straightens, and he looks every bit an Archangel, eyes burning with terrible and beautiful and holy fire. "I wasn't going to keep Sam in Hell, Dean. Because that's where he goes- not because of anything he did, but only because of his ties to me. Why do you think Joshua told you it was struggle to bring him up there in the first place? Why do you think you share one- he's only able to get in thanks to his ties to you, and you to Michael, considering you're a 50/50 shot at Heaven or Hell otherwise. And even if Sam made it to Heaven on his own... Heaven is not a kind place, especially not for him, whatever you might think. Michael would have and will hurt him given the chance, the other angels would have joined in, and I wasn't... I wasn't going to leave him there alone. But I wasn't going to make him my prisoner in Hell. Not unless Sam gave me no other option."

Dean looks down.

Lucifer walks over to Sam, shoulders slumped, wings low at his sides. Sam doesn't move when his hands light on the sides of his arms, light and uncertain.

"You aren't going to stop, are you?" Sam says quietly, poking at the fire with a stick, not looking at anything but the flames.

Lucifer eyes him, so, so still. He might as well be a frozen mountain.

"Sam..." He answers, voice low.

"You aren't. I know you aren't." Sam hisses.

Lucifer closes his eyes and sighs. "I can't promise anything."

Sam's voice is a quiet, condemning fury. "Don't lie to me."

"I have never lied to you, Sam." Lucifer's voice is all gentle, but there's a deep well of feeling there, certain and weighty and cold.

"Maybe." Sam rasps. "But it feels like it sometimes. It feels like it a lot."

Lucifer inhales.

"Sam, I'm..." Lucifer trails off, then breathes, "I can give us more time." The burned and frayed and scarred parts of his vessels face stands out in sharp relief against the red and orange light of the flames, half of him still shadowed by the night as it blankets everything beyond in darkness.

Sam closes his eyes and then laughs a shrill, trembling laugh.

"We'll just keep kicking the can down the road, won't we? Until we can't anymore."

Adam watches everyone, silent, from the other side of the edges of the ring.

He leaves the group without them noticing.


	45. Equilibrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by blue foundation
> 
> also in between this things go very, very wrong so if you want the rundown, basic gist is Michael showed up possessing Adam, gave an ultimatum, Lucifer and Gabriel panicked, and post Raphael trying to kill Sam, Lucifer intervened and took Sam to Hell to "protect" him post some infighting with angels and the people at Bobby's fighting them off. Maybe one day I'll actually write that.
> 
> The chapter Say Amen has the flashbacks but in rewatch-format and that has other spoilers, because Sam not knowing some stuff that went down was also part of the plot.

"You lied to me."

"No, Sam. I told you. Two months. You failed to convince me. It's not your fault. Such is the way of the world. You're just too good for it all."

"That was your plan the whole time, wasn't it?"

"Sam-"

"Wait it out until I don't have the will to fight you and you find a way to stop me from finding ways to take myself out of the equation, or wait and keep baiting him until Michael makes his move and tries to kill us or the people I care about and then forces you back into fighting him. Then you're spotless, blameless, it's all his fault, even though you were banking on it the whole time."

"Say yes, Sam. This is the only way."

"No. No. I'm going to stop you. I will."

"Your best isn't going to be good enough on your own, Sam."

"I am not alone."

"Aren't you? You've got me, Sam. You've always got me. But your family? We know how this goes, Sam."

\--

"You don't want me to use you to end the world as you know it? Fine. But I'm doing what I have to do to keep us safe. And if you hate me for it... That's a price I'm willing to pay."


	46. Love is a Bad Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by kiiara

Ellen, Jo, Cas, and Crowley make it to Wyoming, to the cemetery where Dean made Azazel taste lead.

Castiel places the Colt in the lock. Dean had been adamant that he be the one to hold on to it, because Dean wasn't going to let anyone else get their hands on it, not after everything else, particularly since he either trusts no one else with it or, in the case of Ellen and Jo, all it would do is paint a target on their heads. Once Cas and Crowley have covered the ground and grass and surrounding headstones to make sure nothing else escapes while the rescue party makes their play and they fight the tides of demons heading in the other direction, although their road should be less traveled, now that everyone who already clamored their way to the peak of Hell to escape has either already escaped or been dragged back down...

The mouth of Hell yawns open, red light flickering over the stones and the grass. The blood shimmers with fire, glistening like an oil slick lit up, where Crowley and Castiel's warding meets the full force of Hell's gravitational pull.

And without a word, without any other sound except a few deep breaths on Earth, the shrieking of Hellfire and Hellhounds and torment below, and the clink of Crowley's gold watch as he fiddles with his cufflinks (and tries to pretend he isn't terrified they will be seen, will be dragged into the farthest reaches of Hell before this whole enterprise even kicks off), Ellen and Jo meet each others eyes, weapons slung over their shoulders, Ruby's knife in Jo's hand.

With the other she takes hold of her mother's own, the feeling almost mirroring their deaths all over again, both women consumed by the same resolve and another kind of fire.

The three of them follow the crossroads down, walking exactly in the phantom of Crowley's careful, precise footsteps, all three swallowed by heat and a weight that almost makes their bones feel like they will be ground to dust and wisps of sulfur that sears and caresses their throat.

This isn't exactly a foolproof plan.

But it's the only one they've got.

Out of all the candidates, a few stray human souls and a demon well-versed in the pathways of Hell were the best chance of going unnoticed while they tried to make their way to the farthest edges of the Pit.

The door shuts behind them, and to human ears it sounds loud and final, but Castiel barely pays it any mind as he removes the Colt. He'd be needed to fly down and breach through Hell's forces to bring them back, but until they have Lucifer contained, he's needed up here.

And Castiel flickers back to where Dean and Bobby are waiting, because as much as Dean wants to raise Sam from Hell...

They're needed to distract Lucifer while they try to get Sam out, and Dean not being present would set all of Lucifer's forces on red alert, because everyone knows what Dean is after.

When Sam Winchester is involved, Dean Winchester is always two steps behind. He had promised to protect him, and no matter how many times he'd failed...

No one takes Sam away without facing the consequences.


	47. Talk to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Blue Foundation

"Sam. Sammy. Are you with me?" Dean asks, waving a hand in front of Sam's face.

Sam doesn't stir at first, then refocuses.

"Yeah. I'm..." He trails off, arrested by the news reports and body count of the latest natural disaster Lucifer's sent devastating North Dakota.

Dean knew Lucifer was playing Sam the whole time.

It didn't mean it was easy seeing Sam fall apart from the aftermath.

More importantly...

Sam can't afford to be out of it, right now. He needs to keep his head in the game.

Even if Sam did just come back from Hell.

Even if Ellen and Jo are dead again, because of him.

Even if Bobby's back in the wheelchair.

And Dean doesn't really get it, if he's being honest with himself.

How Sam could believe him.

Still.

That's what you get when you let the Devil make you feel something.


	48. Hellfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s5e15

Bobby looks down, reminiscent. "She always used to hum when she cooked. Tone deaf as all hell, but..." Bobby trails off. "I never thought I would hear it again." Bobby stares at Dean.

Off to the side, Sam's heart clenches.

He knows that feeling too well... And look how that turned out for him.

Dean meets Sam's eyes.

"Look, just read Revelation. The dead rise during the Apocalypse." Bobby begs. "There's nothing in there that says it's bad. Hell, maybe it's the one good thing that comes out of this bloody mess."

No one believes that, not really. If Lucifer has anything to do with it, then they all know otherwise.

There is no way this ends well for anyone.

"And what would you do, if you were us?" Dean asks, leaning forwards.

Sam can't hold Bobby's gaze. He knows the feeling too well. Knows what he is asking for, and can't quite make himself be such a hypocrite.

Bobby sighs, voice rough. "I know what I'd do, and I know what you think you gotta do. But I'm begging you... Please." And then he's looking right at Sam, eyes watering. "Please. Leave her be."

Sam has rarely seen Bobby cry. Only once or twice, ever, in his life.

And Sam can't do that to him. He can't.

Lucifer has been silent for days.

Sam doesn't know what he would gain from this.

\--

Dean shuts off the engine to the Impala.

"He's crazy." Dean groans.

"It's his wife, Dean." Sam says. He tries to stay calm enough for the both of them.

"So he goes 'Full Metal Jacket' on us? We're his family, Sam!" Dean exclaims.

"Look, man, bigger fish, okay? I mean, we got a bunch of zombies about to turn this town into a giant chew toy." Sam argues.

"Yeah, and he's alone in a house making pie with one of them?" Dean snipes back.

"Alright, so?" Sam doesn't budge, eyebrows raised. Bobby knows what he's doing.

"So?" Dean keeps giving him a pointed look, neither of them budging. Dean adds as he stutters out, "I'm going to have to go back there and kill her. That's the only thing I can think of."

And Dean officially can't be reasoned with by typical means.

Sam tries pragmatism. "If he sees you, you're a dead man."

"Well, then I guess I won't let him see me."

Sam knows a lost argument by now. He's not one to give up.

"Okay." Sam says quietly, then sighs. "I'll head into town and then rescue everyone. Should be easy."

"Sounds like." Dean grunts.

Sam scoffs. "I'm gonna need some help."

"What about the sheriff?"

"Uh, last time I checked, the sheriff was pretty pro-zombie."

"I guess you'll just have to convince her."

"How?" Sam asks, marveling. Sure, she'll be completely on-board when it's her son that was resurrected. 

He has a sinking feeling that if people have turned by now, it might not matter.

\--

Sam's hunch is right, and he wishes it wasn't. Only saving grace is the Sheriff is on his side.

He feels for her, though.

Having your kid turn... That's...

There are no words for that.

And it's not something Lucifer would balk at, Sam knows.

Sam handles Sheriff Mill's son. It's the only thing he can do for her.

He knows it won't help. Not really.

\--

They take out the zombies.

That's the easiest part for Sam, really. Once they're gone... They're not people.

It's just another hunt.

Another night he doesn't have to sleep through.

Although, Lucifer hasn't appeared for the week, still.

That almost scares Sam more.

\--

"She was the love of my life." Bobby mourns softly. He shakes his head. "How many times do I got to kill her?"

Sam looks down, eyes wet and his heart pounding.

"You okay, Bobby?"

Sam knows he isn't. Sam still isn't, either.

_A bit too close to home, Sam?_

**Get out.**

"You boys should know," Bobby starts, "Karen told me why Death was here."

"What do you mean?" Sam asks, immediately snapping back to attention. 

"I know why he took a stroll through a cemetery in the sticks of South Dakota." Bobby inhales. "He came for me."

"What do you mean, you?" Dean asks.

The fire crackles and leaps, embers spitting out, discarded.

"Death came for me. He brought Karen back to send me a message."

"You, why you?" Dean interrupts.

Bobby's tone becomes more heated. "Because I've been helping you, you sons of bitches. I'm one of the reasons you're still saying no to Lucifer, Sam." Bobby's voice grows gruff as he turns to Sam, still bitter.

The fallout hadn't been kind to anyone.

_Yeah. Not a fan about that, if I do say so myself._

**I said get out.**

"So this was like a hit on your life?" Dean asks.

"I don't know if they wanted to take my life or my spirit. Either way, they wanted me out of the way."

"But you're gonna be alright." Sam affirms. Anything less wasn't allowed. "Right, Bobby?"

Bobby looks back at Sam, and Sam sees something broken. Something he recognizes too well.

_This is what happens the longer you drag this out, Sam. It's just causality. It's not you, it's just how this goes. Michael wants to make this hard on everyone. But you and I can make their pain go away if you would just end this faster._

**No. No, you don't get to have this. You sent Death here. You don't get a say.**

_Yes, I do. I'm going to protect you, Sam, one way or another. And I don't want the people you love to suffer, if only for your sake. So, for once, give the people around you a chance. Don't fight me every step of the way._

**No. You don't get to play that card. Not anymore.**

_Don't I, Sam? Don't I?_

**You had your chance. You left. You gave up, on me, on us-**

_No, Sam. We tried our best. But our best isn't good enough, not when Michael is involved and we're not together and whole. Now, we do things my way. And I didn't give up on us. I just know, when the end comes, that you will come around._

**Get. Out.**

_Fine. But don't delude yourself into thinking this is over. You can't keep pretending we have other options, Sam. We don't._

**That's not your call to make.**

_Maybe not. But you'll see, Sam. You'll see._

_\--_

Lucifer doesn't stop visiting Sam's dreams once after that.


	49. Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s5e19
> 
> also i'm definitely cutting parts of this because 90% of it sucks and all that really needs to be is the later stuff, so if you want to skip this is the chapter i'd recommend skipping as far as canon based stuff goes because it was just me trying to figure out how to make canon and not canon work and it didn't end up having as much gabriel lucifer angst as I wanted anyway
> 
> chapter title a song by Halsey

“Sam, unpucker, man. Eat something.” Dean asks.

“We should hit the road, Dean.” Sam replies, distracted.

“In this storm? What? It’s-” Dean stutters, but Sam cuts him off.

“It’s biblical, exactly. It’s friggin’ Noah’s ark out there, and we’re eating pie.”

Dean can see how worn to the bone he is. Lucifer’s dramatic exit did a goddamn number on him.

“How many hours of sleep did you get this week? What, three? Four?” Dean’s tone is gentle.

Sam looks away.

“Bobby’s got his feelers out, okay? We have talked with every hoodoo man and root woman in the 12 states." Dean says, and Sam meets his eyes again.

“Yeah, well I’m not giving up.”

“Nobody’s giving up.” Dean growls. “Especially me.”

Dean stares at Sam, who looks away again. “We’re gonna find a way to beat the Devil, okay? Soon. I can feel it. And trust me, we will kick his ass. And we’ll find Cas and get Adam away from Michael. We will. But you are no good to me burnt out.”

Sam narrows his eyes, thinking, and then concedes. That was easier. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“C’mon, we’ve actually got the night off for once. Let’s try to enjoy it.”

\--

That plan goes to shit immediately.

They try to free the others, but they aren’t fast enough.

And then Sam and Dean are grabbed and dragged into an audience with gods they haven’t considered much aside from the singular one.

You don’t tend to think about the others that might be out there when angels only focus on the one, even if Lucifer mentions God fought other Gods before. He made it sound like the past tense, all that fighting he did at his Creator’s side.

It’s not exactly the focus though, when they’re serving human heads for dinner and putting spotlights on you and the like.

Guests of honor. Hah. If Sam’s life wasn’t already such a mess he might actually be concerned.

\--

Baldur starts in, talks about the rarity of having so many gods under one roof.

“Gods?” Sam asks the question to Dean, rhetorical, because he has an idea of what’s coming or what to expect anymore.

And then Baldur keeps talking, and Sam whispers to himself, “Oh, we are so, so screwed.”

Not because of the gods. No. Because Lucifer is whispering in his head again, and Sam knows that he isn’t going to stay hidden for long.

_Sam. I leave for a week, and this is what you get into? Really? It’s like trouble finds you without even trying._

**Go to Hell.**

_I mean, if they kill you, I promise I won’t keep you there too long, Sam. And I know you won’t tell me where you are, no point in asking._

The Gods start arguing among themselves very quickly. Even if Michael has a stopgap vessel, he still might try to go for Dean, and neither of them want to chance it on top of everything else.

Sam and Dean get up to leave. Maybe they can make a break for it before Lucifer shows up.

The chandelier stops them, all thanks to Kali.

“We have to fight. The archangels, the only thing they understand is violence. This ends in blood. There is no other way. It’s them, or us.” She announces.

Sam honestly can agree with her on that.

“With all due respect, ma’am, we haven’t even tried talking to them.” Mercury grates out.

Sam wouldn’t recommend it.

Kali agrees. Mercury chokes until Baldur stops her.

“Who asked you?” Kali murmurs.

Sam is starting to see why anything supernatural on the top of the food chain is so trigger happy. It’s probably learned behavior.

“Can’t we all just get along?” And Gabriel is there. He stops Sam and Dean from blowing his cover, whatever it is.

_So my little brother shows his face._

Yeah. This isn’t going to end well.

“Sam, Dean. It’s always wrong place, worst time with you muttonheads, huh?” Gabriel jests as the doors close behind him.

_I quite agree._

Sam is really tired of everyone being patronizing.

“Loki.” Baldur growls.

“Baldur. Good seeing you too. I guess my invitation got lost in the mail.” Gabriel answers lightly.

“Why are you here?”

“To talk about the elephant in the room. Not you.” He adds, gesturing to Ganesh. “The apocalypse. We can’t stop it, gang. But first things first. The adults need to have a little conversation. Check you later.”

And Sam and Dean are snapped out of the room.

“Okay, did that… Holy crap.” Dean starts.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Sam replies. “By the way, next time I say, ‘Let’s keep driving,’ Uh, let’s keep driving.” Sam’s voice peals off, hands thrown up in the air.

“Okay, yeah, next time.”

Sam rubs his face, hands punctuating his words from nerves. He can feel Lucifer humming closer every minute. “Uh, all right, so what’s our next move?”

“I, I don’t know,” Dean stutters. Sam pinches the bridge of his nose.

**Fuck.**

This is the absolute last thing Sam needs right now.

“We grab those poor saps out of the freezer, bust them out. Gank a few freaks along the way if we’re lucky?” Dean suggests.

“And when are you ever lucky?” Gabriel interjects from the chair as he appears out of thin air.

Sam and Dean start.

“Oh, you know what? Bite me, Gabriel.” Dean starts in.

“Maybe later, big boy.” Gabriel mocks too quickly.

“I should have known. I mean, this had your stink all over it from the jump.” Dean mutters.

“You think I’m behind this?” Gabriel asks, eyebrows raised as he uncrosses his legs. “Please. I’m the Costner to your Houston. I’m here to save your ass.”

“You want to pull us out of the fire?” Dean asks, disbelieving.

“Bingo. Those gods are either going to dust you or use you as bait. And Lucifer is already on warpath to get Sam, so either way, you’re uber-boned.” Gabriel answers.

“Wow, ‘cause a couple of months ago, you were telling us that we need to play our roles. You were uber-boning us.” Dean argues.

“Oh, the end is still nigh. Michael and Lucifer are gonna dance the lambada. But not tonight. Not here. And after Lucifer went full on Hannibal Lector for Clarice, here, I figure Sam can use any help he can get.” Gabriel slings back, a bit too casual about it.

“And why do you care?” Dean keeps going.

“I don’t care. But me and Kali, we uh… Had a thing. Chick was all hands. What can I say, I’m sentimental.”

Why does it always come back to relationships?

“Do they have a chance? Against Satan?” Sam asks, a bit too quietly. He already knows the answer, and Gabriel knows Sam knows the answer, but Sam needs to ask anyway because maybe then, Lucifer would shut up.

“Really, Sam?” Dean asks.

Sam turns to him, voice blank. “You got a better idea, Dean?”

“It’s a bad idea.” Gabriel assures, voice for once very serious. “Lucifer’s gonna turn them into finger paint.”

And you already know that, hotshot. Gabriel’s grace filters in. Sam narrows his eyes.

Lucifer hears and crowds him out.

_Don’t even try, Gabriel. Sam’s mine. Back off._

**Can you not use me as your go-between, thanks?**

_Too far away to do otherwise, Samuel. Gabe needs to remember his place._

Gabe continues as if Lucifer never said anything. “So let’s get going while the going’s good.”

“Okay, great. Why don’t you just zap us out of here, then?” Dean suggests. Sam likes that idea.

“Would if I could. But Kali’s got you by the short and curlies.” Gabriel counters. Sam gives him a look, and Gabe gives an angelic head tilt. “It’s a blood spell. You boys are on a leash.”

And Lucifer is singing murder about people touching Sam again. Sam’s tired of hearing it. It soon devolves into Lucifer saying that at least Sam can’t go anywhere, and that is arguably worse.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means it’s time for a little of the old black magic.” Gabriel says, not explaining anything as he sprays into his mouth. Sam could have gone his whole life without seeing that, thanks.

“Okay, yeah, well whatever. We’re gonna take the hor d’oeuvres in the freezer with us.” Dean replies, arms stilted in their movements as he tries to hold the anger in.

“Forget it. It’s gonna be hard enough sneaking you mooks out of here.” Gabriel argues.

“They called you Loki, right? Which means they don’t really know who you are.” Dean answers, eyes alighting with an idea.

“Told you, I’m in witness protection.” Gabriel answers lightly.

Although, Sam you make that a bit difficult just by existing.

_STOP TALKING TO HIM. USE YOUR WORDS. HIS SOUL IS MY TERRITORY._

**Lucifer. I’m going to fall over if you do that again.**

_Sorry, Sammy. Little brothers are such a pain. But you know that._

And Sam’s heart clenches when he thinks about Adam. What he did.

“Okay, well then how about you do what we say, or we tell the legion of doom about your secret identity?” Dean proposes and steps forward. “They don’t seem like a real pro-angel type of crowd.”

That’s more than an understatement.

“I’ll take your voices away.” Gabriel threatens.

“We’ll write it down.”

“I’ll cut off your hands.”

_OH NO YOU WON’T._

Sam stumbles and holds his head.

**Lucifer.**

_Sam, the next time I see you you’ll be lucky if I don’t whisk you away immediately._

**STILL DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT YOU CAN STOP SCREAMING AT THE HIGHEST ANGELIC FREQUENCY POSSIBLE.**

_Point taken. Although, I love it when you scream, Sam. Gets all the blood flowing-_

**Shut. Up.**

Dean holds Sam upright as he quips, “Well, then people are gonna be asking, ‘why are you guys running around with no hands?’”

Sam wonders if he knows why Sam stumbled or just doesn’t question things anymore.

Gabriel inhales deeply and eyes the two of them.

“Fine.”

\--

The plan doesn’t go to plan.

And turns out Kali knows Gabriel’s identity.

Sam and Dean are once again manhandled into the room.

Lucifer is very, very unhappy about it.

Sam is definitely going to have a migraine by the end of the night.

“How’s the rescue going?” Dean grumbles and eyes Gabriel as if he wasn’t even sure if he could be more disappointed.

“Surprise, surprise.” Kali answers.

“Kali, don’t.” Gabriel begs.

“You’re mine now.” She answers, unyielding. She sits on his lap. “And you have something I want.”

Kali pulls out the angel blade from Gabe’s jacket.

“An archangel’s blade. From the archangel Gabriel.” She purrs.

Sam wonders how it will be any use against Lucifer. Sam couldn’t stab him even if he wanted to.

“Okay! Okay, so I got wings, like kotex,” Gabriel answers, still nonchalant. His tone shifts. “But that doesn’t make me any less right about Lucifer.”

“He’s lying.” Kali argues. “He’s a spy.”

Hah. As if.

“I’m not a spy, I’m a runaway.” Gabriel counters.

_That’s putting it lightly._

Sam can feel the grace spinning closer and the adrenaline all comes rushing back. Lucifer is only being conversational so Sam can feel it, Sam knows.

Gabriel keeps going. “I’m trying to save you. I know my brother, Kali. He should scare the living crap out of you.”

Sam agrees. That’s more than an understatement.

Gabriel starts yelling, “You can’t beat him.” And then he composes himself. “I’ve skipped ahead, seen how this story ends.”

_I will say, it’s nice to finally get some actual respect, even if my brother did abandon me. It’s been so long._

“Your story, not ours.” Kali objects. “Westerners, I swear, the sheer arrogance. You think you’re the only ones on earth? You pillage and you butcher in your God’s name. But you’re not the only religion. And he’s not the only God. And now you think you can just rip the planet apart? You’re wrong. There are billions of us. And we were here first. If anyone gets to end this world, it’s me.”

_Such hubris, Sam. Can you believe it? Besides, it’s more of a mutual coming-into-existence type deal. Everyone all for themselves at the same time. That and their excessive propagation numbers are the problem, really. She would have a point, if she wasn’t such a perversion of what she used to be. It’s not about religion, Sam. Religion doesn’t dictate power, only dictates the petty human souls used for consumption. And these pagans, they think they’re hot shit. They aren’t. Gods in their natural element are all just on the same playing field. They all are in competition. And these ones? They traded power for belief and sacrifice, spread themselves thin so they are just shadows of a god now. When the things they used to augment their power became symbols, part of themselves got consumed. Bound to mortality. They aren’t the real deal, aren’t the forces they used to be. All the Gods used to have their own parts to play, their own ways of shaping realities. The ones that manifest? They got diluted. Knockoff’s of what they used to be. Now they engage in all this squabbling. And Dad? In the old days, Dad was something else. Elohim, the Highest, all the facets of God and Death and Beyond It All, plurality and duality and trifecta and the singular, all faces a portion of something nameless and beyond labels, all part of the cosmic chain that set everything all off. The first portion of which became Dad. And then Dad broke the best part of himself off to hide, so much that’s he’s lesser than these ones now. It’s a tragedy, let me tell you. As for me, well, I was made to rip other Gods and creatures apart in his name. Uphold his glory and his wrath and his vision. My bond to you is purer than any divinity, purer than any material bonds or physical plane, because through the melding of soul and grace, together we become greater than anything. But I’m getting off track, Sammy. Don’t worry, I’ll find you sooner than you think. And then these pathetic creatures won’t lay another hand on you._

Sam is getting frantic now, his eyes watering. Lucifer is so close.

Kali strokes Gabriel’s face. “I’m sorry.”

Then she stabs him. Gabriel erupts into light.

_Don’t worry, Sam. I’d know if my brother died. There’s no way that’s the real deal. You know how he is. Probably never properly walked through the door to begin with._

Sam tries to keep up his poker face in case not doing so makes this worse. Dean believes the scene wholeheartedly.

Sam has bigger problems right now.

“This is crazy.” Mercury murmurs.

“They can die.” Kali declares. “We can kill Lucifer.”

_Oh, in your dreams, honey._

Sam stays quiet as Dean exhales and makes his own game plan. “All right, you primitive screwheads. Listen up.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Sam asks. His voice is so tired and drained it’s deep as a well.

_Your brother really doesn’t have good self-preservation skills, does he?_

“I’m out of options.” Dean answers, and Sam shifts in place, panic clear as day. He hopes his brother got the damn message he was trying to send with his eyes. Gabriel isn’t dead. Dean trying to stab Lucifer isn’t going to end well at all.

“Now on any other given day, I’d be doing my damnedest to uh, kill you, you filthy murdering chumps. But, uh, hey… Desperate times.” Dean walks to the other side of the room, arms out in false placation. “So even though I’d love nothing better than to slit your throats, you dicks, I’m gonna help you.” And Dean grabs a drink.

Sam fidgets.

Dean adds, “I’m gonna help you ice the Devil.”

Sam can’t help but turn and stare at him, still a bit offended despite himself. Deep down, he doesn’t want Lucifer to die. Just to suffer for a very long time and be locked away so he can’t hurt anyone. And then preferably not kill people and bring back everyone he’s killed and get decent therapy. It would go a long way. But who is Sam kidding. He’s probably gonna to die taking Lucifer down with him.

_Is this his belated way of scaring me off with a shotgun, or does Carthage count for that?_

**Stop.**

Dean doesn’t look at Sam at all as he finishes, “And then we can all get back to ganking each other, like normal. You want Lucifer? Well, dude’s not in the yellow pages. But me and Sam can get him here.”

Sam wants to shake Dean and scream.

**Dean, no. Don’t encourage him.**

_No need to be shy, Sammy. Perhaps your brother is finally seeing sense. He knows I’m your best option._ Lucifer answers, sarcastic, because he knows Dean isn’t serious. Won’t help, though. Lucifer is still going to grab Sam, one way or another. _Either that, or he just wants to stab me._

Sam’s been trying to avoid this encounter ever since Lucifer left.

“How?” Kali asks, skeptical.

“First you let those main courses go. Then we talk. We can either take on the Devil together, or you lame-ass bitches can eat me.” Dean declares. “Literally.” The smile falls from his face and he throws back the alcohol too quickly.

Sam rolls his eyes.

_I take it back. Your brother is still a moron._

**Lucifer, only I get to insult my brother.**

_Fair enough._

At least the captive humans get out. Sam will give Dean that one.

And then Sam is separated from Dean as a hostage.

Lucifer is all about murder again, and pissed Dean left Sam alone.

\--

Dean realizes his miscalculations when he finds Gabriel very much still alive.

Icing the Devil isn’t proving as easy as planned.

And Dean realizes what Sam was trying to communicate. That holy shit, they are handing Sam over to Satan on a silver platter.

Gabriel at least has an escape plan. Dean tries his best to focus on that.

The sooner Sam gets out of here, the better.

But then Dean has a better idea, and does his best to tear Gabe a new one.

Maybe then he’ll actually go to bat for once.

“They just stabbed me in the friggin’ heart!” Gabriel objects.

“Maybe, but you still give a crap about them, don’t you?”

Just like Sam still gives a shit about the greasiest piece of shit Dean’s ever laid eyes on. Dean tries not to feel too bad for Sam when he knows he’s planning on killing someone Sam has not gotten over yet. Sam just wants to threaten to kill Satan and slay Michael so then maybe Lucifer will take a chill pill. Dean knows that. But Dean isn’t letting Sam’s feelings get in the way of this.

“Dean,” Gabriel starts in.

“Now, they’re gonna die in there without you.” Dean hisses with vehemence.

“I can’t kill my brother.” Gabriel answers too softly.

Dean tries not to relate to the feeling too much. Sam’s life was already at stake from something worse, and Dean has his priorities.

“Can’t or won’t?” Dean asks. He lets the anger in because that’s all he has. Sam’s a sitting duck. “That’s what I thought.”

Dean opens the car door and heads back in.

It slams on the way out.

\--

“So you’re going to summon Lucifer?” Kali asks, walking closer. Her heels tap on the floor.

“Sort of.” Sam murmurs. “I just need some demon blood and for you to squeegee some stuff from my ribs and he’ll come running.”

“Breaking them would be easier.” Kali hisses.

Sam fidgets.

_Oh, they better not. But Sam, I can’t believe you’re actually cooperating for once. You’ve been so intent on avoiding me. What do you think is going to happen here?_

**I’m hoping to change your mind.**

_Sam._

**No, Lucifer. We… we can still stop this. You can still come back. Change your mind.**

_Sam, they aren’t going to let you live. I have to do this. I have to keep you safe._

**I won’t be your prisoner.**

_I’ll let you go, Sam. As soon as I know you are truly safe, and that Michael can’t get his grubby hands on you._

Dean walks in.

“Show’s over. Swords a fake.” Dean announces.

Sam feels warring relief and exhaustion. He had hoped Gabriel was nearby with the real blade, and wanted that one to be handed over. He needs it, if he’s going to fight Michael and talk Lucifer down or threaten Lucifer into submission. He needs it, because if he doesn’t have it, Lucifer is going to drag him back with him kicking and screaming because he’s convinced that’s the best way to keep Sam safe.

Dean continues, “And Gabriel? He’s still kicking. I hate to break it to you, sister, but you’ve been tricked.”

At that second, Sam feels ice slip over him.

He’s here.

_Hey, Sam. Got here a bit earlier than planned. I hope I’m not interrupting._

The lights flicker, the storms roll in, and Sam lets the panic reign loose inside him.

“It’s him.” Sam whispers.

\--

Lucifer rings the bell for the front desk. Leans his hands over the table, elbows out, shoulders crowding the pathetic “God’s” space.

“Checking in.” He murmurs. His eyes are pure primordial ice waiting to tear these presumptuous creatures to pieces. They touched Sam. That is unforgivable.

Lucifer doesn’t smile, but if Sam were there, he would recognize the expression.

“Lucifer, thanks for coming.” Mercury starts.

“Oh, you did right calling me.” Lucifer’s voice remains amiable as he bites back the edge he would otherwise let out. He nods his head.

“It’s just… the way the talk is heading in there, it’s…” Mercury inhales, shakes his head. Lucifer mirrors the movement, almost mocking, but not quite. “It’s insane.” Mercury decides on as he finishes.

Lucifer stills, then lowers his gaze.

“You know, I never understood you pagans.” And then he leans forward, meets Mercury’s eyes. His face screws up in distaste. “You’re such, petty little things.”

Mercury blinks at him, taken aback.

“Always fighting. Always happy to sell out your own kind.” Lucifer drawls as he shifts his weight back and forth, unable to keep all the violence in. He points forward, expression too jovial. “No wonder you forfeited this planet to us.” He points for emphasis again. “You are worse than humans. You’re worse than demons.”

Lucifer smiles them, almost laughing. “And yet you claim to be gods?”

Lucifer tilts his head as his hand twitches, and he rips the thing staring back at him apart. “And they call me prideful,” He murmurs to himself.

_Almost there, Sammy._

Lucifer strolls down the hall on a mission, true form and grace expanding outwards like a heartbeat. He can feel Sam, so close, so fractured and warm-

Lucifer paints the walls red with flesh and guts as he goes.

It gets quiet.

And Lucifer will admit, it is nice, getting some of this out of his system. He was made to kill these insolent specks of dust from the very pinnacle of Creation. It’s almost like he’s home, again.

Except Sam is his true home, and he hasn’t quite reunited with him yet.

He’s so close.

\--

“How?” Kali asks, voice low.

“Does it matter?” Dean cuts in, “Shazam us out of here, would you?”

“We can’t.” Baldur growls.

Sam’s heart races a mile a minute, and he almost keels over from the grace and wings that are almost on top of him.

_Hi, Sam. Sorry to keep you waiting._

“Of course you can’t.” Lucifer says softly, as he strides forward into the room. His tone grows flintier as he cricks his neck. “You didn’t say mother may I?”

And then his eyes are all on Sam again.

“Sam. Dean. Good to see you again.” He says, less cold. Lucifer smiles warmly at Sam.

_Mostly just you, Sam, if we’re being honest here._

Sam’s brain shuts down as he just backs away as much as he can manage.

“Baldur, don’t.” Kali warns.

“You think you own the planet?” Baldur growls. Then he bellows, “What gives you the right?”

Lucifer puts a hand through the stomach of Baldur’s meatsuit, true form tearing and biting and shearing the thing before him to shreds.

“No one gives us the right.” Lucifer answers over his shoulder, still looking at Sam. He turns back to the thing for a moment, expression one of blank hatred and disdain. “We take it.”

And then he’s looking at Sam again, ready to fly him away from everyone else and keep him no matter the consequences.

Kali gets in between them. Becomes fire incarnate, or a part of it.

Sam and Dean duck behind the table so they don’t get caught in the crossfire. Sam knows Lucifer will just bring him back or drag him off right then and there if he goes unconscious or worse, and Sam can’t let that happen.

Lucifer isn’t fazed or affected. He starts in on Kali, exuberant at the violence he can unleash.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks Dean, because someone has to be.

“Not really.” Gabriel answers, the raises his eyebrows. “Better late than never, huh?”

Then he throws a DVD case in Dean’s arms, instructing him to, “Guard this with your life.” Before he runs off to save Kali.

Sam and Dean peek over the table.

Lucifer is ready to give the finishing blow, ready to drive his foot into her meatsuit, when Gabriel throws him back.

Lucifer recovers quickly, one arm still stained red with blood.

“Lucy. I’m home.” Gabriel says. Feet planted front and center.

Lucifer rolls his shoulders, then opens his arms in a parody of a hug.

“Not this time,” Gabriel warns. He helps Kali to her feet, still brandishing the blade. “Guys, get her out of here.”

Lucifer looks back at Sam as he comes closer and ferries Kali away. Then his gaze shifts to Gabriel, who’s grace and body are a wall between him and Sam.

_You don’t get to keep my true vessel from me, little brother._

You did a good enough job of that on your own, don’t you think?

“Over a girl. Gabriel, really?” Lucifer groans. “I mean, I knew you were slumming, but… I hope you didn’t catch anything.” He wiggles his fingers. His wings are taut, and less playful. He’s not happy Sam is being kept from him.

You’re one to talk.

_I have much better taste_.

“Lucifer.” Gabriel starts, and Lucifer stills, lowers his hands, as Gabriel keeps going. “You’re my brother, and I love you. But you are a great big bag of dicks.”

Lucifer steps forward. “What did you just say to me?” He asks, pointing at himself.

_You want to go, little brother?_

Gabriel holds up the blade to stop him, head wagging back and forth. “Look at yourself. Boo hoo. Daddy was mean to me, so I’m gonna smash up all his toys.”

“Watch your tone.” Lucifer’s voice is too mild again.

Gabriel’s voice hisses, “Play the victim all you want.” Then it grows louder. “But you and me, we know the truth. Dad loved you best. More than Michael. More than me. Then he brought the new baby home, and you couldn’t handle it. So all this is just a great big temper tantrum.”

Lucifer raises his eyebrows, eyes slits.

_Oh, Gabriel, you have no idea what drives me now. You wouldn’t understand the concept._

“Time to grow up.” Gabriel answers. He doesn’t deign the grace with a response of his own.

And Lucifer is reminded of everything he lost. Everything that was taken from him. Everything still being taken from him.

“Gabriel, if you are doing this for Michael-” Lucifer starts, changing tactics, but Gabriel cuts that off, too.

“Screw him. If he were standing here, I’d shiv his ass, too.”

_That’s worse, then. I could accept you taking a stand against me. And I know Michael has a lot to answer for. But he hasn’t victimized you, Gabriel. His debts are owed to me._

Your ego grew while I was gone.

Lucifer scoffs and points, “You disloyal-”

“Oh, I’m loyal. To them.” Gabriel says, and they start circling each other.

“Who? These so-called gods?” Lucifer holds his arms out.

“To people, Lucifer.” Gabriel answers. Lucifer frowns and look down at that. “People.”

“So you’re willing to die for a pile of cockroaches? Why?” Lucifer sneers.

“Because Dad was right. They are better than us.” Gabriel answers.

“They are broken, flawed abortions.” Lucifer snarls.

_Except for Sam._

“Damn right they’re flawed.” Gabriel inhales. “But a lot of them try to do better. To forgive.”

Lucifer stays stock-still. Glances down.

“And you should see the spearmint rhino.” Gabriel adds with a snort.

Lucifer doesn’t stop staring at him, eyes blank. Too still.

“I’ve been riding the pine a long time, but I’m in the game now. And I’m not on your side or Michael’s.” Gabriel smiles. “I’m on theirs.”

Gabriel is wrong.

There is no third side to pick. It’s only Michael, or Lucifer. There can be no in between, because there is no other winning side.

And Sam was on Lucifer’s side whether he likes it or not.

“Brother, don’t make me do this.” Lucifer whispers. He will do what he has to. To get Sam back, to win this, to end this once and for all. And Gabriel is standing in the way.

Gabriel cocks his head.

“No one makes us do anything.” He answers.

Lucifer lets his eyes water, tone still too soft. “I know you think you’re doing the right thing, Gabriel. But I know where your heart truly lies.”

Lucifer tilts his head, almost smiles. It’s a goodbye.

Gabriel’s other form tries to stab Lucifer from behind.

Lucifer turns to meet him, his own grace screaming and teething.

“Here.” He whispers. Lucifer drives the blade intended for him into Gabriel’s gut.

No more pretending.

The illusion behind Lucifer fades.

Lucifer grips Gabriel’s face, stops him sliding to the floor. “Amateur hocus-pocus.” Lucifer hisses as Gabriel gurgles. Lucifer shakes his head, his voice turning from mildness into shaking fury. “Don’t forget, you learned all your tricks from me, little brother.”

Lucifer twists the knife out.

Gabriel’s grace leaves him with a scream. Lucifer watches him burn out, breathing heavily.

The Devil mourns. Swallows.

But he knew this was the price he had to pay, when his family turned its back on him so long ago.

Lucifer was not going to lose Sam to them. Was not going to lose the world.

He would have his peace. No matter how many sacrifices he had to make.


	50. Kings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S5E20.
> 
> Also I'm pretty sure this moved and was earlier, note to self fix that
> 
> chapter title a song by tribe society

The Impala skids to a stop the moment Crowley rears his ugly head in the backseat.

Sam tries to impale him with the knife, and fails.

"Did you get him?" Dean yells.

"He's gone." Sam growls.

Only Crowley taps the window outside, and all bets are off.

Sam will say it is personal, though. He can't stab Lucifer for killing Ellen and Jo, but he can stab Crowley for giving Dean the Colt in the first place.

Sam should have never gone along with this entire plan. It's his fault for not making a stand in Carthage, when he knew Lucifer would do what he did.

And it's his fault for letting Lucifer into their life and trusting him when he shouldn't and all the pain that happened when Lucifer went back to plan A for Apocalypse, only this time it's less about making Sam say yes than it is keeping Sam secluded somewhere far away from everyone so Michael can't touch him.

Still. Technically, it's Crowley's for giving Dean the idea of the Colt in the first place. And Sam needs to hold someone accountable for something, after everything that's happened.

"You're upset. We should discuss it. Not here, but," Crowley stammers and walks backwards at the look on Sam's face.

Sam goes to stab him again.

"You want to talk? After what you did to us?" Sam yells, swiping.

"After what I, what I did to you?" Crowley's voice is very high pitched as he points and keeps backing off. "I gave you the Colt."

"Yeah, and you knew it wouldn't work against the Devil." Sam snarls and goes in for another stab.

"I never-" Crowley answers, taken aback. Sam doesn't believe him.

"You set us up!" Sam hisses. "We lost people on that suicide run. Good people."

"Who you take on the ride is your own business!" Crowley argues. "And last I heard, he brought them back, and then killed them again thanks to you. So good job there!"

Sam knows it's true, knows it's his fault, but he can't help but be angry, anyway.

**You knew Lucifer was gunning for another Horseman. The one Horseman he isn't letting me get rid of. You threw us into situation that I couldn't stop. I couldn't give myself up to spare their lives once Lucifer got that ball rolling, and I couldn't give myself up, anyway. And you let us walk right into it. So you don't get to blame me for wanting a way out, afterwards. I had no choices and we had nothing to take him down and he was going to keep us out of the game somehow, we can all see that now.**

Sam doesn't say that, but he wants to. He wants to smite Crowley was all the ice he remembers once being in his veins, still burning with all the fire Lucifer brought out.

_Oh, Sam. Nice to see you are taking charge and cleaning up other demons for me._

**Screw you.**

_Stop trying to shut me out. I said I'd bring them back if you were that bent out of shape about it. Can't do it now, since they're collateral, but still. When we win-_

**Get the fuck out of my head.**

_Sam, all you have to do is follow my lead and say-_

**I said get the fuck out.**

_Sam-_

**GET OUT.**

"Look, everything is still the same." Crowley tries to calm everyone down. "We're all still in this together.

No, it isn't. And no, they aren't.

Sam's been dealing with this, alone, for too long. And now they didn't even have Cas with them, because Cas is out of commission, too human and damaged from the fallout with Michael and Lucifer and rescuing Sam and all of it.

"Sure we are." And Sam loses it and goes to stab Crowley again.

"Call your dog off, please." Crowley implores Dean.

Dean holds Sam back. Sam lets him, because he can't fight Dean. He just can't.

He's already fighting everything else.

"Give me one good reason." Dean answers.

"I can give you Pestilence." Crowley makes his play.

_Can he, now?_

And they are back on the same carousel, singing the same tune.

Only this time, Sam can take this one down, and he's going to grab that ring, and he's going to throw Lucifer back down into the pit, because it's all he has left.

But he isn't going to trust Crowley. Not again.

Not after last time.

"Are you actually listening to this?" Sam asks, marveling at Dean.

"Sam-" Dean stays quiet and holds up a hand.

"Are you friggin' nuts?" Sam accuses.

"Shut up for a second, Sam!" Dean answers.

"Shut up, the both of you!" Crowley interrupts, yell rough and shrill and grating. "Look, I swear, I thought the Colt would work. It's an honest mistake. It's all part of the learning process."

A muscle in Sam's throat twitches as he resists the urge to stab Crowley again.

"But nothing's changed. I still want the Devil dead." Crowley adds.

 _But you don't._ Lucifer sings in Sam's head.

 **Please just leave me alone**.

_But I can't leave you alone out there, Sammy. You need me._

"Well, one things changed. Now the Devil knows that I want him dead." And Crowley keeps talking, but Sam doesn't have the willpower to listen to him any more.

_Knew that already. Feeling is mutual._

Sam swallows.

**What do I have to do to make you stop?**

_You know what I want already, Sammy. And I do love the begging. I do. But I am not trying to wear you down, I promise. I just need you to keep yourself safe, and you keep throwing yourself into the middle of everything. Just stop fighting me. Please._

Dean's voice almost brings him back to the present, the sentiment of "Holy crap, we don't care." Shared mutually.

"They burnt down my house. They ate my tailor!" Crowley yells.

_Boo hoo. We all have loftier priorities._

Crowley continues to have a tantrum, and Sam almost stabs him just to ignore Lucifer who just won't stop talking.

The spotlight breaks.

Crowley finally calms down. "So come with me. Please. Do you want the Horsemen rings or not?"

_Oh, Sammy. Whatever could you want with those?_

Sam doesn't answer. He just hopes Lucifer isn't guessing their last ditch plan right out the gate. Hopes Lucifer thinks Sam doesn't have the guts to do it, and is only grasping at idle threats.

Crowley's voice fades out, but Sam registers the nod of his head.

They decide to go with.

It's only after Crowley has them where he wants them that the other shoe drops and he talks fine print. Sam should have just stabbed him.

He settles on silence, instead, at both Crowley and Lucifer.

"You said you could get us Pestilence." Dean accuses.

"Well, now, I don't know where Pestilence is, per se. But I do the demon who does. He's what you might call the Horsemen's stable boy. He handles their itineraries, their personal needs. He's who you want, believe me. He'll tell us where Sneezy's at." Crowley explains.

_Oooh, that one._

**What does that mean?**

_You'll see._

"Well, how do we get him to spill? Rip out his toenails?" Dean asks.

"No." Crowley answers, looking off to the side. "Nuts at his pay grade don't crack. We bring him here, then I sell him."

Sam can't hide his disbelief. "Sell him?"

"Please. I've sold sin to saints for centuries." Crowley scoffs. "Think I can't close one little demon?"

No, Sam doesn't. He lets the cynicism show openly on his face.

Crowley keeps working on the details.

_I'd wish him luck, but he's barking up the wrong tree._

Sam really wishes Lucifer wasn't so certain about everything.

\--

Being back above-ground hasn't been so kind to Brady with his jackass of a boss. He's dealing as best he's able.

And he's excited for Sam. He is. They've been good friends, even more than that, once, until Sam found the one he's been destined for this whole time. And the demon inside Brady has been hopping in and out of him ever since Brady was three, been in it for the long haul. He's almost attached to the host, like a brother. They even shared a name, like twinsies.

Human Brady never told anyone, either. What do you tell someone? I don't remember half my life? I woke up with bloodstained hands in an alley I don't recognize? I came to one time in a hotel, and then in the middle of fucking a prostitute, and then blacked out and the next time I woke up she was dead right next to me? I get drunk and high so often I don't know what's real or not? I walk somewhere and I wake up on city benches miles from where I was last?

Yeah, Brady wasn't one too make too much of a fuss. The demon inside him liked that about him.

But being the underling of Pestilence isn't really doing it for Brady. I mean, he's taken a lot of shit, and he knows his place.

He knows why Lucifer had him demoted, though. He fucked up big time. Brady disposed of Jess in a way that was a bit too traumatic for Sam, and Lucifer had wanted him to be more subtle about it, although he didn't have much say, because he'd burned out of Jess right before she burned up. But he was mostly taking the wrap for Azazel's rough treatment of Sam, seeing as the Prince of Hell traumatized Sam too much, and Brady didn't reign him in as Lucifer expected. So Lucifer took out all his rage on Brady, since Azazel wasn't around to see the fireworks.

Just part of the job.

Brady even admits, he fucked up bad.

But everything would work out soon. The humans would become dead men walking with violence all they know, and Sam would become upper management, Lucifer and him would be back together, and the demons would overrun Heaven, and things would be good again. All Brady had to do was wait out the aftershocks.

It also helped to take out his stress on the lower level management. Highlight of his day. No blood on his shoes, either.

Brady communicates with his boss because he must, Pestilence being the fucker he is, and keeps on preparing for the day he'd been released from his own personal Hell and finally have a future again.

\--

"Why are we even listening to him, Dean? This is totally insane." Sam tries. He can't help it. The last time they did this, it went too badly for him to be okay with this. All this is going to be is another trap.

"I don't disagree." Dean answers, tone resigned. He loads his gun.

Then Crowley drops another bombshell.

Sam can't go.

**No. No, no, no.**

"And why the Hell not?" Sam growls.

"Because I don't like you, I don't trust you, and oh yeah, you keep trying to kill me." Crowley's voice raises again. "Not to mention Lucifer has been sniffing around for you nonstop. What would happen if we just handed you to the nearest demon? Present company excluded, of course."

"There's no damn way. This isn't gonna happen." Sam's reached the end of a rope he's already thought he'd long since hung himself with.

"I'm not asking you, am I? 'Cause you're not invited." And Crowley points at Dean with a smile that makes Sam's stomach lurch. "I'm asking you. What's it gonna be?"

Dean's gonna take it, Sam knows, because Dean is as desperate as ever.

**Don't. Dean. Don't do this.**

Sam looks at Dean, and Dean looks at Sam, and Dean hesitates at his expression, and Crowley says his goodbye, "Gentlemen. Enjoy your last few sunsets."

"Wait." And Dean's caught. "I'll go."

And Dean stops before he leaves, Sam so stricken and angry and betrayed he can't say anything.

"What can I say, I believe the guy." Dean tries to rationalize. He can't lose Sam. He can't. This is just what they have to do.

Only Dean won't let Sam go this time.

_And there he goes. Leaving. Abandoning you. Different reason than my brothers did me, but he still believes a demon over you. That has to hurt._

Sam is more than ready to break something.

_Could always send me a line. I'll make all that pain and anger freeze right off you._

**JUST STOP. STOP IT.**

_You know how to make me stop, Sam._

Sam watches Dean walk out the door. He waits. Watches the Impala drive off, tires screeching.

Lucifer still doesn't stop talking.

So Sam calls Bobby and drinks. He has to do something.

Sam swallows changes the subject.

"Hey, Bobby. Remember that time you were possessed." Sam segues indelicately.

"Yeah. Rings a bell." Bobby voice shows just how thrilled he remains at the prospect.

"When Meg told you to kill Dean, you didn't. You took your body back."

_Don't want to keep me warm, Sam?_

"Just long enough to shank myself, yeah." Bobby's voice is tinny over the line.

"Well, how'd you do it?" Sam asks, and he can't keep still, Lucifer's voice still whispering over Bobby's.

_Still, you are considering. I almost can't believe it. Except... Yeah, yeah I can._

Sam's voice shakes. "I mean, how'd you take back the wheel?"

_Gonna say yes and see if you can keep me with you without causing any damage? Sam, I gotta say I love the sentimentality of it, and the idea of you saying yes just brings me to my knees, but we both know who wears the pants in our relationship. And, uh, hint: It's me._

**Fuck off.**

_Exactly. You take direction so well. You love not having to make all the decisions._

Bobby catches on too quickly. "Why are you asking, Sam?"

He knows why.

Sam downs more alcohol. It's very dark in Crowley's home, and Sam is glad it is, because it's all the opposite of Lucifer.

"Say we open the Cage. Great. But then what?" Sam asks. "We just lead the Devil to the edge and get him to jump in?"

_Sam. I don't like what you are implying at all._

"You got me." Bobby answers.

"What if you guys lead the Devil to the edge, and I jump in?"

_Sam. No._

**You gonna stop me? You never listen when I say no, why should I stop for you?**

_I won't let you._

**I'm sure you will try.**

"Sam." Bobby's voice turns on a dime.

"It'd be just like when you turned the knife around on yourself. One action. Just one leap."

"Are you idjits trying to kill me?" Bobby snarls, all the pain in his voice evident.

_I gotta say, he's my second favorite human if I could have one aside from you being my only actual favorite. Talks sense._

"Bobby." Sam sighs.

"We just got done talking your brother off the ledge, and now you're lining up to say yes?" Bobby's voice is frantic.

"It's not like that. I'm not gonna do it." Sam answers.

_Good._

"Not unless we all agree." Sam adds.

_Sam._

"But I think we got to look at our options." Sam continues.

Bobby cuts him off. "This isn't an option, Sam."

There never are any.

"Why not?" It's not really a question on Sam's end, just exhaustion. Sam drinks more.

"You damn well know why. You can't do it. What I did was a million-to-one, and that was some pissant demon I was brain-wrestlin'. You're talking about taking back control from Satan himself." Bobby answers, every word emphasized.

_Like I said. This one. Full of sense._

**Fuck off.**

Sam talks anyway. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

Bobby's voice turns soft and raw and scared. "Kid, it's called possession for a reason. You, of all people, ought to know."

Sam does. His mouth twitches, and he wants to crick his neck and bury his fist in the wall.

"I'm strong enough." Sam answers.

"You ain't."

_It's not a matter of strength of will, Sam. It's not a matter of love, either. Once you say yes... You won't want to fight me, Sam. You won't. You'll see my side. I know you will._

Bobby's voice keeps going. "He's gonna find every chink in your armor, Sam, and use it against you. Your fear, your grief, your anger..."

Love, Bobby doesn't say, but they both know what his small pause means.

"-And you told me yourself who and what he is. You think that don't make it easier on him?"

Sam doesn't have much to lose. He's already been laid bare by the Devil. He's already seen the Devil at his best and his worst and all the in-between, and Lucifer has already cracked him wide open.

What else is left?

Sam downs the rest of the bottle.

"And let's face it, even if you take that out of the equation... You're not exactly Mr. Anger Management." Bobby critiques, and Sam's heart sinks, except he needs that anger, needs it to keep Lucifer back, only Lucifer just latches on to it because he's so damn angry, too.

_Alright, that's harsh. Has he seen Dean on a good day?_

Bobby's voice echoes over the line, still. "How are you gonna control the Devil when you can't control yourself?"

There's another implication there: You couldn't control the Devil when he was with us. What makes you think this will be any different?

Isn't that the million dollar question?

Sam wishes he knew the answer, because he's knows how far gone he is.

 **Please just let me rest.** Sam finally prays, the desperation and half-aching need to slit his own throat a bit too close all over again.

Sam feels Lucifer's concern prickle up his spine.

_...Fine. For now. But you will need me later, Sam. We'll talk then. I know you aren't going to do this._

Lucifer withdraws, finally.

Maybe Sam could just beg enough and Lucifer would feel bad enough.

Sam can wish.

But it never lasts.

Sam says his goodbyes to Bobby and tries to think of his next move.

\--

Sam stirs when he hears Crowley and Dean return.

"Where's Dean?"

Crowley tilts his head indicating the other room.

"Now, for the record, I'm against this. Negotiating a high-level defection. It's very delicate business..."

Sam narrows his eyes and goes to move into the other room. Crowley steps in front of him, holding up a hand.

"What are you talking about?" Sam demands, patience gone.

"I begged Dean not to come back. We should be miles away from you."

Sam stares Crowley down.

Crowley keeps talking. "He replied with a colorful rejoinder about my 'corn chute.'"

Sam scoffs.

"So go ahead." Crowley laments. "Go ruin our last best hope."

Like he can see all the unwanted ties to the Devil weighing him down.

Sam looks down then back up, then steps through the door.

Crowley calls over his shoulder, "It's only the end of the world."

Sam looks back but doesn't stop.

Dean is tying the demon up when Sam walks in, the demon's head still covered with a bag.

Sam looks at Dean, waiting.

Dean says his piece. "Sam."

"What's going on, Dean?" Sam's voice is dead and uncertain and tired.

"I need you to stay on mission, okay?" Dean answers, not really answering anything. "Focused."

Sam is tired of being doubted. Tired of his own exhaustion. Tired of Lucifer. Of his own weakness.

"I don't understand. What's all this about?" Sam replies.

"I'm doing this 'cause I trust you." Dean assures.

_You feeling that trust, Sam? 'Cause I'm not convinced..._

"Trust me to what?" Sam asks, looking back over at the demon with a sack on it's head.

A voice Sam knows interrupts them. "Sam?"

Brady.

**No, no, no, no, no...**

"Sam," Brady says again, clearing his throat, "Is that you?" Brady asks, too congenial.

_'Fraid so, Sammy._

Why does this keep happening to him?

Sam glances at Dean, who rips off the sack, and then back to Brady.

"Brady." Sam says. It's not a question. More like another denial.

_You make so many friends in low places, Sam. Like you knew they were all tied to me._

Brady gives him a characteristic, too welcoming grin and gives a short laugh. "Brady hasn't been all himself in years. I've been hopping in and out ever since you were kids. I mean, how'd you think all your snail mail found me and got through so fast?"

Sam freezes, still not wanting this to be true. "What?"

"That's right. You had the Devil on your shoulder even back then." Brady answers.

Sam eyes dart, Sam still frozen and almost careening from Lucifer's voice inside his head, from Brady, from the truth. Another truth ready to tear Sam apart.

Brady keeps going, eyes flicking to the side as he feigns recollection. "I am proud of him, though. He took being possessed real well. We're real fond of each other. Still. He's been quieter since, oh, middle of our sophomore year?"

Sam knows what that means, but he's still in shock, still not processing.

Brady gives Sam another look, too at ease. "All right. Now, let it all sink in."

Shock gives way to something else, all the other things Sam's been battling below the surface.

"You son of a bitch. You introduced me to Jess." Sam yells, and then the rage comes to eat him alive. He goes to attack Brady, and Dean pushes him back.

_Well, properly._

"Ding, ding. I think he's got it." Brady deadpans.

"Damn it, Sam." Dean growls.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Sam hisses, Dean still hauling him back.

Brady laughs as Sam is herded back into another room, Brady yelling after him, "Beat up big brother for you, too, Sam! Real payback! Felt real good, and he had it coming since freshman year! Hey, I told you I had your back! Was a bit late, but still!" Before Sam forces himself to drown him out and pretends the words are white noise.

Sam backs into the table, bottles clinking before Sam tries to walk back in, ready to pummel something.

"Hey, that's enough." Dean starts in, holding out a hand.

"Get out of my way." Sam orders, voice husky and full of pain and so much exhausted rage he isn't sure he's feeling anything except used and lonely and on fire.

"No."

Sam's teeth bare as his lips draw back, but Sam inhales and forces his tone to remain level. "Get out of my way, Dean." His brother's name still comes out breathy, his hand still too coiled up with adrenaline.

"There is only one way to win," Dean's deep voice answers, pointing a finger at Sam, punctuating each word, his eyes staring into Sam's own. "And it ain't by killing that thing in there."

But there is never any way to win.

Crowley walks around as Dean's voice trails off, and Sam stares him down, nostrils flaring, his fists drawn and ready.

"Well, sounds like you got him nice and fluffed." Crowley is far too cheerful, but even his smile is a veneer covering nerves Sam can feel, easy.

Sam stays quiet, tries to control his breathing and doesn't quite manage it.

Crowley keeps talking, eyebrows raised. "Thanks so much." Then he strides in to talk to Brady.

Dean turns back to Sam, brow furrowed, expression clear as day: You gotta listen, Sam. You gotta follow my lead.

"Listen to me. We need Pestilence to get at the Devil, and we need Brady to get to Pestilence."

Sam can't hold back the fury in his rasping voice. "Why? Because Crowley said so?" Sam's voice raises, and he gestures to the other room. "Because we trust him now? Like I trusted Ruby? Or like I trusted Brady back at school?"

**Like I trusted you?**

_Sam. I have been trustworthy. I have been true to you. Don't take your brotherly frustrations out on me. You know why you feel this way._

**Everything the two of you did-**

_Was to care for you, Sam. Brady was a good friend to you. I was even better. I'm still the best thing you've got, too._

If Sam could set Lucifer on fire at that moment, he would, no hesitation.

Sam walks out to cool off and formulate his next move, because he was done being batted around wherever anyone decided to send him. He wants to do something himself, not fall into line and play ball.

\--

Crowley tries to make his sales pitch, straddling the chair backwards to make a show of leverage he really doesn't have. The gesture is transparent. "Look, if Lucifer wins, he'll turn this place into his kingdom. When the Morningstar cleans house, we all get the mop."

Brady doesn't bite. He smacks his lips together, expression happily detached, as he rolls his eyes and corrects Crowley, head bobbing with each word, twanging drawl dripping with clear condescension. "He created us. Why would he destroy us? That makes no sense."

"Look at who, at what, he is." Crowley answers, looks down and then back up, all deliberate. "Then take a look at what we are."

Brady smiles as he tests the rope binding him, blood still smeared on his face. He inhales, then enunciates slower, "Maybe you should be a little less worried about our necks, and be a little more worried about yours."

"Has crossed my mind." Crowley's voice is flat. "That's not really the point."

"Actually, Crowley, that is the the point." Brady's voice turns gleeful, his loyalty clear as day. "No one will know greater torment than you."

And oh, isn't that something that makes Brady sleep easy at night. He's not at the bottom of the totem pole, not by a longshot, even if his supervisor is a bitch.

Brady gives Crowley his most shit-eating, tight-lipped grin. "Lucifer is never going to let you die." And then his grin shows teeth, his blue eyes like a shark finding blood in the water, voice breathy, until it grows more solid, more somber. "As for me, I know the score. I'm dead, whether I tell you anything or not."

But he'd do it. He'd do it for Sam and Lucifer. That's been his mission the whole time, seeing this to the end, right under Azazel and Lucifer himself. He's spent too long trying to see this to completion, even with Sam dragging his feet, to lament all his troubles. He had his setbacks, but as far as fucking up, well, he didn't fuck up as bad as Ruby, which is a miracle in and of itself. He could die knowing he won what he's been gunning for all these years.

"So I think I'll die on the winning side, thanks." Brady rubs in, tongue flicking on the last word, accented drawl sibilant and mocking.

Crowley goes still, narrows his eyes, considering, and ends the discussion, an idea percolating around in his brain. "Good talk. Cheers." He says, too amiable, then walks off.

Brady gives him another look of smug, triumphant loathing. When Crowley is gone, he sighs and rolls his eyes.

He was really looking forward to seeing Sam say yes, and it looks like he's going to miss that train.

Still. Maybe he'd be brought back if he was resourceful enough. Or maybe Lucifer won't kill him, if he finds a way to bring Sam back into the fold on his own. It would be difficult, nigh impossible, seeing as Lucifer has his hold on Sam and hasn't made enough headway, but maybe with both of them working on him, it might get Sam to finally cave.

The three of them had always played nice together.

\--

Crowley disappears to make his play. From where he is, Sam can see that Dean's just as desperate as he is to get some kind of win and not face some kind of awful retribution, because everyone can see how down to the wire everything has become.

Dean goes and washes his face in the stained, less-than-sanitary sink.

First mistake.

Sam locks him in the bathroom.

The door closes real loud. The chair jammed under the doornob makes a louder noise as wood collides.

Dean makes his objections.

Sam ignores him and draws Ruby's blade.

Only useful thing she ever gave him.

Sam doesn't hesitate to do what he has to.

\--

Brady hears Sam enter the room from behind him.

"Well, here we go." He says, too flippant. He cricks his neck, then projects his voice like he would when he called from their dorm room, when Sam and 'Jess' were preoccupied and he needed to get their attention. "We doing last words or no?"

"Sophmore year, huh?" Sam asks, voice soft. That's when Brady must have fully gone under. That's when the binge drinking and the drugs and all of it got real bad and Sam fucking stayed out with him and Jess and...

**God.**

_I promise he isn't listening, Sam. Just me. I can take a message. Or you can pray for other things. I'm sure Brady would let you take a hit, as you like, and I'll come on over and take you both out of the game. No more dancing around last-ditch plans you can't follow through..._

Brady blinks innocently, then gives a breathy, scoffing laugh. He clears his throat, like he usually does. Brady had been into theater, back at school. Sam had watched his damn performances. And he was always into the corporate stuff, law and pharmaceuticals, even while pre-med, so he'd practice his speeches while Sam studied or listened and Jess cooked. The kitchen table had been their spot, and the couch Brady's half-time abode away-from-home.

"Brady, here, was a good kid. Straight arrow, when I let him out. Perfect point of access, and I mean, your best friend, really." Brady starts up, all official. "We both were. Still are. So sorry for bailing. But orders are orders, and they didn't want me in the way, dredging things back up. Mucking things up like less subtle bitches did."

Sam's mouth clicks before he speaks, a bit too calm as he side-eyes his other best friend aside from who 'Jess' used to be.

_Just because I love you doesn't mean we're not the best of friends, Sam. I've always got your back._

"Thanksgiving." Sam says, not really a question.

Brady nods, a bit too happy. "Yes, sir. Remember when I came back from break all messed up?" Brady's voice turns nostalgic, dramatic as he flops his head to look up at Sam with more scrutiny. "Dropped out of pre-med, the drugs, the bitches?"

Sam smiles, but it isn't happy, only bitter, as he remembers all that happened, and his nostrils flare and his jaw clenches. All the late night parties, the helping Brady home, the other conversations. 'Jess' letting him crash on their couch. Sam helping him when he puked his guts out in their downstairs bathroom.

"That was the new Brady, that was me, just me having my fun, while I let my passenger sleep. He got tired out after a while. Don't blame him. Going in and out of awareness can do a real number on the human psyche. And boy, he wanted to tell you." Brady's voice turns higher pitched, more nasal. "But he didn't know what to say. Didn't want you to get in too deep, either. Thought he'd get committed or put in prison, finding blood on his hands, blacking out, all the drug deals, the back alleys, the things he almost remembers but couldn't explain. Hell stuff, not his purview, you know? Almost reached out after he found out we had such big plans for you, and that's when I had to put him to sleep for a while. Almost gave the whole game up. Still, Sam. Remember all that time you spent trying to get me back on the right track?"

Sam turns back to stare Brady down.

"You really were a good friend." Brady compliments, voice lowering again. "I'd wager if Brady here did say something, you'd have tried to help him best you could. Lawyered him up, helped him through those long nights like you helped and coached me, keeping watch so no one took advantage. We couldn't let you know, since that would put you in danger, and Lucifer wouldn't allow that. You know how protective he is."

Sam's face twitches and he looks down.

"But Ol' Yellow Eyes didn't just send me back to be your friend. I mean, he did, way back in the beginning. But in college? We couldn't lose you. Not after Lucifer had to leave you all alone and vulnerable. And we were starting to lose you, because Lucifer coddled the fuck out of you. You were becoming a mild mannered, worthless sack of piss who couldn't hold his own against me, nevermind Michael or his folks, and without Lucifer in your corner, well, you'd be a sitting duck." Brady laments, still too into it.

Sam looks back up at him and bites his lip. Brady keeps talking.

"Now, come on. We couldn't have that. You were our favorite. Didn't want you to go all Orpheus to your Eurydice and lose your true love to blind denial and outside interference. And I'm your buddy. So we had to set you on the fast track, once Lucifer got burned out of Jess, had his line out of the Cage cut, had to act quickly so you could get him back as soon as possible."

Brady smiles at him.

Sam inhales, chest heaving.

"So I hooked you up with the line that would get your blood pumping and set your heart aflame. I toasted what was left of Jess on the ceiling like a marshmellow after Lucifer burned out. All so Michael couldn't follow our tracks. No trace the boss ever had a way out. No evidence putting you in danger." Brady so kindly explains, then gives Sam another smile, ear to ear. Like a cut throat, or an almost Glasgow grin. "But I gotta say, Sam. We had some good times before that. I almost miss it, if I didn't know what you've got coming up. Lucifer is going to treat you so damn well, when you go back to him."

Sam looks away.

"That's right. Azazel might have put the hit out, but man, I got to have all the fun." Brady laughs, and Sam can't help but look back at him, white-knuckling Ruby's knife. "I got to hang around you, study with you, grab late night pizza or steal your smoothies, annoy our lecturers while you laughed at my jokes, watched over your shoulder and listened with rapt attention to your serial killer fetish, which, let me tell you, boy was it hard to hide how much that got me off, and if Lucifer wasn't destined for you himself, if you two weren't so dewey-eyed for each other, I don't think we would have ever broken up, and we'd have had so much fun..."

It takes all of Sam's willpower not to stab Brady and make him bleed, but he promised himself he'd exercise restraint, since everyone doubted he could, even though everyone he ever trusted never did have the same consideration anyway (Dean, punching him for driving Baby, or because Sam disagreed or said the wrong thing, Bobby, for locking him up, Cas, for being an angel and taking no prisoners in his harsh words or when on a mission, and Lucifer... always being himself). It's always do as I say but not as I do.

 **Not a fetish.** Sam manages to think in an attempt to ground himself. He was just a history buff. They all knew that. Didn't care, but they knew.

_Maybe not, but boy you do look so good covered in blood, Sam. Sets up some of my wildest fantasies._

**You said you'd back off and give me space.**

_I can't help it. I'm all nostalgic. Remember all those times we had to clean Brady off after some scrape? Or when I had to clean you up defending him after he pissed the wrong people off? Had to give him quite a lashing afterwards, couldn't let him blow cover, but I can't say I didn't like seeing you in action, Sam. You were made to make people kneel at your feet and pray._

Brady is still going, on a roll, "And I got to see all your slick dance moves, the way you get when you just don't give a damn about class anymore and go out for a ride in the middle of the night, saw your bubbly personality when you had one too many. Got to watch you get all sappy with our lord and master, you two with your puppy-dog love and going at it like rabbits. And I got to be buddy-buddy with you, our once and future king, got to see it all before you got it made. Made so many good connections. And Sam, you always said I'd need to get a knack for networking, and well, I got that down pat! Listened to you, like I said I would. So I'd say we had it good. No hard feelings?"

"I wouldn't say that." Sam says, voice flat.

"Oh, come on, Sam. I may be a demon, but I want you to be successful and get hitched up to your true love. I would've been the best man at your wedding, if Jess wasn't on a count-down."

Sam doesn't know what to say to that. Too much he's been keeping under wraps there. And too much has happened.

"You know what shocked me most, after finding out the truth?" Sam confides, like he isn't going to gut Brady like a pig when this is over. Brady listens, curious and falling into their old habits. "That every single inside joke you and Lucifer shared with me? All those one-off hints? Those weren't jokes at all."

Brady smiles, completely sincere. "Ya got me there. What can I say? We tried to be as honest and direct as possible. Didn't get you over your biases, of course, but we knew how that would go, with your family, and all that conditioning you haven't yet broken out of. If there's one thing I regret Sam, is that getting you back on track sent you straight back to your folks. We all know how much you tried to get out-"

"And whose fault was it, bringing me back into the fold?" Sam argues, eyes narrowing. "But getting back to your point." And Sam's voice loses the faux-conversational edge. "I've heard things didn't go so well for you, if Lucifer has you running errands for not-quite-Beelzebub these days. How's Lord of the Flies?" Sam snipes.

Brady's face falls, and his voice grows a bit higher pitched. "Yeah, well, I did fuck up, got demoted. Boss wasn't happy with just how we torched his old body to get you on track. Said it was a bit too... Uh, what's the word? Indelicate and showy and traumatizing. Said it was supposed to be true to form, but not something you had to see so up close and personal."

Sam can't help but let out a hysterical laugh. "That's rich, coming from him."

Brady looks back at him, a bit too serious. "Wish I could say the same, but you're the only one who can get away with talking about him like that. He'd forgive you, not the rest of us. But you know that. Still. I could tell you all about it. What happened before you came back. Lucifer let me right in. Baked you cookies. I helped. Then we walked up to the bedroom and I stopped him from collapsing and getting all bruised before you got back. You know how sickly 'Jess' got by the end. And you asked me to look out for her. I did, even though Lucifer was always more concerned with you. Anyway, Lucifer knew his time was up, that Jess was done. And we heard your car door slam. So I did my best to make it is memorable as possible after the fade out, tried to keep it as true to form to Azazel's handiwork. Remembered all your lessons about copy-cat killers. Turned out a bit too memorable, seeing what your face looked like, you were heartbroken, but I mean, it did work-"

And Sam can't stay still anymore, still can feel the grief like yesterday, still sees Jess burning above his eyelids and the blood dripping on his face, and feels all that rage and betrayal and pain all over again. Sam holds Ruby's knife to Brady's throat, so tired of being jerked around and lied to and used...

_You knew who I was, Sam, deep down. I told you to your face. I never lied to or used you. I tried to make you happy. I always tried to make you happy._

"Do it if it'll make you feel better. Doesn't change what happened. Doesn't change what we meant to you, what we did for you-" Brady growls at Sam, and Sam nicks his throat and makes him stop talking. "Or maybe you want a hit? I don't mind, would consider it fair turnabout for all the runaround we had to give you. Come on. Just call him right on over, I'm sure he'll be thrilled. You don't gotta keep fighting, Sam. We want to give you the world. You should just take it, let Lucifer give it to you, we're all in your corner-"

Sam makes the incision slower and more jagged.

Brady lets out a muffled growl, teeth jammed together.

"Do it, Sammy. Do it!" Brady goads. Even if he gets flamed out, he'd have done his job, and he won't jeopardize his mission as a hostage by proxy. He can't have that. They've come so far. "Come on." And Brady eyes Sam, intent, like he's getting off on making Sam lose it, because he does that. Sam still knows Brady a bit too well, demon or not.

Sam pulls back, not willing to give him this. Not willing to give Lucifer this, either.

Brady laughs at him, loudly and for a long time, savoring it before he breaks off with a sigh. He knows he's dead one way or another. But seeing Sam in action, almost going for it... Not a bad way to go. Had a long day, but he got to say his goodbyes. Wishes he could see it all through to the end.

_Such a shame.You should have taken him up on it. Now I've got to crash your front door down to do cleanup before you and your brother get any more dumb ideas. Just gotta figure out where your little hidey-hole is..._

Sam lets Dean out, yelling some halfhearted assurances and releasing a breath filled with even more exhaustion and strain.

"What happened?" Dean growls.

"Nothing." Sam exhales and follows after him.

"My ass." Dean grunts.

"Dean. I'm fine." Sam doesn't bother sounding fine. He's pissed and scared beyond belief, the only thing keeping him from losing it the knowledge that Lucifer hasn't found him yet.

"Yeah, and what about Brady?" Dean demands.

Sam sighs out something that's more of a groan.

But the evidence speaks for itself. Sam didn't lose his cool, didn't jeopardize everything, followed Dean's and Crowley's lead.

He's not out of control. Won't play into Lucifer's hands.

"Like you said." Sam says, and Dean stops, staring at something that Sam used to consider a true friend, only he didn't know all the worst things that were hidden from him at the time. "We need him."

Crowley zips back in, interrupting from behind. "God, the day I've had."

Sam and Dean wheel around.

_Oh, so he's back. That's certainly something._

Sam doesn't like how cheerful and thrilled Lucifer sounds, and knows this is going to go wrong real fast.

Crowley steps back in to make the rest of his pitch.

"Good news. You're going to live forever." Crowley laughs.

Brady's voice isn't cheerful now, only full of unreleased threats. "What did you do?"

Crowley goes for the dramatics, circling as he answers, "Went over to a demon's next. Had a little massacre. Must be losing my touch, though. Let one of the little toads live. Oops. Also might have given said toad the impression that you left your post last night because you and I are, wait for it, lovers in league against Satan."

Sam would laugh if he didn't know how completely off base anyone would think that. Upper management knows Brady's loyalties.

Brady closes his eyes, genuinely insulted by the idea of not being Team Lucifer, after all his hard work, then looks over at Sam, like: Can you believe this clown?

Sam doesn't keep eye contact. Only racks his brain, because Lucifer is oddly silent, and that is worrying in and of itself.

Brady looks back at Crowley and his nostrils flare and his teeth grit and he gives a short sigh, the only anger management he has. Sam recognizes it. It's the same sigh he'd give before pummeling someone after five drinks and Sam would have to pull him away.

"Hello, darling." Crowley keeps going. "So, now death is off the table. Now you get to be on the boss's eternal torment list with little old me."

Brady flexes against the restraints like he wants to bite Crowley into little pieces. "Oh, no, no, no, no." Brady knows he's been accounted for, has immunity. Knows how much Lucifer has his grip inside Sam and has his eyes out.

Crowley keeps talking, about commonalities and "craven self preservation." Sam will give Crowley that.

And Sam would say something about how this won't work, but he's not one to share inside information with Crowley, of all people, and he isn't going to clue Dean in on the still-psychic connection to Lucifer 24/7. Never would as long as he lived. That, and he's still trying to scratch at the link to see just what Lucifer is up to, because there has to be a way to open it from the other end and lay Lucifer's whole deal out the same way he finds Sam's thoughts all the time.

"So, why don't you tell me where Pestilence is at?" Crowley asks.

Brady makes a face and is going to say something cutting, something violent, but he doesn't get the chance.

A hellhound bays in the distance.

Sam's blood runs cold. Dean looks around.

_Hey again, kiddo. Found a way to find you, thanks to motormouth, even if it's slow. Normally wouldn't resort to such tactics, since you are not a fan, but I'm a bit impatient and I miss you, Sammy. So I gotta ask. You want me to drag big brother down and have you follow while they rip three-piece to pieces, or just chase you down when you run trying to hide all over again? Or you can just open Brady up, drink deep like you used to, and I'll carry you back down with me to where it's safe, no brotherly abductions necessary, and you go back to waiting Michael out downstairs in the room I've set up while I crush every insignificant eyesore on this planet to make it ready for you._

The howls and snarls get closer.

Sam wants to say something, to do something, but he remembers what happened with Jo and Ellen and he doesn't want to make the wrong choice again. But he can't give Lucifer this, he needs another plan, he needs a weapon...

How did they even find them? Gabriel wiped Dean's scent clean down to blood and bone and soul before he jumped ship, same as he did for Sam's and Bobby's, after what Lucifer did to Jo and Ellen and restarted the Apocalypse properly...

And demons and angels can't be tracked without other means, not unless...

Brady's voice sounds way too loud. "Oh, God, Crowley."

Except Lucifer knew they were going after him. It's not for sure, and Brady wouldn't be gunning for Sam to kill him if this was a setup...

Not unless his acting had improved. 

"Was that a Hellhound?" Dean asks, although he knows the answer.

"I'd say yeah." Crowley answers.

**Call them off.**

_You gonna come on back, Samuel?_

**Just call them off. Please, I can't do this again, Lucifer-**

_Sam, I'm not leaving you in the hands and dumb and dumber like this. So I'll give you thirty minutes to make up your mind. Let you give me the runaround for a tic. But after that... You better seek me out. Or I'm siccing them on big brother. Fair?_

Sam doesn't answer.

"Why was that a Hellhound?" Dean asks.

Crowley finds the coin on himself, explains the premise of being tracked like they're stupid.

"You're saying a Hellhound followed you here?" And Sam is seeing red all over again.

None of it assuages Sam's fears.

"Get me out of here, and I'll tell you anything you want." Brady assures. He looks at Sam, and Sam gets the unspoken message. He'd been given a plant, too, but didn't make it evident because then Dean would know Lucifer had inside information. Better to frame Crowley as incompetent and bring him down a peg before he got his.

"Shut up." Sam answers. He can't deal with all the things he's juggling at once, and isn't giving Brady or Lucifer grounds for their arrangement quite yet. Sam can buy time. He won't let Dean call the shots like last time, when people died. He can find another way out without going back and without anyone dying, he just has to play this smart...

"Okay, well, we should go." Dean says over him, quickly, worst fears realized.

"Sorry, boys. No one knows more about the hounds than I." Crowley answers.

_Excuse me? I made them. I perfected them. And Asmodeus, Lilith, and Abaddon, they were always great with theirs. That one really needs to be dealt with. Smarmy. Uppity. Rude to you. I'm going to have someone rip him apart real slow, unless you'd like to do the honors._

Crowley adds, "You're long past the point of 'Go.'"

Isn't that Sam's life in a nutshell.

With that, he flips the coin to Dean and disappears as Dean catches it through sheer reflex, brain not catching up with the movement.

_Okay, just for that, I'm siccing the lot of them on him first, so you get another hour added to the clock except for the two already headed your way. That better, Sam? You've had a long day already. Figure I can play nice, give you a fighting chance, seeing as big brother trusts all the wrong boys. Real smooth, too. Criticizing you for me, when I'm so much more straightforward about my intentions._

"Damn it." Dean hisses under his breath.

"I told you!" Sam answers, angry, although he's more angry with himself. Cas said he wasn't a liability. He sure feels like a damn liability right now.

_Don't be like that, Sam. If you weren't with big brother, I'd still find you. And I still might have to go after him, seeing how involved he is. Who would defend him from me, if you weren't there to make me all distracted?_

"Oh, well good for you." Dean mocks to hide his raw panic. "Luckily, we have salt in the kitchen."

Dean goes off to get it.

"I'll watch Brady." Sam answers. Maybe he can work something out here while Dean's distracted, since he doubts Brady doesn't want to save his own skin.

"Heh, watch me?" Brady jokes, then he hisses under his breath with a smile, "I'm always the one who liked watching, remember? You were always so shy and didn't want to make other people _uncomfortable_." Then his face shifts, and he yells, all performance, all fake to keep up the lie for Dean, "Get me the Hell out of here!"

Then he gets too placid. Sam rummages through his suit.

Brady whispers, "You can feel me up any time you like, Sam. I'm sure Lucifer won't mind you having some fun, and I'm all yours to command. Can't wait 'til you replace my sub-boss and send him packing, let me tell you. Heard about what happened to Famine. Beautiful job. Heard you had a good time that night, too." Sam studiously ignores him, checks his outer pockets, his cuffs, his sleeves, his socks, his shoes... "Oh, and I'll give you Pestilence's location. Boss has what he needs from him, and I wasn't ordered to be all zipped lips. Just needed to play the part to see you again, you know how it is... He misses you real bad."

Sam finds the coin buried in Brady's left inner pocket of his suit, and throws the coin out the window as far as he can before Dean comes back. Talks to Brady, despite himself. "You want to live? You want to see the end of this without Lucifer smiting you? Then don't get in the way when we make our escape. Lucifer won't fry you for that. He gave me an hour. And it's two Hellhounds, we can take it... You're supposed to listen to me, remember?"

Brady genuinely considers it. Sam can read his face, and his feelings, thanks to his link to Lucifer.

It's not a deal. It's not trusting him. It's just negotiations with an enemy that pretends to be Sam's friend and doesn't mind taking it's sweet time dragging this out, because Sam is allowed small mercies that aren't mercies at all thanks to their hopes for him, because Sam is _special_. And if Dean backed the wrong horse...

Sam can always drink and Lucifer will come and Sam will beg him to call it all off and then everyone else will just have to find a way to get Sam back. Sam won't say yes. He knows he won't.

He still doesn't know how they'll get him back, not after what happened the last rescue attempt. But it's better than the alternative.

Only one Hellhound finds them, Sam hears the glass shatter and the gunshots, and Sam wonders if he's going to have to make some deal to get Dean out of this, wonders if he can find any leverage that won't have him locked back in the gilded prison he's got waiting for him in Hell, that won't have Dean dragged to Hell by the dogs all over again thanks to Sam's failure.

\--

Dean can't let Lucifer find his brother, defenseless as he is. And he's knows they are almost well on their way to that happening, thanks to Crowley.

"Salt?" Sam asks, untying Brady, Dean holding the shotgun, the hellhound right there. Sam gets the message when Dean reloads.

Brady hams up his panic for Dean again. He always liked acting and got a bit too into it, and Sam resists the urge to just stab him and the Hellhound and just run.

Then Crowley comes back, and Sam finds he might just have another alternative.

"I brought my own." Crowley boasts, patting the Hellhounds head. "Mine's bigger." Then his throaty voice yells, "Sic 'em, boy."

_Oh, now he's really asking for it._

Crowley's Hellhound tears into one of Lucifer's, both of them howling and whining and barking and bleeding, and they all make a break for it in the meantime.

"Don't try anything." Sam threatens Brady under his breath as they run.

Brady looks at him, and Sam can hear the silent message there, can read him as easy as he can read other demons projecting, and Lucifer allows it, when it's Meg or Brady or another lackey Sam has to engage with. Let's Sam be sentimental, as if it might make Sam cave faster.

Don't need to, Sammy. Lucifer has got your ass one way, or another, and I'm supposed to keep an eye on you, now that he's got your number... So I'll sit pretty. 'Specially if it means I get to see you at the coronation, if you follow me.

There's more howling and snarling in the distance as they run to the Impala. They hear windows break and wood snap from Crowley's old haunt, they crowd into the car, Crowley joking, "I'd wager 1,000 my pup wins."

Sam just jumps into shotgun and keeps praying as if it might do anything.

_Oh, Sam, you are all for engaging today. I'm so moved. But long distance is just so hard, baby. Why not meet me at the airport and make all our troubles go away?_

**No.**

_Playing hard to get will only make me so much happier to see you. But I told you. I'll go easy. Run along and do your thing. And I've done some thinking. If you ditch the low-life straggler Dean's been so buddy-buddy with, I won't send my hounds after you so quick. Since Michael isn't anywhere near occupied with you at the moment, I can give you more concessions. We both know just what you are going after next, so I can keep track of you without much fuss. And I knew things ended worse than they should, that you don't want me to take you back right now, but I don't want you to feel used, Sam. So let's race. You go after Pestilence, and I'll see if I can nab you before you get there. Think of it as a reward for being so well-behaved and not following Dean's script for once, for making the calls for yourself, like you did before he got you all twisted up._

Sam doesn't answer. He doesn't have to play by Lucifer's rules once they escape.

They get out of dodge and get Pestilence's location from Brady in an alley. Crowley gives a second opinion, although Sam knows Brady isn't lying, and Crowley thinks he's honest for an entirely different reason.

Brady still hams it up. "You've screwed me. For eternity."

Even Sam can see how put-on that one is.

Brady keeps talking to Crowley, and Crowley talks back, and then he's talking to Sam.

"I expect we'll be in touch."

Sam doesn't respond, just stares Brady down.

So Crowley wasn't playing them. He's stupid, but not playing them. Still. One real demon ally, although he's still a liability, maybe moreso than Sam, since Lucifer won't hesitate to kill him first chance he gets, and Sam has leeway, although all of Lucifer's efforts are mostly focused on him and Michael now.

Brady looks at Sam, watches as Dean covers his escape route with salt, but not before letting Crowley out.

You really gonna work with that one? I've looked out for you, been a real pal, for so long. We ate cheerios as kids. Drew with crayons. Made a fort. And let's not forget, college was a blast.

**You don't get to play nice, Brady. Not after what you did. And this is for Brady. The other Brady you've kept down. And my brother. For what you did to him.**

Then I'd say it's been real fun. Good to see you, one last time.

**Can't say the same.**

_Always a real shame when friendships grow apart._

**Don't talk to me.**

_Oh, fine. I'll let you two say your goodbyes in peace._

"What is this?" Brady asks aloud, like he thinks Sam will reconsider.

"All those angels, all those demons, all those sons of bitches." Dean starts in. "They just don't get it, do they, Sammy?"

Sam jerks his head, eyes slits. "No, they don't, Dean."

"You see, Brady, we're the ones you should be afraid of." Dean says.

Brady scoffs at him.

He's only half-afraid of Sam, because Sam's the one doing this, and it's not even real fear aside from the need for self-preservation.

Brady can't quite not twist the knife, just for that, though.

"I bet this is a real moment for you, big boy." Brady says to Sam, brow furrowing as he half-smiles. "Gonna make you feel all better? Huh?"

We know it isn't.

"It's a start." Sam corrects, stalking closer. Brady backs up into the wall.

"Gonna make up for all the times that we yanked your chain. Yellow eyes. Ruby. Me?"

I was so much nicer to you than them, admit it. Even if I did screw the pooch and set you off on your quest. I had the best of intentions, Sam. For a demon, I'd still say we're best friends.

Sam has made no promises. Has no reason to spare him.

But if this is his execution... Not a bad way to go.

He'd die knowing Sam got made into what Brady and Azazel and Lucifer had been trying so hard to nurse and bring out.

And that was rewarding, in a way. Seeing all that time and work come to fruition.

Sam doesn't go in quickly, and Brady capitalizes on that opportunity, that hesitation, to keep going, because he wants to see Sam cave, wants to see what they brought out in him, doesn't want Sam to keep being torn and holding back like that's the better option here.

Brady talks fast, like he does when he pitches an idea, like he does when he's excited. Like he did when he fucked Sam way back when, when they were friends with benefits. "But it wasn't all our fault, was it? No, no, no, no. You're the one who trusted us. You're the one who let us into your life, let us whisper in your ear over and over and over again." And Brady gives Sam a smile, shows the blacks of his eyes. "Ever wonder why that is, Sammy? Ever wonder why we were so in your blind spot?"

Because you love so deeply. You know who your true friends are, who would mentor you, who would bring you back to the one you've been headed towards this whole time. You could feel us directing you over to him, like you needed to, like you've always wanted. You wanted to be free, Sam. This is your freedom, after all our prodding, all our little manipulations. Now we hand the world to you on a plate. So, one friend to another: stop being so scared to reach out and accept what you've earned. No one likes it when someone is too down on themselves. Real friends try to build each other up, like we did you.

"Maybe it's because we've got the same stuff in our veins, and deep down, you know you're just like us." Brady adds.

Hungry and wanting and ready to rip the world up and make it your own. Devoted to the Devil. We're blood brothers, real friends, because I'd die to see you win this. Lucifer's win is your win, Sam. You know that. You've known that this whole time, even if you won't take it.

Then Brady snarls and lunges for Sam, because Sam's still not going for it, because Sam still hesitates too long, not from not-wanting to kill Brady but because of what that might prove. Because it would give him what he wants.

Sam lets Brady goad him into action. Injures him, but doesn't kill, in warning.

Brady's voice is a throaty gasp and changes tact, "Maybe you hate us so much because you hate what you see very time you look in the mirror. You ever think of that?" 

Because you love it, love our Maker, all as much as we do, Sam. More, even. We all feel it.

But Sam is still the one deciding the pace of his execution. And Brady isn't getting anything from him, so he has to pick up the pace, because he isn't going to let Sam pawn off his death like this. If Brady is going to die, it's going to be from Sam and nothing else.

So Brady says his final piece, and his voice goes from harsh to low as he laughs, "Maybe the only difference between you and a demon is your Hell is right here."

Because Lucifer made you his, and this is his kingdom now, all thanks to you. Shame I won't see it. But hey. That's what friends are for, right? Stepping over to get to the next big step in life.

Those last words are what seals the deal.

Brady's last thoughts are of Lilith and Ruby. He wonders if they felt this kind of rush, this achievement, before Sam killed them, too.

He doubts it. Lilith would die for Lucifer but begrudged Sam, had her jealousies. And Ruby was cocky, thought rubbing it in meant Sam would go for it, acted like Sam wouldn't be so against her from the get-go the moment denial set it.

Brady knew the way the cookie really crumbles. He knew Sam, and knew what the be-all end all was the moment he signed up for his post and got nabbed.

Beats having to deal with Pestilence another day, that's for sure.

\--

Sam kills Brady slow, gives him a sharp half-smile, an unhappy one.

**Maybe so. But you won't get a yes out of me. And I'm going to burn everything all of you tried to build to the ground, one day at a time.**

Sam tries to make this feel like a win.

Brady's gone.

Lucifer hasn't found him.

It still doesn't feel like a win. Not at all.

Sam breathes in, tilts his head, like Lucifer sometimes did to hide his feelings.

"Interesting theory." Sam says.

He repeats the mantra he's made for himself in his mind, the one he made soon after Lucifer first surfaced and ever since .

**I am not theirs. I am myself. I am free, and I have standards, and morals, and just because I loved and trusted the wrong people and because I'm angry about it does not mean I wanted anyone to die or that I am like them or signed up for this.**

_But you signed up for me, Sam. Your whole soul sings for it. And I saved you then and I will save you now._

**You don't get to have me. You don't get to pretend you are saving me from anything. I am done playing by your rules, even if I have no way to fight them. Just because I love you doesn't mean I am going to let you do this... And you gave up. You left. You killed Jo and Ellen and hurt Bobby and threatened Dean and Castiel and I will make you pay for that and every other thing you have ever done to humanity. I promise you that.**

Sam doesn't have to play nice, now. Doesn't have to beg, because now that Brady is dead, the Hellhounds aren't coming for him and Dean.

He can keep staying hidden and keep his head down until they bury Lucifer in the dirt.

Sam walks past his brother without a word.

_Such spirit, Sam. It reminds me just why we fit together so well. Fighting to the bitter end, even when it's a losing battle._

**You're the one who is going to lose.**

_We'll see. Won't we? And I know, when push comes to shove, Sammy, that even if you get the rings, you won't try to use them. You love me too much._


	51. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> swan song part 1 
> 
> chapter title a song by halsey

“Take care of these guys, okay?” Sam says. One last request for Castiel.

Castiel doesn’t accept it, because in his own endearing angel way, oh-so-different from Lucifer, he does not remember to lie.

And that slip-up, that laughter is all Sam needs right then. Castiel, Sam believes, must’ve known that, on some level.

Sam lets Cas trip on his words and pretends it all bothers him.

One last laugh for the road.

And then there’s Dean, and Sam just looks at the plastic gallons of blood, doesn’t look at him because they’ve already said all there is to say. No words left.

“You mind not watching this?” Sam begs for the moment of propriety to hide all past mistakes, shame, and all the other fears of failure…. To hide all that endless want clutching at him from beneath the surface, trying to a fill a gaping hole nothing has ever sealed.

A hole left by the Devil, that Lucifer himself was going to fill too soon, but not soon enough.

(It was never soon enough.)

But Sam is going to do this, because here it is: the last gasp.

Sam picks up the gallon of demon blood–he can feel it singing, a low hum, can smell its scorching acid and taste its sulfuric, brittle, coagulated aftertaste before the cap is even off– and begins to chug.

Sam idly notes that Lucifer’s typical daily presence, a small icy chill of grace caressing the back of Sam’s spine that by now has carefully nested, coiled in the nooks and crannies of Sam’s brainstem, is strangely muted and silent.

Has been for two entire nights.

He knows Sam is close by.

Sam wipes off the tacky, elastic stickiness from around his mouth until his lips and face are clean, pristine, until the burning victories of Hell are no longer wafting through his nostrils, and until all he feels is the ever-thickening chord of tendrils, of holy, hollowed out soul-and-grace reaching out and binding him and Lucifer together. Feels the echoed imprint of a thousand hands, of claws caressing him too softly until he keens, feels the echoes of a promised kiss seared along his jawline like a ghost dragging him into the next life.

“Let’s go.” Sam breathes.

Sam follows the line from his soul to the other.

Dean follows Sam.

Judgement day walks inside the shadows of their footsteps, always one step behind.

\--

“All right, we’re here, you sons of bitches!” Sam hollers, and he lets all the expectance out. Let’s the waves of bloodlust and other lust and want choke him out and raise him anew because this night was all he had left of freedom, one way or another. “Come and get it!”

And after an administration of demonic attention, having rung the front doorbell like the ominous portent it was, both Sam and Dean are dragged in for their final official audience with the Devil himself.

_Sam._

Sam hears Lucifer’s grace constantly whisper, the glories licking against his throat. The effect is still oddly muted, as if he has been grabbed by one ankle and pulled beneath the surface, one hand dragging him deeper and deeper down until the cold depth is all he feels.

“Hey guys.” Lucifer starts, all mild. “So nice of you to drop in.”

At his tone, Sam suddenly gets a hint that something is very, very wrong.

But there is no going back, not now. Not ever.

Sam breathes in too deeply anyway as cold wings reach out and embrace him.

Lucifer fogs up the glass, because he can, and because now that line is singing between them, thicker than blood or water or holy covenant itself, and it takes half of Sam’s precious reserves of willpower not to throw himself at Lucifer and kiss the Devil breathless and let him take Sam where he stands, despite the danger, despite the plan, and despite the new guest of pale, icy anger that makes the hair on Sam’s neck rise.

“Sorry if it’s a bit chilly.” Lucifer notes softly, one hand drawing a pitchfork in the frost, a motion without direction, yet somehow filled with purpose, “Most people think I burn hot. But it’s actually quite the opposite.”

_Isn’t that right, Sam? You know every part of me so well. I’m surprised it took you this long to meet me here. Oh wait, no. I’m not._

“Well, I’ll alert the media.” Dean says, but his voice betrays his fear, chokes off as he blinks away despite his best efforts, one withering look from Lucifer all it takes. Lucifer, who is almost getting what he wants but hasn’t, not really. Not quite.

_Ever the joker, your brother, Sam. A bit of a sore subject, if you don’t mind. But that’s not why we’re here._

He approaches them slowly, a hunter cornering prey. Claps his hands together as if he’s more thrilled than he truly is, because the Devil is a smokescreen over his own luminous self, particularly when at his most emotional after all these long years of waiting have passed on by.

Gives Sam a cursory look before turning his attention all on Dean, uncharacteristic as ever considering his true form is crawling invisibly all over everything that is Sam. As if the pretend silent treatment can hide his true aims.

The Devil’s real-self uncurls from the mouth of Nick’s flesh-suit like solid smoke and scattered light. Reels in and out, anchored, like a fishing line buoyed against a whirlpool. His grace digs into Sam’s clavicle and sternum and below his ribcage and navel, as if the Devil can flay Sam open to gouge and pry his soul out from underneath. Ready to freeze Sam’s soul senseless where it stands, numb it until that is all there is, the two of them, forever and ever and always.

_This is just a fraction of what it will feel like, Sam, once you decide to let me in._

The feeling is too good, too painless, too perfect, and the mouth of Sam’s soul almost cries out, defiled by the brilliance of all that is Lucifer before the Archangel’s true form fucks its way inside of him.

But Sam swallows the bliss down, buries the hatchet of his fear, and doesn’t give in, all the same.

“Help me understand something, guys. I mean, stomping through my front door is… a tad suicidal, don’t you think?” And Lucifer only looks at Dean, head tilted. Tone still stilted, too light, a bit worn and raw around the edges from the burned out insides of Nick’s throat.

“We’re not here to fight you.” Sam clarifies, having finally found his voice again. And then all of Lucifer looks to him, Archangel and grace and flesh-prison alike united in singular purpose, unable to keep the distance at bay a single second longer.

“No? Then why are you?” Lucifer asks, his blue eyes narrowing.

“I want to say yes.” Sam admits. Adamant. Unflinching. He takes in another deep breathe.

A smile flickers across Lucifer’s face, but his expression is still closed off. Still peeved, even though Sam can feel that edge of _finally_ , ripple across, clear as day.

“Excuse me?” Lucifer tone is deeper, has abandoned the softer register for a lighter, more pointed edge. As if it were a prism that could cut apart half the universe by refracting a single ray of sunlight.

_You want to say that again?_

Dean looks to Sam, but all eyes, Devil and human, are caught in a battle he can’t see.

**You want to play this that way? Fine.**

Sam inhales and closes his eyes. Feels the power swell, lets it loose like magma and rock spewing out unwanted from a volcano. Feels Lucifer huddled against him, swarming over him in all his glory, too solid and more real than ever.

There is bright, bright light, and the demons go down, souls burned out and screaming. Judged, deemed unfit.

Loud bodies hit the floor.

Sam’s still left wanting for more, more the Devil, more of the power singing as paper-light grace flits against his skin.

“Chock full of Ovaltine, are we?” Lucifer whispers. Sam doesn’t miss a beat.

**Don’t be a tease.**

“You heard me. Yes.” Sam answers, nostrils flaring. His voice is rough and demanding and aching with all the things he does not yet have. And Lucifer keeps playing coy; lets the cold settle uneasily between them.

“You’re serious.” Lucifer’s tone is still raw, still has an edge, but he winks at Sam anyway.

_Oh, Sam. Am I leaving you out to dry? Still want more? Now you know how I’ve felt this whole entire time._

A muscle twinges in Sam’s jaw, and he looks at Dean, then back to Lucifer. Yes, something is very wrong, more wrong in a way Sam can’t quite convey, and he’s not sure Dean gets it. Unless he does, because the Devil isn’t nearly as eager as usual. Lucifer isn’t making merry or being as condescendingly certain, as the two boys know he otherwise would. He’s being clinical in his actions, wields his hold over Sam like a scalpel knee-deep in brain surgery. He knows something, and despite his goals, isn’t thrilled with Sam’s eager ‘Yes.’ No, not at all.

“Look, judgement day is a runaway train. We get it, now. We just want off.” Sam replies, knows he isn’t convincing because the Devil knows this is not what this is about. Neither of them can pretend otherwise. They both keep up the façade out of habit, because the truth is not something Dean is wholly privy to, when push comes to shove.

But this is more personal than that. More visceral. More brutal for two beings so full of love and want for each other that the whole crux of the world hangs suspended in the balance despite their own differing goals. There’s Sam, so full of love and hate and purpose and want that he can barely stand, so consumed by that love and that need to be consumed that he’s half-numb from it, unsure how he even made it this far, but teeming with mission all the same. And then there’s Lucifer, too-cold but strangely, untidily aloof, burning bright and extant with seething fury and warring desire and all those grasping, too-tight hands brushing up to take his vessel like fire swallows dried-out kindling.

“Meaning?” Lucifer is implacable, not swayed. Still being somewhat passive-aggressive despite the hunger arcing through his heart, pumping angelic waves all folding in over itself, the essence of his pure being.

Sam doesn’t let the off-note beats of Lucifer’s grace deter him.

“Deal of the century.” Sam starts, and Lucifer presses a finger to his lips, not buying what Sam’s selling, “I give you a free ride but when it’s all over, I live, he lives, you bring our parents back-”

“Ok, can we please drop the telenovela?” Lucifer cuts in with a playful frown, and there’s a pause, a too-knowing pause. The feeling of falling hits Sam as Lucifer’s soul and grace ebbs away, destabilizes his human soul like a ship ripped from its mooring, but Sam narrows his eyes, lets his stubborn resolve keep him upright even as Lucifer adds, no pretense of kindness now, “I know you have the rings, Sam.”

Sam’s heart leaps in his throat.

_You want to try again?_

“I have no idea what you are talking about-” Sam stutters over the words as his head shakes. Knows he’s being played.

**It's not what you think-**

_Oh, really?_

Lucifer gives Sam a disinterested, skeptical eye roll.

“The Horseman’s rings, the magic keys to my Cage. “ Lucifer starts. He jerks his head impatiently, one hand gently flinging out from his body as if he could conjure the keys out of thin air, before the hand drops and he’s actually approaching Sam on foot now, until he stops short, right in front of Sam’s face, close enough to pull into a kiss. “Ring a bell?”

_Keep on digging that hole, Sam. Or don’t insult my intelligence, your call._

Lucifer mocks him even as the Archangel’s soul comes surging back, Lucifer once again coiled around the shoulders of Sam like chains. One of the Devil’s main heads tilts, upside-down, as it leans over Sam’s forehead. It presses a kiss to the side of his throat. Savors it. Then kisses Sam’s lips, forked tongue darting into the corners of Sam’s souls’ half-open, incorporeal mouth.

Sam’s body is carven stone save for the jump of his pulse.

_Oh, Samuel, my Sammy. Did you think I was going to let you lock us both away? Did you think I wouldn’t know? Come now, really? After you went through all that trouble of finally setting me free?_

**I-**

“C’mon Sam, I’ve never lied to you.” Lucifer scolds, “You can at least pay me the same respect.”

Then he’s waltzing behind Sam as his playful demeanor resurfaces. Sam turns, once again trapped in the Devil’s clutches, trapped in orbit just like he always is. Sam can feel his own too-dilated eyes and the slight tremor of his hands.

_Oh, Sam. You certainly are something else, aren’t you?_

**Don’t patronize me.**

_Sammy, you’re so ready to let me in, you forget just who you’re talking to._

“S’okay, I’m not mad.” Lucifer starts in and turns to Dean, who has been left out to dry, half-forgotten until now, his panic a footnote crammed at the edges of their symphony. And Lucifer gravitates back to Sam, blue eyes gazing upward in thought.

“A wrestling match inside your noggin’. I like the idea.” Lucifer proposes, two fingers overlaid against the others in his half-twisted up hands before he juggles them back and forth, considerate. “Just you and me. One round. No tricks.” The words trail off higher than usual as Lucifer’s sharpness returns and his eyes bore into Sam’s all over again.

_You can grant us that much, I expect?_

**I’m not the one manipulating people here. I’m doing what needs to be done.**

_You keep telling yourself that, kiddo. I know your mind, inside and out._

Sam can’t find enough air to breathe.

Lucifer keeps going, lets the smile fall from his burned and mottled face. “You win, you jump in the hole. I win, well, then I win.” And Lucifer’s head bobs, triumphant. His smile bubbles back, more radiant and terrifying than ever. The calling card of the Morningstar, the crown jewel of his joy on this day, the day he gets what he’s been gunning for so, so many millennia.

_You win, too, Sam. Even if you don’t want to admit it. We’re both so close to getting what we want. What we deserve. I know this will all work out. You’ll see. Soon, so soon, you’ll see. I know you’ll come around and see things my way. Just let go. Let me in. We’ve been starving for this. Been ever so patient. And I’ll be the first to admit, oh, I’m dying for a taste. Just like you. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you feel that? Don’t fight it, I’ll make sure._

Sam doesn’t have the words. His mind is a buzz of static, shorted out by the Devil’s attentions caressing and teasing every stray fiber of his soul.

“What do you say, Sam?” Lucifer finishes, then his head tilts, and then he’s all possessive, encroaching need, all over Sam like he can devour him here and now. The Devil’s satisfied voice croons, “A fiddle of gold against your soul says I’m better than _yoooou_.”

_Come home, Sam. Come to me._

Two blue eyes stare in Sam’s brown, ageless and old and infinite. A pinprick of a star joined with a million supernovas meeting endless oceans, a mere piece of the monster come to take everything of Sam, to usher it away, and keep it all for himself.

_I love you, Sam. You know I love you. Now let yourself love me, too._

Sam looks away, barely holds in the too shallow breaths stealing over him. Barely keeps the ecstasy and resignation and terror at bay.

**I may love you, Lucifer. But I will stop you. This is how it has to be.**

_Brave last words, Sammy. So brave. But you’ll understand soon. I promise._

“So he knows. Doesn’t change anything.” Sam starts, voice husky and gruff from all the feeling he can’t let topple him over. The air in front of his face puffs out, visible from the freezing, ever-present cold.

“Sam-” Dean’s voice is cautioned with premature pain.

“We don’t have any other choice-” Sam is determined, knows what he has to do, and his voice bleeds with that burning purpose.

“No!” Dean starts.

 _Yes, yes. Finally._ Lucifer's grace weeps with relief.

Sam barely hesitates, and bares his teeth freely for what might be the last time, still constant, still staring into the Devil’s bright, true face.

“Yes.” Sam answers.

There is light. And the Devil hones in, collides himself closer and closer until he’s trawling deeper, all Archangel inside of all of Human Sam, until they are both entwined and endless and bright and burning.

So, so cold, both slotting perfectly together, neatly folded beneath Sam’s skin.

_Thank you, Sam. Thank you._

Sam feels the Devil’s soul teething over his own, feels the invasion, the thousand sucking mouths, the wings sliding over what was his face and skin and teeth and torso, feels the whispers of a thousand faces, feels lips pressing into his, feels breath stealing over him, sees red eyes perched above, watching. Sam fights but it’s like a bacterium trying to fight off the sun, and part of him wants to do the opposite of fight anyway.

**Lucifer-**

_Mine, finally **mine**._

Holy love locks Sam inside the Devil’s own heart, until there’s nothing but them, only Lucifer-Sam-Us.

No awareness, no end, and no beginning.

Only this.

\--

Lucifer keeps Sam in lock-down as he mocks Dean, only half relishing it, ignoring Dean’s frantic prayers like the buzzing of a half-dead fly.

“I was just messing with you. Sammy’s long gone.” **(He isn’t he’s just submerged, just drowning, wants to scream out but he can’t because all that he is and all that they are is all Lucifer, all him-)**

Dean swallows, can’t seem to look away. And Lucifer gives his smile-that-isn’t-a-smile as he lets himself gush over one last win.

“I told you. This would always happen in Detroit.”

Dean shatters.

Lucifer flies away, ready to keep Sam for the rest of forever and eternity.

_I love you, Sam. I love you. And nothing will force us apart ever again, as long as our hearts keep beating._

\--

However, Sam’s shocked and engulfed submergence is not permanent. And when Sam resurfaces and beats back the tempest that is Lucifer as best he’s able, the Devil knows he has to try a different tactic other than sheer overwhelming need to keep his true vessel placated and compliant and submissive.

Lucifer cannot allow Sam to stop them, however much Sam feels he needs to.

Lucifer needs this win, and he needs Sam to want this win, too.

Because it is their win. Lucifer knows it.

Can feel it with every cry, every prayer of his name as he melts and kisses and solders and fucks Sam from inside his own bones, binding him more and more to the Archangel until his brilliant human soul never wants for anything else.

Yes, this was just Sam being Sam. A temporary and workable setback that wasn’t even a setback because it was just a facet of Sam’s stubborn bullheaded resolve, easily managed.

The Devil was sure of it.

\---

But as it turns out, he was oh-so-very, very wrong.


	52. A Fiddle of Gold Against Your Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> swan song again

**A Couple Days Before The Cage**

Lucifer can feels Sam twitching, ramming his way into the neurons of his own brain. Sam’s willing his arms and his legs to cooperate, to little avail. Their right arm is already going half-numb, not wholly responsive. It’s almost as if Sam is trying to punch himself in the face.

Lucifer grimaces, cricks his neck, and with one sharp roll of his shoulders suppresses Sam’s best attempts at breaking through. It’s almost funny, how hard he’s trying. How little it will matter. Sam’s like Sisyphus trying to conquer his endless climb, or a lone tree trying to take on a tsunami, and its Sam providing that doubt, those equivalencies, even as Sam tries to push them down further. Lucifer isn’t a fan of the self-hatred, the shame of his love for the Devil, though. That would have to be quelled, then healed – for both Sam’s agonized sake and Lucifer’s wounded pride.

 _Best to nip this rebellion in the bud before it festers,_ He decides. It would be a long time coming, anyway.

_Come out to play, Sammy._

**Don’t call me that.** Sam’s mind burns back. **You’ve lost that privilege.** Another distant part of Sam’s mind mourns, but Sam clamps that on lockdown immediately.

“Sam.” Lucifer whispers, inhales, (and Sam’s skittering back inside his shared brainstem, retreating from his own arms as the mounting neural pressure builds). “C’mon, I can feel you,” Lucifer jests, cracks a smile, “Scratching away in there.”

_Don’t be bitter or ashamed, Sammy. You gave it your best shot. You gambled and you lost. So I win, fair and square._

His eyes hit the mirror on the opposite wall, expectant. Sam is reluctant to play ball, to say the least, but by the time Lucifer stops, waiting, he just wants to get this over with.

“Look,” Lucifer continues, striding forward, “I’ll take the gag off, ok?”

_We’re all friends, here._

**Spare me, you possessive ass**. Sam rejoins, before his mind recoils away.

It’s cute, the forced bravado. The window-dressing meant to cover up the fear, the acknowledgment of what this is.

And Sam can barely breathe inside his own head, too claustrophobic and too ashamed of how much he wants this. Bravado was a good veneer for that, too, Lucifer appreciates. But he would break Sam’s pain apart, tear down those rickety walls of shame and fear, let the beaming ice of the angel of light shine through every orifice of every neuron and particle in Sam’s being, until that the love and consuming support staggers him, is all that he can feel.

But still, the fear, the disgust, the denial lingers. It’s starting to grate on his almost boundless, magnanimous patience. Just a little.

 _C’mon, Sam. We’re going to have this conversation one way, or another._ And Lucifer lets the threat hang, because he will knock them both out and deal with Sam directly inside his noggin if he absolutely has to. He’ll kiss and fuck his soul raw until he can’t remember his own name, a nice old trip down memory lane, and Sam shudders, still aroused at the thought, betrayed by his own limitations.

“I’m not the bad guy, here,” Lucifer keeps going, let’s Sam’s voice make his case.

Poor Sam can’t bear to watch his own face argue with himself, wear the same haughty expressions Jess and Nick wore as a guise. And how many times had the Devil prepped and practiced with Sam for law school, been a welcome, listening ear?

With that cold reminder, Sam steps into the ring, doesn’t want Lucifer to make good on his threat even more, and let’s Lucifer set the stage for whatever conversation he intends to conquer.

 **Because that’s what this is,** Sam reminds himself, **A conquest, not a partnership. Not a marriage, of the minds or any other sort,** And Sam stops then, thinks of the ring on Jess’s finger, and he’s rewarded with Lucifer’s twinge of not-guilt, slight insult, of reproving melancholy.

_I’m right here. Closer than we could ever be. And I would have given that to you, Sam, if we were not destined to be together as we are._

There’s no lie there, he would – provided he could raze the earth anyway.

“I’m going to rip you apart from the inside out,” Sam vows, and he’s got skin in the game now, anger the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the grace roiling around inside of him, of capitulating to Lucifer’s every want and need, because he knows he’s weak, knows he’s starving to be claimed by the rest of him. Lucifer roils with it, and it’s infectious, and predictable, and it almost gets him going. Sam was always more fun when he was angry. But he moves on, has better priorities, can needle and tease Sam about that later.

“Do you understand me?” Sam adds, not letting Lucifer off the hook. His nostrils would flare and his hands would curl into fists if he had control over his body, but Sam’s motor skills are all Lucifer, all contained even as he carries himself loosely, swarmed with the feeling of _free._

Lucifer lets himself look slightly stricken, frowning as he turns, but can’t keep up the mask. Sam’s body is more than comfortable and everything he expected it to be, and every few seconds he feels a thrill that he’s got Sam right where he wants him, even if it wasn’t easy. Still, challenges were always rewarding, and Sam wouldn’t be his beautiful, constant Sam if wasn’t willful, hardheaded. Combative.

But Lucifer was an archangel, made of war and wills, too. And he’d had more experience, more endurance, considering the severe punishment for his crime.

“Such anger, young Skywalker.” Lucifer quips. His face cracks into glee.

Then he’s barraging Sam with memories of their times on their battered old couch at Stamford, at their shared amusement at the iconic parts they only are half-watching, at their legs twined and their laughter and the feeling that everything was right in the world.

 **How dare you,** Sam thinks at him, **How dare you throw that in my face.**

Lucifer’s smile flickers, sharp and unapologetic. Then he's sending even more memories that are more recent and closer to home.

 _You love me,_ His grace sings, _Don’t play coy._

And then Sam almost shuts down, tries to drown him out, and Lucifer eases off, more serious. Let’s Sam make his own way back, like he knows he always will.

“Who are you really angry with? Me?” Lucifer questions, eyes not straying from Sam’s face. “Or that face in the mirror?” His eyes water as Sam’s defenses fracture, as his posture heaves, then stiffens. Lucifer already knows the answer, is not one to let Sam stew or run away.

_You tried your best, Sam. Stop knocking yourself. No need to regret a good time._

“I’m sure this is all a big joke to you, huh?” Sam argues too quickly, performing the mental equivalent of cartwheels combined with covering his ears and singing **La La La, Not Listening.** He’s already aware Lucifer’s getting through and he is fighting it, tooth and nail.

It’s not enough.

“Not at all.” Lucifer replies, unbothered, letting the weight of his words shine through, “I’ve been waiting for you,” And he pauses, overcome, draws the syllables out just to make sure it permeates Sam’s stubborn, unbridled brain. “For a long, _long_ time.”

He doesn’t hide the micro-expressions flitting across his face, can feel Sam swaying with the feeling of all that time, eons and eons stretched dark and cold and wanting, and then cessation, relief, all Lucifer’s prayers for Sam Winchester, for his deliverance from bondage, to come true.

_I love you._

And Sam knows he isn’t lying, can feel the iron truth like an icy syringe easing into his skin.

 **You left me,** Sam soul accuses. **You left me to destroy the world.**

_I did what I had to, Sammy. And I’ve always been right here, waiting to come back to you._

Lucifer doesn’t let the accusation stand, blows it away like a gust of wind.

And Sam is coming apart at the seams, fidgeting and prickling with the reality of it all.

“C’mon, Sam. You have to admit,” Lucifer continues, stops, inhales, “You can feel it. Right?”

“What?” Sam retorts, and it seems Lucifer hasn’t rammed his way past the blunt denials yet, after all.

“The exhilaration.” Lucifer enunciates, letting the coils of his grace breathe in and out in time with Sam’s heartbeats, woven with the chiming strings of Sam’s bright, burning soul. “And you know why that is?”

And Sam falters, doubles down, but it’s not going to last. Lucifer's wings are swooping, sliding, closing and unfurling and caressing, grace sucking out every bit of air until Sam is dizzy, heady with the feeling of, _Mine. All for me._

“Because we’re two halves made whole. MFEO.” Lucifer proclaims. His smile darts, lips curls, and he tacks on, “Literally.” For good measure.

Sam is beaten and he knows it, drowning in the heights of the love and awe and ecstasy, of the icy clutches come to house him, come to claim him, come to keep him forevermore.

“This feels pretty damn far from good,” Sam counters as he rallies for one last go. Lucifer raises his eyebrows, taps his temple, and he’s not pulling punches anymore. He’s been doing that more often lately.

_Denial’s not a good look on you, Sammy._

Lucifer says, instead, “I’m inside your grapefruit, Sam. You can’t lie to me.”

And doesn’t Sam know it, know how futile his protests can be. He can't say he isn’t happy with the way the Devil is overlaid on his skin, quite the opposite. He’s teeming with it, overloaded with the light and hope and brightness and pure power he so desperately craves, eager to no longer be the punching bag of the universe. Brimming with their shared, chronic supernovas of oneness, of ecstasy and love and need and displaced anger all mingling with their joy and their want and tapped out loneliness, and Lucifer is understood, and he sees Sam, really sees him, and Sam tries so hard not to let himself go.

Lucifer pauses, let’s Sam collect himself, but it’s a near thing. “I see it all. How hot you always felt.”

He makes a show of it, as if every inch of Sam isn’t known to him already, as if he doesn’t know exactly which points to put pressure on, which memories to bring to the surface. He lets his exasperation, his kindred feelings, burn through Sam’s retinas and crown and implode beneath Sam’s skin, and keeps going even as Sam is quietly begging him, _stop, no, please..._

“How out of place, in that…” Lucifer stops, and his eyes narrow, as he picks apart the word, the chip still rancid on his shoulder, “Family, of yours.”

The fury oozes beneath their skin, frozen and bright and endless.

And then Dean is calling them a monster and punching them and saying he will hunt them down, and John is trashing the motel room, yelling, “Don’t you walk away from me!” And they are falling, charred, screaming, begging their father not to turn their back on them, and the feeling is like an unmaking, a solidification, as earth impacts and keeps going and it burns it burns it burns, and then there is quiet, and stillness, and nothing, just the cradle of a vacant prison.

“And why shouldn’t you have? They were foster care, at best,” Lucifer presses. And the grace is singing, blooming, alive, and Sam doesn’t know where he ends and the Devil begins.

“I’m your real family.” Lucifer whispers as he calls upon the first echoes of creation, of all the things that led the Devil into Sam’s supplicating, faithful arms.

_I would not kneel for them, Sam. But I would for you._

Sam starts shaking his head inside his mind, frantic, anchorless as he goes under, submerged and drowning.

“No, it’s not true.” Sam’s denials aren’t even convincing anymore. He's unmoored, unmanned, helpless against the Devil, against his heart, and isn’t that funny, that the one thing Sam’s always wanted, that love, wishes nothing more than to house itself beneath his skin. That God would pit him against something so far beyond his favored creation, would throw Sam up against the rocks of this.

“It is.” Lucifer holds steady. “And I know you know it.”

And every good time they shared, as Jess or in Sam’s dreams, Lucifer wields like a weapon, precise and without mercy. They flicker and shudder and burn, and Sam squirms and twitches with the enormity of their history, their lives, their promises.

“All those times you ran away, you weren’t running from them.” Lucifer concludes, beaming. “You were running towards me.”

 _Mine, mine, all mine._ The grace preens in a crescendo, of something more alive than Sam could alone be. His words and grace are soft, too soft, too tender for Sam to belie.

Sam can’t meet his eyes, becomes frenzied in his desperation.

 **You want too much.** He tries.

_No, Sam. Let me give you everything. Let yourself see._

And Sam knows Lucifer is right, and he hates it, hates the love he can’t scrub out from his lips and tongue and teeth and lungs and heart and under every square inch of skin. It is that which saves him from being consumed, being hypnotized with the haze of assimilation, of love so boundless and sharp and terrifying that it would break him apart, limb from limb.

“This doesn’t have to be bad thing, you know?” Lucifer coaxes.

_Work with me, here, Sammy._

**I told you not to call me that.** Sam’s thoughts are hollow and faint.

“I let Dean live, didn’t I? I want him to live.” Lucifer reminds him, and with that slip, Sam gathers one last surge of strength, the last thing keeping him from joining the Devil forever, because everything was quicksand slipping through his fingers, everything apparently up for negotiation. Dean wasn’t in danger, not really, because the Devil knew he wouldn’t say yes, wouldn’t stop Sam, was ultimately inconsequential except for what he means to Sam.

“I’ll bring your folks back, too.” Lucifer insists, having immediately realized his error. He can feel Sam latching on to something he can’t seem to break, and he’s starting to let the desperation creep in, the pain, anything to make Sam see that his way is the best way, the right way.

 **You killed them.** Sam accuses, like he usually does, as if that one thing will keep him bound to the tenants of his family, to the time before Lucifer became everything, filled him until he was engulfed, as long as he reminds himself over and over. As if that matters now, now that he’s a fly caught in the spider’s web. **Jo and Ellen and countless other people. You killed them.** Sam repeats, like a mantra, as if that would actually stop him from falling anyway.

Lucifer sighs, looks down, and lets his jaw tic slightly. He was not expecting this much furious resistance, although he should have. He just didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to internalize Sam’s rejection of his own self, even though he loved him. In some ways, he and Sam were too alike, he agrees. Just not on the same criteria.

And then he brightens, finds his next opening, one thing that Sam can’t shake.

“I want you to be happy, Sam.”

_I promise._

There’s an incoherent, animal wave of agony in response, of too much artic joy, too much love suffusing Sam at the seams.

 _You will let me make you._ Lucifer entreats, and inside Sam is an inferno trying to melt the ice away. It doesn’t take.

“I don’t want anything from you.” Sam gasps out, baring his teeth.

Lucifer scoffs, doesn’t meet his eyes on purpose. “Really?” Plays his final trump card of the day.

 _Mm, not buying it._ He prods, then turns them ‘round to face the music.

Sam can feel what’s coming. He knows. He always knows.

“Not even a little payback?” Lucifer suggests, and Sam is hot all over, sick and feverish with the crushing reality of his own rage, at the unfairness of it all that has been building and building for decades. Lucifer caressing him, soothing, chiming, but knows it won’t change anything.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam feigns confusion.

“Look closely.” Lucifer says, instructive, implacable. “None of these little devils look familiar to you?”

(And wasn’t that a loaded phrase.)

“That’s Mr. Bensmith, one of my gradeschool teachers.” Sam takes the bait as it dangles, ripe and ready for the taking, like an apple in a garden Lucifer crashed oh-so-long ago. Suspends the choice in front of him like a benediction, a holy sacrament to purge Sam clean.

“And that’s your friend Doug, from that time in East Lancing. And Rachel,” Lucifer volunteers, and turns, businesslike, assured, “Your prom date.” Until he can’t hold it in and Lucifer’s grinning with the irony of it all, as if these peopled ever mattered, as if Sam would need anyone else but him.

Sam doesn’t know how to respond to that, still trying not to be suffocated under the weight of Lucifer’s affections.

Lucifer throws his arms out as if he could embrace him, placating. No tricks.

“Sam Winchester, this is your life. Azazel’s gang.” He announces, and Sam swallows, tenses, stills. Lucifer keeps going, takes the silence as encouragement, “Watching you since you were a Rugrat. Jerking you around like a dog on a leash.”

And isn’t that the truth, the biggest joke of Sam’s short life.

“I know how you feel about them. Me, too. So what do you say me and you blow off a little steam?” Lucifer snaps, wicked offer drifting there, tempting, ready to dole out some well-earned punishment.

 _C’mon, Sam. Live a little._ Lucifer nudges. Sam hesitates, but he’s so angry, so worn down by what he’s never been able to claim. He wants this for himself, Lucifer knows it, feeds it, twists around Sam’s heart with every seductive little injustice to feed the climbing flames.

 _There’s nothing wrong with it. I knew you’d be dying for a taste. All you need is to be given the chance._ Lucifer encourages.

Sam stops dead, can’t rally any more defenses. The rage mingles inside them, a gaping maw, hungry and wanting, no end and no beginning. And then he’s unwinding and undoing and destroying, just as Lucifer planned.

The demons are exorcised, punished, infernal shrieking of their mangled souls banished, unable to withstand Sam, to exist against such burning, cosmic judgement. And that was Sam, all Sam. Lucifer made sure of it.

Gone, gone, gone. And then Lucifer is tearing their pathetic fleshy suits to pieces, covering them up to the elbows in gore.

 _See? Feels so good, Sammy._ _You’re just like me. No need to be ashamed._

 **You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong.** Sam protests, but he knows he’s lying. He’s adrift, can’t take his own mental diffusion, and Lucifer sees the hairline fissure in his concept of self, the root of all that shame. Lucifer doesn’t take prisoners, and pounces, kneads his claws deeper into him, wings crooning, _Glory, Glory, Glory._

And Sam is fucked, completely fucked. Every speck of him fills with the aftertaste of Lucifer, all mingling ice and fire, all juiced up sun-kissed and ready to swallow up the rest of the world.

Inside the mingling of Sam and Lucifer, the Devil kisses Sam hard, inhuman anatomy crushing, lips demanding, countless red eyes staring into Sam's green as teeth and tongues and claws and mouths crowd all over.

And Sam lets him, offers himself up, returns each feeling as the fabric of the world blurs away.

_You’re safe, Sam. Safe. I’m here. And I’ll never leave you again._


	53. Sali's Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> swan song
> 
> chapter title a song by hooray for the riff raff

**A Day Before Sam Says Yes**

Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself.

 _“You’re going to let your brother jump right into that fiery pit,”_ Death’s words won’t leave him alone.

Dean isn’t sure he can let Sam throw away his life like this. Thinks back to all the haunted looks he’s seen light up his brother’s face. All the pain, all the longing, all the stubborn resolve as he tries to convince himself he can win against Lucifer, even as bags remain under his eyes each and every day. Sam hasn’t stopped tossing and turning in his sleep for months now, but Dean hasn’t said anything because there was a silent agreement there, a pointed ignorance in not talking about every time Sam says Lucifer’s name while being kept under, every time the Devil eyes him whenever they’re in the same vicinity.

Sees Sam pretend, like Dean can’t see just how much the Devil’s already hollowed him out, has taken the best parts of his brother as Lucifer tries to keep them all for himself.

\--

“But he’s got a hell of a lot of good in him, too.” Bobby’s words stay with Sam long after Dean and Bobby have left the table. They didn’t see him, hiding in the background, eavesdropping like the world was about to end, because it was.

Sam pretends he didn’t hear any of it when Dean comes close, Sam still folded over the hood of the Impala, beer in hand. Dean’s and Bobby’s words are a tether, keeping Lucifer at arm’s length. Their trust is like an oasis in a desert Sam’s been trapped inside for too long. And he doesn’t want to hide anything, not anymore, but he would do anything, anything, to hear that same confirmation from his brother, that same support again, because he could take anything he could get. Needs it like a fire eats oxygen.

But then Dean is asking, “Is this really what you want?”

And that’s a question, isn’t it. The question Sam has been hiding from, ever since the Devil breached the Cage. Since Sam let him loose into the world.

“I let him out.” Sam says, then he goes quiet. His next words are barely even noise. “I’ve got to put him back in.”

Doesn’t say: I would do anything to change this.

Doesn’t say: I don’t want to leave you or Cas or Bobby or Earth, I don’t…

Doesn’t say: I don’t want to be eaten alive.

Doesn’t say: I wish things were different. Lucifer promised me so much, and I wanted that love to fix everything. But it hasn’t, and it won’t. And he’s still a monster. This is just how it has to be.

Doesn’t say: “Dean, I’m scared,” like he’s five and hiding from something unreal under his bed all over again, but this monster has a different face, his heart cradled in its icy clutches that won’t ever, ever let Sam go.

Doesn’t even pray, although if Sam could, it would go something like this: **I would have given the world to you. I would have given myself up easily. If only you weren’t so hell-bent on destroying everything I have ever tried to save. I loved you. I still love you. How could you ever want to do this to me? To force me into this? Why isn’t it ever _enough_?**

Doesn’t sob: **Why can’t you just want me?**

Doesn’t say: At least I won’t leave _him_ alone, this way. Lucifer wins something here, either way.

And finally, finally, thinks: At least I don’t have to win. Don’t have to pretend. Not really. I might save everyone else, might fix this, might save the world through losing, but at least I don’t have to pretend this is my win because it isn’t, it’s killing me, eating me alive even as I want to tear Lucifer apart, one shred to bloody shred until he’s less than nothing to me.

And God, at least I won’t have to give this up. Even if it destroys me, at least I will still have this. Dean, and my memory, and Lucifer. An eternity of torment, but no more shame, because this will be the end of the line, the final chapter, one way or another.

Sam doesn’t know if his will be enough, no matter what Dean or Bobby or even Death believes. It may be his plan, but there’s too much pain to choke down, too much he has to hope stays hidden for the Devil to be caught unawares. Sam’s brain is a ticking time-bomb.

And there’s too many whispers and promises trickling through his dreams.

\--

In the Impala, Dean tries to lighten the mood, notes Castiel’s snoring with a fondness that almost offsets Sam’s overactive mind. But there is too much history between them.

“Angels don’t sleep.” Sam notes, all too aware of the fact. Knows Cas is starting to fade into humanity. Sam hopes he’ll be okay. Dean would take care of him, he has to- they all need to be because they had all been through too much together already.

And then Dean’s doubts resurge as he remembers how torn up Sam’s voice sounded in his sleep, a raw sobbing quiet murmur than he doubts Sam even remembers.

“Sam, I got a bad feeling about this.”

Sam shoots Dean’s reluctance down easily. There was no sanity in this plan, no sanity in thinking they could best the Devil, but Hell would Sam try anyway.

But Dean’s still talking. “He’d always said he’d jump your bones in Detroit. Here we are.”

“Here we are.” Sam whispers.

_Sam, you and I were always meant to be._

Dean’s voice drowns out Sam’s recollections because Sam needs him to. “Maybe this is him rolling out the red carpet? Maybe he knows something that we don’t.”

Sam laughs, because isn’t that the truth. Lucifer has always been over ten steps ahead of him every single step of the way. But he finishes his counterargument to Dean all the same, “We just got to hope he doesn’t know about the rings.”

And then the lede settles, heavy in his gut. A shadow, crawling over him before the Devil has his way. Sam pretends he doesn’t know what will happen when Lucifer finds out that Sam is actually going to go through with it.

He doesn’t want to know, because this is something he never wanted. Never signed up for even as his heart was shipped off and carried away.

Sam sighs. And he has to make sure Dean knows he can’t come back from this.

Because there isn’t any going back. Not ever, not really.

And this was the only play Sam could make.

The only free action he has left.

But Dean argues, like Sam knew he would. And Sam fights him.

Because this has never been a choice, not since Sam made up his mind, because Lucifer doesn’t let people have choices whenever he’s left out to play. And Sam needed to contain him, because this is the last bit of strength he’ll have. He knows Lucifer is going to make him pay for fighting back, for locking him away after he’d been waiting for Sam, praying for him, forever and longer than Sam had even lived.

“I’m sorry, Dean. You have to.” Sam finishes, unbowed. This is the last exploit that could give the Devil another chance, and Sam couldn’t have that loose end pulled and frayed.

He had already given up too much.

He wasn’t sure he had anything left to give.

But Dean could live a normal life, a happy life, an apple-pie slice-of-heaven like Sam never was truly allowed to keep.

“Promise me.” Sam commands.

And Dean follows his brother’s lead.

\--

**After Sam Says Yes**

Detroit happens. And Sam finds himself left wanting, finds his willpower is not enough, no match for the creature twisted up inside his heart and lungs and mind and soul until he can hardly bear it. And then Sam lets the anger loose, soaks in his self-hatred, because he’s trying his best, he is, and it’s still not enough because it never is.

Then Lucifer plays his games with Sam, has him bound up, together, with him. Has strung up Sam to the best feeling he’s ever felt, all tied into the worst horror show of Sam’s carefully engineered life.

“So, are we having fun yet?” Lucifer asks.

As if the Devil doesn’t know the answer already.

Lucifer continues to drown Sam in his own love and want and need, basks in Sam’s unwanted feelings of love and want and violence because they are almost the same, always spiraling down the same self-aggrandizing path that brought them together, heartbeats and heat and cold mingling in one singular holy union where they are one and separate and together all at once.

That love is what kills Sam's resistance, pulls him under, and destroys him all over again.

 _Sam, I love you more than I can bear._ _You won't suffer anything ever again so long as we're like this. You're mine. I'm here. I'll always be here. I'll never leave you. You can finally rest easy. We're free, Sam, finally free, and ready to take what is ours for all of forever._

And Lucifer undoes Sam's body with Sam's own bloody hands, shrugs off his clothes and strokes and caresses and kisses and fucks every part of him he can with a tenderness softer than feathers and talc and the filaments of moth wings. Lucifer's true form keeps Sam's soul in its grasp, grace and waves and brightness and wings even more twisted up inside Sam as Lucifer slides into him, fucks every particle of Sam's soul, and Lucifer doesn't hold back so Sam gets exactly what he needs, rough and gentle and everything in between, and Sam responds, takes in everything Lucifer offers up and gives back everything he is, just as consumed, just as wanting, just as full.

All the while, the Devil keeps whispering and singing and crooning every bit of love it has for Sam, greater and more eternal than the entire universe stretched out before them.

_You're perfect, Sammy. Perfect. And I promise I'll take such good care of you. I'm yours, all yours, because I was made for you as much as you were made for me._

Every part of Sam holds on to Lucifer and doesn't let go.

 **I love you, Lucifer. I love you.** Sam soul cries out, unmade, all his anger and fear and loathing having been crushed and frozen by something else, something deeper that Sam can't hide from Lucifer anymore, no matter how hard he tries, because Lucifer is everywhere, inside and out, bound inside every part of Sam as much as Sam is tangled up with him.

_I know. I love you, Sam. I love you. And I'll never let you go._

\--

They reach Stull Cemetery. It’s a haze, although Sam picks up a few things here and there, still tapped into the coils of grace lighting up his every nerve.

Sam feels Lucifer's muted joy at seeing his brother again, even if it is tempered by pain and disappointment and rage and too many years left confined.

“Are you ready?” Michael asks, nestled in Adam’s skin.

And Sam feels Lucifer pause. They haven't talked since Adam, and not since Michael ceased his war on Sam the moment he found out Sam planned to say yes, Lucifer more inclined to accept the peace offering since Sam is safe with him now, and Lucifer is going to make Michael pay for everything he did, now. He can afford to be nostalgic.

“As I’ll ever be.” Sam’s mouth voices for its host as Lucifer keeps going, “A part of me wishes we didn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah.” Michael answers, withdrawn. “Me too.”

Neither brother believes it, although they pretend to.

Sam can feel their grace stop singing, grow quiet, save for the ringing caressing Sam’s soul itself, always a chokehold within reach. Lucifer almost feels something else, but Sam knows he won’t let his guard down, is only trying to press any advantage he has.

“Then why are we?” Lucifer asks, appears to beg, but he isn’t, because Lucifer is too proud to beg now, and will take whatever ground he can get, will capitalize on any chance to be right, to catch Michael off guard. To make him finally see.

But Michael is dismissive. Sam can only wish he could be as dispassionate, as empty as the older Archangel seemed, when it came to Lucifer.

“Oh, you know why.” Michael says. He shakes his head. Grows a bit too alert.

Lucifer’s eye twitches, using Sam's eyelids as he pauses in his approach.

“I have no choice, after what you did.” Michael declares flatly.

And the blood boils over for Lucifer. Eons of wanting, of hatred, or betrayal, all rising up, luminous and glacial, to the surface. Held back by the small bit of hope Sam is screaming, because maybe this can be different, maybe this can be stopped, **please, Lucifer, please, you don’t have to be what they want you to be**.

“What I did?” Lucifer asks, doesn’t let Sam stop him, then continues, desperate, deflecting, as always, and Sam almost wishes he could believe Lucifer, too, even though he knows the truth. “What if it’s not my fault?”

Michael isn’t having it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it.” Lucifer entreats, and starts closing in again. “Dad made everything. Which means he _made_ me who I am.” And he isn’t just trying to convince Michael now but Sam too, as if that excuses any of it, if it will heal or help anything now. “God _wanted_ the Devil.”

_God wanted me to have this. To have the world. To have you._

**Not like this.** Sam wishes he could scream. **Never like this. And even if he did, you didn't have to choose this, too.**

“So?” Michael answers in all the ways Sam cannot.

“So why? And why make us fight?” Lucifer is actually pleading now, faux-uncertain, although he is half-wondering it. Has wondered for thousands of years, why God did what he did. But he’s already decided on his answer, knows it doesn’t really matter, and because he knows, Sam knows, too. And Lucifer is still preparing to hit Michael when he least expects, when he finds the most convenient opening. “I just can’t figure out the point.”

And there it is, the half-lie, Lucifer’s specialty. Not an untruth, but still leaves out: _The point stopped mattering a long time ago. I am free, I will always be free, and I’m not going to let this go._

But Michael knows his brother, not as well as Sam, but probably comes in second place. Can feel the half-lie on Sam’s used tongue.

“What’s your point?” Michael counters.

And Lucifer gives him an actual truth.

“We’re going to kill each other. And for what? One of Dad’s tests. And we don’t even know the answer.” Lucifer mourns, and concludes, “We’re brothers. Let’s just walk off the chessboard.”

 _See, Sam, I did that, I said it. I stalled all of it for you and for me. But it won’t matter. It hasn’t ever mattered_. _They don’t change. Michael won’t change. This is just how it’s going to be._

Michael almost seems to consider. Sam and Lucifer don’t allow themselves that hope, because Sam believes Lucifer, even after everything he is. Sam doesn’t have the energy to lie to himself now. Doesn’t even have the edge to take back control.

And then the moment is gone.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” Michael half-stutters, and Sam hears, _I told you, Sam, I told you_ , feels the grace flare, feels the rage and abandonment from Michael’s quarter, too, and it’s starting, now, truly starting- “I’m a good son, and I have my orders.”

“But you don’t have to follow them.” Lucifer tries, one last time, and actually lets himself feel the loss all over again, like he promised himself he never would, because Sam and Lucifer know it’s almost time, they’re going to need it-

Michael burns, but it’s all dry heat, nothing like the magma of anger Sam has churning beneath his skin.

“What, you think I’m gonna rebel? Now?” Michael challenges. “I’m not like you.”

And there is ice, flash-frozen and coursing out to meet the firstborn Archangel, to set earth back on its virgin course against Michael’s uncontrolled burn.

“Please, Michael,” Lucifer’s words are a hiss, but he’s ready to stab his brother midway through his next sentence, ready to end this here and now-

“You know, you haven’t changed a bit, little brother. Always blaming everybody but yourself.” Michael seethes, and Lucifer remains still, lets the words wash over him despite everything, arrested in the throes of his own hate and disappointment, “We were together. We were happy. But you betrayed me,” _No, that was you, always you_ , “all of us, and you made our Father leave.”

_Oh, no. No, Michael. I did nothing of the sort. That’s on Him. That’s on you._

“No one makes Dad do anything.” Lucifer answers. Let’s Gabriel’s earlier criticisms shine on through, re-appropriated. 

_No more of this. No longer. I already have everything I want_.

“He is doing this to us.” Lucifer hisses, the one truth he told Nick just as heavy on his tongue as his form uncurls.

Michael’s true form ebbs out to meet him, just as righteous and self-assured.

“You’re a monster, Lucifer. And I have to kill you.” Michael says. Not even convincing himself anymore, long since resigned to excuses as easily as his brother.

Lucifer keeps Sam’s soul closer than anything, all the love humming in his veins for the one thing that couldn’t abandon him.

Whispers one last, _I tried for you, Sam, don’t you see?_ Before he readies himself to strike his elder brother down.

“If that’s the way it’s got to be,” Lucifer breathes, then swallows. “Then I would like to see you try.”

_Now let’s finish this, you and me._

Two Archangels circle. But before Lucifer can cut in, can take Michael unawares and triumph, they are interrupted.

The Impala, speakers blasting “Rock of Ages,” drives onto the scene.

_Sam, what does your brother think he is doing?_

There is real fear there.

And Sam, overcome, finds he has nothing to say. Only has a wordless cheer and bounds of love to radiate as he is placed back in lockdown, swiftly accompanied by the fear that Dean is going to be turned to atomic Jell-O.

“Howdy boys,” Dean exits the driver’s seat and starts in, “Sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

And then Dean turns to Sam’s occupied form, and he doesn’t waste a second.

“Hey, we need to talk.”

Lucifer’s fear rises up to choke him. Because Dean came back for Sam, he did, in all the ways Lucifer’s family never did. And there is another fear there, more present, more overwhelming, but Lucifer won't let Sam see what it is.

Lucifer’s smile is stretched thin, as he glances to his brother and then back to Sam’s, his eyes narrow slits not fully releasing the full spectrum of his rage.

“Dean.” Lucifer grounds out, “Even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid.”

_No, Sam, no. Don’t you dare try to fight this, don’t you dare try to fight me-_

“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to Sam.” Dean replies, just as determined, if not more so.

Sam feels pain and ecstasy ricochet through every piece of his being.

Michael interrupts, unwanted. “You’re no longer the Vessel, Dean. You got no right to be here.”

And Lucifer lights up with rage so cold it feels white-hot, feels like Hellfire, feels like eternity as Sam fights him.

_How dare you-_

Sam hears Lucifer think, and Sam is cut off for a moment, drowning in Lucifer all over again, and when he next comes to, Michael is gone, and Sam knows something happened, there was fire, and there is Castiel, because all he can feel is Lucifer’s pent up rage, the stray thought that Michael was his responsibility, no one else’s, his personal demon to strike down-

**Lucifer, wait, no PLEASE-**

_I cannot let them have you, Sam. I won’t let you leave._

There's a desperate edge to his singing grace...

And Cas is gone.

_This isn’t going to go the way you planned, Sammy. I won't let you do this._

“Sammy, can you hear me?” Dean begs. And all of Lucifer’s violent resolve turns on him, suffusing Sam like a beacon that he will never fully wash clean.

Lucifer inhales, let’s Sam’s shoulder’s rise and fall, his voice too soft. “You know, I tried to be nice. For Sammy’s sake.”

_You can end this anytime, Sam. But you don’t get to tap out on me._

And Lucifer is advancing on Dean now, chokes Sam out with the jealousy and the fear and the need, grabs hold of Dean’s jacket with promise, ( **and Sam can only scream and scream and scream,** ) “But you. Are such a pain.” And his grip tightens, arms drawing Dean too-close, and Lucifer’s is all holy retribution. “In my ass.”

Lucifer throws Dean against the windshield. Dean’s head slams down, shatters glass.

Then Bobby is shooting, Sam doesn’t feel the bullets but feels the buzzing of grace around him, like a swatted-at horde of wasps, and Lucifer takes Sam’s hand, twists.

And Bobby’s neck snaps too cleanly.

_They did it to themselves, Sam. They should have left this alone. Left you to me._

“NO!” Dean yells.

“Yes.” Lucifer hisses, then resumes his intended beat-down, all the fury of hell in his wake. He drags Dean off the Impala and punches him in the face. Blood streams down Dean’s face out of his mouth, all sticky and warm and wet.

“Sammy, are you in there?” Dean won’t stop.

“Oh, he’s in here all right.” Lucifer snarls, and punches Dean again. “And he’s gonna feel the snap of your bones.” And Lucifer inhales, appreciates this, even as he punches Dean again and again.

**DEAN-**

_Stop fighting me, Sammy. And I might even let him live._

Dean crawls over the ground, and Lucifer catches him again.

“Every single one.” Lucifer adds, tone measured, conversational. “We’re gonna take our time.”

And Sam feels every hit, every bruise on his knuckles, every point of contact where his older brother is beaten into a bloody pulp. The Devil takes his damn sweet time as he keeps trying to wrestle Sam into submission.

_You should just let us be happy together. Why can't you let us be happy?_

There’s one beat, two-

“Sammy, it’s okay.” Dean’s mangled voice rings out, as he clutches at Sam’s jacket. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not gonna leave you.”

Lucifer punches Dean again.

_You belong to me, Sam. Me._

Hits again and again and again, the blood and bruises coating Dean’s desperate face, one eye shut and bloodied from Lucifer’s pure hate and jealous and terror greater than anything he’s ever known because this wasn’t supposed to go this way, Sam wasn’t supposed to try and really make Lucifer _leave_ -

Dean’s voice a quavering mess. “I’m not gonna leave you!”

Lucifer rears back again, ready to end this, but then a ray of light hits his eye. Sam’s eye.

Blinds Sam and him both, just for a second. Gives Sam a glimpse of the Impala, of it's memories.

Of home.

And every single moment and memory Sam has been mustering bursts.

Breaks out.

Sam’s love, every single part of it, blooms, more alive than the Devil for just this once, grounds Sam from the lightning and the ice and the cold fire pooling inside of him. Every shred of love for Cas and Bobby and the Earth and Dad and Dean, and even for Lucifer and Sam himself, breaks Sam out.

Sets Sam free.

But it is the memories of home, of Dean, that truly keep Sam safe, because Sam remembers it all, remembers the love and the loss and the freedom he claimed for himself all those years ago, all the things he learned to hold on to, and all the things he learned to let go.

**I love you, Dean. I love you. Thank you for not giving up on me. I’m going to protect you, I promise. It’s going to be okay.**

And, **I love you, too. I’ve always loved you. But Lucifer, this is how it has to be**.

Sam’s fist loosens. He regains control of himself, starts breathing heavily, all the weight of the Devil behind him.

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got him.” Sam breathes.

Lucifer is a constant scream ringing out, endless and keening inside Sam’s head and skull and blood and skin and teeth.

_Sam, you can’t do this, you can’t leave me, you can’t-_

**I’m not going anywhere-**

_I won’t let you lock us away I won’t let you-_

**You don’t get a say.**

Sam takes the Horsemen’s Ring’s, the keys to the Cage and Lucifer’s old kingdom, almost fumbles, then says the incantation as fast as he possibly can. And the Void starts sucking them closer, the otherworldly specter of Hell ready to welcome it’s new and old prisoners home. Sam gives Dean a nod in affirmation, then turns towards the doors to his fate.

_DON’T DO THIS, SAM, PLEASE-_

**I HAVE NO CHOICE-**

_I CAN’T GO BACK PLEASE I CAN’T, WE CAN’T-_

**WE HAVE TO-**

_NO, DON’T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME, SAM-_

**I’M RIGHT HERE, I’VE GOT YOU, I’M HERE-**

_SAM, PLEASE, PLEASE, I’LL DO ANYTHING, PLEASE-_

“Sam! It’s not gonna end this way. Step back.” Michael’s voice is tinny and far away. Sam doesn’t see Adam superimposed under his skin anymore, it’s all just Archangel, just a remnant that will soon burn out.

“You’re gonna have to make me.” Sam yells.

“I have to fight my brother, Sam. Here and now. It’s my destiny.” Michael argues, but Sam has already stopped listening.

**I won’t let him fight you, Lucifer. It’s not his call to make.**

Lucifer’s screams become pealed-off whispers.

_Sam, Sammy, I won’t fight him, we can just throw him in, please let me stay-_

**I can’t let you destroy humanity. This is not our destiny. Never was.**

_Sam, please, please, don’t do this, please, I can change-_

**There’s no going back. Not now.**

Sam gives his brother a silent goodbye. Begins to lean back. To fall.

Michael tries to pull Sam back from the edge, but Sam takes every ounce of his own strength, every ounce of Lucifer’s desperate crazed bids for escape, and pulls the other Archangel down after them.

Lucifer tries to fight back, to fly them up to safety, to earth, to freedom, but there is no more freedom for either of them, no more.

_Sam, NO-_

**I love you, I love you, I’m sorry. But this is the only way.**

And just as they start to fall, Sam feels that liquid ray of agony, of plasma, of love too cold and bright and sweet, and Lucifer takes hold of him, doesn’t let go, claws and wings too tight, too needy, and his main head and its ageless red eyes press too closely against Sam’s face.

**I’m not leaving you, I’m not-**

_Sam, how could you do this? Why?_

**Because I am afraid. Because I had to. Because you made me.**

_I forgive you._

**I know.**

_But I promise, Sam, you are going to pay for this. You don’t know what the Cage is. You don’t know what it will do to me, to you, to us, but I will make you understand, I will-_

Sam lets Lucifer threaten him. Let’s himself feel the Devil anyway, because Sam doesn’t have anything left to give.

Sam always knew what he was getting into the moment he said yes. Jess, Nick, Lucifer, all of it. They were just facets of something all the same, someone Sam loved against all better judgement and who would tear the world apart the first chance he got.

But it is over now. The Earth is safe.

Now all Sam hears is the Devil scream and beg and cry and rage.

_Why, Sam, why-_

Sam still whispers to him the whole way down.

**It’s okay. I promise. It’s going to be okay.**


	54. Wolves Without Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> swan song part 4
> 
> chapter title a song by of monsters and men

Sam remembers the thin plastic of the army man when he jammed it in the grill. Remembers Dean arguing with Dad for once about Sam wedging stuff into places in the car, all the tiny nooks and crannies he's not supposed to. Remembers the places where the army man poked at his pointer finger and his palm latched around it, when Dean shoved another in the grill when John wasn't looking. Sam had put his foot on the dashboard and got yelled at to put them down, even though he was only wearing socks. Any threat to send him in the backseat and let Dean reclaim shotgun was an empty threat, though, because Sam had already been carsick once on the last ten miles of road, and John wasn't chancing it.

Back then, the air tasted like gasoline and marshland and old freeway of Montana's back roads, old white crushed flowers under Sam's sneakers when they walked into the gas station. Someone had been married in the gas station, brought together by the local pastor-and-attendant of the only gas-n'-sip for miles, and Sam had remembered taking the rose that had fallen from groom's lapel the sidewalk and stuffing it in his pocket, like having a piece of that moment meant it wouldn't lie forgotten on the road. Dean had poked him in the side and lifted it from his pockets, holding it above Sam's head where he couldn't reach, but Sam climbed on his arm and nicked it back. Dean and Sam had gotten some ice pops for free, thanks to the pastor. Sam had been five and three-quarters.

Sam remembers the gleam of the knife as Dean pressed the hilt into his palm, and remembers the solemn gaze Dean gave and the way his face cracked into a bucktooth, half-gap smile, one of his front teeth missing because he'd just lost his third baby tooth. He remembers the push of the knife into his bone of his thumb and the curve of his wrist and the ache in his arm as he scratched his initials into the Impala, all gritted-teeth determination and sunshine bright joy when they'd accomplished their task, making their mark, before Sam went back to describing the shapes in the clouds above the hood of the car again until Dean didn't want to let his mind wander anymore.

Sam remembers tears on his face and the weight, warm and heavy, of Bobby clapping his shoulder and hugging him close, scratchy beard kissing Sam's forehead as Bobby promised, "You'll always have a home here, Samuel. You can bet your bottom dollar. I'll be here. You ring anytime." And Bobby smelled of oil slick and old cars and metal, and Sam didn't want to forget the month he'd had without Dad, of all the things Bobby had helped him figure out about himself after Sam admitted he had a crush on the stick-thin, super-tall, dark-haired Eli Walsh down the street, smitten by his dazzling smile and easy-going manner. Bobby gave him a few books for the road and a burner phone, just in case he needed it now that he was with John and Dean was gone, temporarily. Before Sam left, Bobby had smuggled Sam some new flannels and gave him some jeans he'd restitched and sewn himself.

Sam feels the weight of Bobby's neck snapping, of his lips being pulled back and the narrowing of his eyes, of the flare of his nostrils and the grit of his teeth, and the constant drone of Lucifer's grace, hissing and snarling, _You cannot have him don't you dare take him away from me he's mine!_

But that becomes white noise in the back of Sam's head, drowned out by Dean's voice. "I'm not leaving you." And every word of love Sam's ever heard issue from Dean's mouth, as fraught and unpredictable as Dean and his relationship has been over the years.

Every one of Dean's proud, exasperating yet so fond exclamations of, "Sammy," every belly-chuckle laugh, every way Dean would point and show Sam something, every affectionate smile, every moment Dean had ever called him brother and Sam and Samuel and every time he'd given Sam another flannel as a gift, every time Dean told him he was a bookish nerd but brought him another book, every time Dean let Sam pick their next destination-

Sam remembers every off-key note he'd sing with his brother, every time he fought Dean off when he'd try to comb his hair, every time Sam had to stop Dean from drowning his cereal in milk, remembers every dumb stunt they'd pulled bored in the house when they decided to go exploring, remembers every tasteless fast food joint and arcade game Dean had dragged him to-

Remembers the library Dean once helped Sam sneak into at night, when they were on a case, and how Dean let him lift some of the older books from the shelves. Sam had hidden them under Bobby's floorboards. They were still there, probably.

And Sam remembers Cas right before he was gone, remembers feeling his fear, his blank knowing of every particle that Lucifer is, that Sam feels rumbling inside him, and Sam remembers every note of his grace, every confused, solemn look, every time Cas told him he was a friend and worth something, every time Cas told Sam he was supposed to be one thing but was really just a kind, persistent man, remembers how Cas had looked him in the eye and even though his words said one thing, he still reached out and let Sam take his hand and eventually lead them all into a new path, even when Cas didn't know how to believe in anything-

Sam remembers the laughter of Jody when he hugged her, when he realized the dead were really dead, and there was grief and loss and pain in that laughter, but the feeling they would survive this, no matter the cost, no matter how hollowed out they both were-

Sam remembers Amy, and soda cans, and band-aids, and he remembers Tamika, shooting candids while Selene and Sam and Ryan threw a surprise party for Kit, remembers singing bad karaoke with his college friends as they celebrated the end of yet another finals week. Remembers the surprise cake he'd help make for the neighbor next door, on his birthday.

Sam remembers the wide eyes and the firm handshake of every person he's ever saved and every hunter he'd ever met in passing, and Sam remembers the hug of a nameless little girl he'd saved from a djinn before he'd brought her to his nest, and the way his compass gleamed when he gave it to her as he helped find her way back home...

And Sam remembers Brady, remembers who he thought he was, remembers what he pretended to be, throughout his own manipulated life.

He remembers Brady tossing a surfboard through the window and then driving them down to the beach, sun in his eyes as Brady taught him how to surf larger waves and helped him when he stumbled and fell into the water anyway. He remembers Flagstaff, and petting Bones, and Bones playing fetch with a stick for hours, and late night camping in the woods, and a few late nights in a treehouse as Brady and Sam hung off the edge of bouncing limbs, and he remembers the one time he was able to join Brady in his old, ivy-covered manor, remembers their talk on the balcony, about dreams and futures and hopes, and he remembers patterned sheets and rusted out flashlights and the gleam of Brady's reading glasses before he read another scary story that Sam couldn't be afraid of because he knew what real monsters were.

Sam remembers how soft Nick's sweatshirt was as he leaned into his chest. Remembers Jessica's soft lips, and the way she bat her eyelashes, and the way Lucifer held his hand, on the pier, when they looked out to sea and Sam thought he'd only ever felt free, and content, like the past would never hurt him again, because he'd claimed his future.

Sam remembered how Jess felt when he first kissed her soft lips, how her hands never left the small of his back as they leaned closer to each other... 

Sam remembers the first sight of his surgery scars, reduced but not healed entirely, remembers the look on his own face in the mirror and the peace settling in his limbs and the feeling of something long suffering now set free from deep inside him, and lets himself reflect on something that bound him to every other person who had faced a trial like his, and while he knows it's not always going to be easy, he feels like he's chosen himself, just this once, that everything is going to work out-

Sam remembers his love for himself. His love for what he could everything he's fought for. His love for what he'd held on to, and all the people he'd let get close as he brought himself there.

And Sam remembers one lone sunrise, and countless lazy afternoons, and roses on the porch, and blankets on the rooftops, and Jessica's- Lucifer's- easy smile, at their apartment and when he was at Bobby's, before he left, and the way he'd always held on too tight, and how Sam had only once ever wanted that, because he always felt everyone else wouldn't let Sam choose-

And Lucifer did want him to choose.

Lucifer wanted Sam to choose this, to choose Lucifer and only Lucifer, and he wanted to make Sam want this because he needed Sam to feel like it was not only his choice, but the only choice Sam wanted to make.

Sam feels all the love Lucifer wanted to hoard for only himself. Sam feels his own vulnerable, bleeding heart, all the promises and prayers and echoes of an old life he'd held on to so tightly, and everything it meant to him, and how much he still wanted the good times back, even though he knows it all was too perfect now, because Lucifer needed everything to be perfect so all Sam could want was this-

And Sam remembers everyone he ever loved, the feel of them, the cadence of their voices, and holds on to it, lets himself feel rage and grief and despair and hope and love and acceptance, because this was the end, and he would fall in peace. On his own terms.

Lucifer may have been driving them forward long before Sam even had a concept of self.

But Sam was the one leading the Devil now...

And he would be the one to send them to their final destination.

_Sam. Sam, why are you fighting for a world, for people, that do not want to protect you? For insignificant insects who don't love you? For a world that doesn't want to keep you happy and safe? For a world that would throw you out like trash? The world doesn't deserve you or your heart or your love, Sam. It isn't owed your kindness. Why are you fighting for other people's mistakes? You're better than all of them. Better than anyone who ever hurt you. Better than all of them, even the ones you love. You deserve this earth with me alone, Sam. We were made to fix this. We are owed this. Samuel, why won't you let us fix all the pain the world tried to destroy us with?_

**Even my family? The family you've ripped apart over and over again?**

_I just didn't want them to take you away from me! We need each other. I need you. Please, Sam, just let me have you and I will give you whatever you need, PLEASE, don't-_

**No. This isn't just about them. This is about us. About me. About everything you've done. Everything you've done to everyone else and to me and to yourself. And I would protect the world from us anyway. We can only create the world we want to live in. And I would end this all for kindness. For mercy. For peace. I want this world to be better, to heal, for everyone to be kinder and respectful and good to each other. And all the anger... The pain... I won't forget it. I can't let go of it completely, because it was real. It matters. It kept me safe, in some ways. But I will not let it eat us alive. I will not let it eat me alive, or let you consume me with it. And I won't let you make it our future. When it comes down to it... I can fight, I can protect, I can stand my ground... But if anyone ever wants to create something good, something beautiful, something kind and whole and worth it, to forge the world this is supposed to be... I will not let you take that from us because your entitlement and fury and possessive need for control and hate will only ever perpetuate the very things that led to us suffering in the first place. The very weapons other people aimed against me, every cruel thought, everything that's ugly about the world, every violent act- I will not let you make a new world in that image, just because you think you are right. This world deserves a chance to heal. We both deserve a chance to heal. And if you won't take it- I'll give up mine, if it means everyone else gets that chance. I've made my peace. I've healed as much as I can. And if choosing eternity of never getting that feeling of wholeness ever again, of what I loved, about me, about us- I've survived this long. And I will survive whatever comes after this, in whatever future we create. It's over, Lucifer. There's no going back.**

Sam leans back, Lucifer screaming mindless fear and rage and fury, and need, so bright and cold, and hatred, for every atom of compassion Sam has armored himself with. Michael grabs hold of Sam's shirt, and Sam pulls him closer, not giving ground, not to either of them-

It's time for this to end.

Sam will keep surviving, will keep making a future in a Cage that won't change, with the Devil locked inside his heart and mind and ready to unleash every ounce of betrayal and fear with all the twisted conviction that taking Sam's choices away are the only way to keep him, to let Sam be kind but not stand in the way of everything Lucifer has held on to, to pretend that Sam isn't ending this, one way or another-

Sam falls.

Lucifer and his brother follow.

There is no forgiveness. No shame. Nothing but love and pain and the loss of a future that Sam finds himself creating, anyway.

Even if Sam has nothing left to create for himself, nothing left to hope for-

He's saved what he can. Done all he could, fought the best fight he could manage. Sam has protected those who he loves and all the people he doesn't.

Sam exists. Sam fights. Sam loves with all his heart, himself and everything else.

It is all he has left.

And Sam will make it enough, even if there's a hole inside him, a gaping unfairness, all the anger festering inside like Lucifer's, that Sam had to choose this, that this was the only way-

But Sam will salvage what parts of his heart he can, and not let Lucifer sew them back together on his own terms.

The fall itself feels longer than forever.

But that's okay.

Sam, for all his convictions, all his fighting spirit, knows what awaits him at the bottom.

Even now, Sam's heartbeat is the only sound aside from all the screaming. And if Lucifer were not still inside him, Sam's eardrums would burst.

And the human part of him that knows how small, how truly breakable he is- of all his faults in the face of endless holy terror and reverence, the pinpricks of the storm having manifest the Archangel inside him- that part of Sam doesn't ever really want to get there.


	55. Past the Point of No Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song from Phantom of the Opera

There’s silence, pure silence.

Sharp terror lurches in Sam’s chest, and he knows he’s crossed a line now, burned one bridge too many.

 _You’re going to regret that._ Lucifer promises.

Sam believes this more than anything else he’s ever known.

A sudden hurricane gust, the windswept curvatures of multitudinous, layered wings, and –

The corona and the crowns and the billions of polychrome eyes and mouths and teeth and claws and whistling wings of the Archangel are all smoke and rime and charred fury, unfurl, are on top of him, squeezed inside him, pressed against Sam’s face, lakes of fire and tongues and scales of steel and towering steepled-feathers swimming across his vision. Beyond absolute zero chill sets in, throbbing, numbs the bones encased in gums and teeth.

And the Host of Lucifer, Archangel of the Morning Star, etches itself, makes its nest inside Sam’s puny human brain. It’s a brand, marking and claiming and staking his fundamental claim forever. Basic, but ineffable, something Sam would never be able to wash clean.

Not in this lifetime or any lifetime next.

 ** _Fine. You want me to be more human, Sam?_** Lucifer howls, **_I’ll give you_ HUMAN.**

And the real face of It, the Thing hiding behind the mask of meaty human orifices and skin, is all chomping and screeching and screaming, is a sensation that can only be described as complete Agony and Holy and boiled jealousy and Omnipresent Love that was going to coat Sam from marrow to lungs to eyelids to toes to liver, let loose all over his too small, still beating heart.

**_You are the only piece of human that I’m ever going to be._ **

Lucifer, favored creation of God, long since scorned for his own Song, scoops Sam’s Heart and Soul and Mind up in his claws, crushes it, pulls pieces of like pairs of twiggy insect legs, or hapless butterfly wings. Dangles it lightly between his jaws. And Sam’s slippery, opaque, shattered essence slides on through, shudders as Lucifer relishes the taste, the distinct, subjugated flavor that is Sam Winchester.

And Lucifer devours. Eats it wriggling and alive.

_I’ll be more human than you **ever** wanted me to be._

And Sam faces the tidal wave point blank.

Is swept away.

But Sam knows he won. He did.

Because the Devil is infected with Sam’s love, his rage, his fears, his sass and pettiness, with Sam’s _knowing,_ but does not have his sanction. And it eats away at him, rankles, gnaws, that the Devil can’t ever get his hands on the one thing he's been waiting to cash in on and own forever.

Because Sam’s locked him out, become stone, long accepted everything this is going to be. Long since bled out for the love that’s been left wanting. Accepts it, joins with it, then casts it out.

Floats away.

Sam knew he was going to lose, and he lost on purpose anyway. Just to spite him. Not just, but still, he wishes. And if the truth of it rankles and festers, then that’s how this was going to go.

Too bad it didn’t matter, didn’t change much for Sam anyway.

Yes, Lucifer’s lost the one thing he’s been dying all eternity to have. The one thing he will only claim through brute force. Through war.

And he would wage such a war, stake his claim without any hesitation. Without regret.

Lucifer will make Sam pay for this. With everything. For everything.

Would unmake all he would ever be.

Sam was not allowed to pretend he didn't love him anymore.


	56. Black Widow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by in this moment

Sam tries to keep himself upright after Lucifer's last outburst. He doesn't entirely succeed.

Lucifer is readjusting his position at Sam's back, wearing Sam's own likeness.

"Show me how much you love me." He hisses in Sam's ear.

Then he has Sam choose whatever additional violence of the day it's going to be.

Burning. Flaying. Hooks. Knives. Chains.

Other things. 

Sam ends up curled up on the floor, mouth speckled with blood, fingers shaking so hard he can't get a grip on the knife anymore.

Then Lucifer is kneeling down next to him, dragging his head up by the roots of his hair to look him in the eye.

"I don't believe you, Sam. Try harder." 


	57. Rose-Tinted Suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by angel haze

Sam sags in his rattling chains and tumbles on the solid, burning concrete of the floor of the Cage once Lucifer waves a hand. One fluid movement rends the chains in two, separating them like they've been cauterized, a few dangling chimes ringing out as the half that still stretches into the shadowy, endless ceiling keep clinking against each other. He snaps, and Sam can't even flinch, just lays there, as the chains and hooks disappear from under his skin.

It's when the pain stops, when Sam's too spent to keep begging, to even scream, that Lucifer makes his move.

Calculated. Gentle.

A fingertip glides down Sam's jaw, before Lucifer's hand splays to cup his face. It's light. Forgiving.

Like he had only ever treated Sam with kindness, after hours and days and years of suffering so much that Sam isn't sure when it started or if this is the end. It could just be a pause...

It could be anything.

Sam can't move. Blood is caked over his joints, stiff and dry, even while the rest of him still oozes from fresh lacerations.

Sam keeps his eyes shut and his face pressed into the floor.

"Look at me, Samuel." Lucifer commands. His voice isn't loud. Just matter of fact.

Sam's eyelids blink open, just barely. Sam can't really keep them open. There's too much fire and bruises and stinging pain.

Lucifer burns bright, but is wearing Nick today, keeping the blinding brilliance of all that he is under wraps.

Sam's not sure when he put him back on. He'd been unveiled, all his many eyes and wings and mouths right there, blinding and pure, for a long time before that.

Long enough for Sam's eyes to forget darkness, even when closed.

Lucifer smiles and pats Sam on the head for the effort. His teeth gleam.

 _That's it, Sammy_.

Sam shivers. Wings wrap around him as Lucifer picks him up from the floor and cradles him in his lap. Sam's knees have been pulled up and bent for so long, it hurts to try and move them.

"You did good today, Bunk Buddy. I'm proud of you." Lucifer whispers.

Sam lays his head down, closes his eyes, and waits. If Lucifer wanted them to stay open, he'd make his wish known.

Lucifer doesn't mind, the temporary eye contact apparently all he was looking for.

Lucifer keeps touching him, keeps combing through his hair, cleaning the blood off his face before he leans down and kisses his forehead. All the while, Lucifer's hands stroke Sam's arm, and then he's healing the strips flayed off Sam's back and dislocated limbs, and massaging Sam's spine and shoulders so they don't feel bloody and raw and half-exposed in the molten air, which shimmers and turns ice cold the moment Lucifer's grace wraps around him, numbing the pain.

It's only when Lucifer wraps him up in a blanket, like a cocoon, keeping him trapped, and Sam feels himself being lowered on to something soft, that he opens his eyes again.

The mattress gives under Lucifer's weight, dipping where he curves against Sam's back, one arm trapped under his side. Their surroundings are darker now, too, not blinding, the thin outlines of their old room just barely visible. Sam's eyes swim from relief, from not seeing the endless fire or light that never let him rest. Outside the window that isn't real, a fake wind rustles over his face. Cold, but not as cold as Lucifer. Never as cold as that.

And Sam can't quite raise his head to look at him, because the courage bottoms out of his stomach, released like a swooping feeling, like Sam's floating but also on fire, although Lucifer's hands are always cold.

Sam opens his mouth, trying to speak, but the words won't leave his throat. Not for lack of trying- his larynx is spent, vocal chords shredded...

"No need to worry, Sammy. You can rest, for now. You've earned it." Lucifer answers a question Sam doesn't ask. Cold fingers trace his lips.

Sam closes his mouth and shuts his eyes again, head cradled in Lucifer's other hand, then against Lucifer's chest as he wraps himself around Sam and the blanket.

"See? This is nice. Isn't it?" Lucifer encourages, and then his voice is gliding past Sam's ear, a hand stroking under the blanket, the contact cold against Sam's clavicle. "We could have have so much more of this, if you try harder. And it pains me to have to have to hurt you. For you to force me to teach you your place. It really does. I love you, Sammy. I want you to be happy. And I can be kind, can be merciful. You can make this easier on yourself. Please. It would mean so much to me." Lucifer adds, and then he's hugging Sam trapped in the blanket, like any of his attempts at softness makes up for anything else that's happened, like he isn't the one doing this, like Sam is the one being unreasonable and he isn't going to do whatever he wants, forever...

 _You chose this_. Lucifer reminds him, catching Sam's rebellious thoughts. An arm wraps around Sam's hip, pulling him closer, flush against Lucifer's own abdomen.

**I know.**

Sam's lips feel like they're going to split and bleed the moment Lucifer kisses them, even if the contact is light. The illusion of air is dry, in Hell. If not for Lucifer conjuring water and using it for his own ends, Sam thinks he would have forgotten it, or even how moisture felt... If not for all the fluids Sam's had forced to spill out of him. 

"You want a break?" Lucifer asks, healing Sam's throat, fingers ice against Sam's Adam's Apple. "Let me worship you, let me help you, even though you've fought me for so long?"

Sam nods, then rasps, "Yes." Because not answering wouldn't help him. And Lucifer would go back to teaching him what he's long since decided Sam has needed drilled into him, as insurance for Sam throwing them down here.

But Sam hurts. Everything hurts, and only Lucifer ever made it all feel better again.

Sam's eyes sting, and he swallows.

"What do you say, Sammy?" Lucifer prompts.

"Thank you." Sam answers, automatic, not a quaver in his tone.

And Sam snuggles closer as Lucifer makes promises he's not expected to keep, and Sam tells him what he wants to hear, even if both he and Lucifer know he's probably lying.

Lucifer knows how to turn Sam lies into truth, just as Sam knows that outcome is inevitable.

"What are you, Sam?" Lucifer finally asks.

"Worthy." Sam whispers.

"Mm." Lucifer replies, leaving a ghost of a kiss on Sam's neck, and his fingertips find Sam's wrist, tracing his pulse between the overlapping edges of the blanket. "Because you're mine, and you're worth it. No matter what you've done: I'm never giving up on you. We're gonna see this through to the end, you and me." Lucifer promises.

And then he's silent, and kissing Sam again, and all Sam can do is try to let go and relax into the knowledge that Lucifer won't do anything else except hold him, right now.

At least until he decides it's time to move on to something else.

"I love you, Sam." Lucifer whispers. "My beautiful, stubborn Sammy."

 **Love you, too.** Sam says it, and prays like he means it. Because he does.

Love is the only reason Lucifer spared him anything, down here.

Sam sleeps, can't quite help it. He's hardly ever afforded the luxury of dreamless sleep, and he's not going to challenge it.

This is forever, after all.

Lucifer can mold him however he likes, because that's the price for not getting out.

If Sam is honest, in the dredges of his heart, in some downtrodden, desperate, lonely place, Lucifer still makes him feel wanted, and warm, and loved. Feel nice, like they might have what they used to. It's not often, and it's not the same, but...

Sam feels it.

Lucifer won't let him forget- forgetting his lessons are the last thing Lucifer would ever allow, and Sam can only be grateful because forgetting feels like another betrayal, no matter how much he wishes Lucifer would be who he used to be and would pretend to never hurt him- but Sam latches on anyway. No way not to, after all the pain, the never-ending pain as Lucifer sings Sam into what he wants him to be....

Yet Lucifer's kindness has always been as ferocious and exact and as intense as all his fury.

And Lucifer expects gratitude for that, too.

Still.

Sam knows he loves Lucifer.

He has to.

There's no other choice down here.

It's the only way Sam can endure, because if he doesn't-

All he would feel is betrayal, and sorrow, and fury so deep it would surpass Lucifer's own, to the point where Sam would break and be unable to continue.

Love keeps him safe even as it keeps him prisoner.


	58. Sellers of Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by regina spektor
> 
> also this was supposed to end up in a michael sam lucifer fight but i never got that far
> 
> ideally I'll come back and fill in the Cage gaps since Sam and Michael were gonna have some discussions about God and Luci and family before Michael attacked Sam and Luci fought Michael and then forced Sam to get involved but idk when that may ever be made, but there was a subplot of Michael partially victim blaming Sam for stuff that happened with Lucifer as driving a wedge in the family that never got fully realized

It's quiet and dark and Sam is alone.

Today, their world is just the Cage, bars and all, though.

Not the Nothing Emptiness that erases who you are.

Sam doesn't know where Lucifer went.

So he walks, singing under his breath as he goes.

He stops when he sees brightness.

He's made it to the far edge of the Cage.

Sam doesn't know how long it's been...

Sam keeps walking forward. No energy to be afraid.

\--

Sam thinks about God, and his children.

"Why do you believe in him?" Sam dares to ask the hunched figure. He keeps his eyes down, so the full force of other Archangel down here doesn't hit him head on.

Lucifer would be so angry if Sam got hurt without supervision.

Michael looks at Sam like he's still an insect. Sam can feel it in the way his mouth twitches, in how his wings shift, in how his grace Speaks.

"Why wouldn't I?" Michael answers.

Sam... understands too well, suddenly.

You never really escape the unspeakable love and terror and eternity of something beyond the cosmos. Sam has lived that, too, lived it in the Archangels and every promise Lucifer ever gifted him, and even now has felt it in all his love for his family that still somehow stands against the balance of thousands of years, that he knows bleeds and shines out from the edges of the earth that he would never see again.

For Archangels, loving their creator must be synonymous, for all the ways Sam cannot comprehend them, surely they cannot comprehend something beyond even the filaments and symphonies of forever.

\--

This, unfortunately, gives Sam a courage, for he is less than a bug, or a speck, in the face that has all come before him.

And a bold Sam runs his mouth.

(He has learned never forget that rule, but still finds himself breaking it with every no he was not allowed to keep.)

\--


	59. Whore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is probably going to be purged because it sucks and needed to be reworked the minute it was made, but until I figure out what is trash and what isn't it's all going in here
> 
> chapter title a song by in this moment

"Are you ashamed of me?"  
"No. No, I'm sorry."  
"Then what is it, Sam? What was worth so much that you betrayed us?"  
"I couldn't let everyone else pay for my choices."  
"Are you saying our love is wrong? That it just wasn't worth it?"  
"No. No, it was real. It was the best thing I ever knew. And I didn't want to give that up. I was willing to kill for it. To die for it. I was willing to give you everything. And the world didn't deserve to suffer that."  
"You still think you are undeserving."  
"No, Lucifer. I was willing to lose myself. I was willing to give you everything. I was going to-"  
"And?"  
"And that doesn't change what was right, or what needed to be done. I may love you, but that doesn't mean I was going to let that destroy everyone else. And I... I don't know if that's love, Lucifer. I don't know if letting you mold me into what you needed, into what I thought... You wanted me to be something and I was willing to become that, because I would have done anything to keep it... But I don't think it was fair. None of it was. Not to the world, or my family, not to you, or us... And not to me. Just because I loved you doesn't mean it fixes everything. It doesn't mean you don't have the responsibility to yourself, or to others. That you can't heal, or make sacrifices, or atone for what is selfish-"  
"Love isn't selfish, Sam."  
"It can be. When it's blind and it's killing you and you don't even care... I don't know what that is, Lucifer. But I was willing to go down that road. I was willing to see it through."

"Funny, cuz, the way I remember, you dropped the ball before the endzone, kiddo-"

"No. I just... I wasn't going to let anyone else suffer for it. And you can hate me for it all you like. But I made the only choice I could, that wouldn't throw you or the world away. You can't ask me to choose. It was never my choice to make. Not for everyone else."

"And that's where you are still so very, very wrong. It was always you, Sam. You were born to choose. Six thousand years, and you'd think you'd have learned better. But I guess I'll just have to go back to the drawing board. Put the little stickpins together and present my closing arguments in a way your sacrificial, over-active bleeding heart can understand... And I don't hate you, Sammy. It would be easier, really, if I did... But this hurts me just as much as it hurts you. Really."

No. No it doesn't, Sam knows better. Because whatever part of him that Lucifer claimed to love, it wasn't something Sam wanted to hold on to. He might have to, down here. He might have no choice. But it's part of himself he wants to bury. Because he can't be that person.

Maybe he never was the person Lucifer thought he'd loved. Maybe they had both lied to each other, or themselves, because they wanted to love each other they never realized they loved something they thought they knew only for it to be a figment of their own dreams and hopes and not the real heart in front of them.

(because the opposite... the other option is they did. They loved each other, despite everything, and it wasn't enough to stop him from hurting him and wasn't enough to protect Sam from it, that it wasn't a lie or a dream or a false front but real, only so twisted that it couldn't survive. That they grew into something else or that love was poisonous from the start or it was all off kilter from the start that Sam didn't have a hope to see things for what they were. That love wouldn't fix it. That love was just asking to be something he wasn't, when Lucifer claimed to only love him for what Sam wanted to be, only that had been the lie. He'd loved what he'd expected, what he'd demanded, and not accepted the limits and the lines Sam wouldn't cross, the ways he'd wanted to change because he wasn't happy, not with everything-)  
And that's discounting everything else. All the messy background noise of hunting and the manipulations and the lies and torture and murder and pain all on Lucifer's shoulder's for what he'd let his demons set in motion, that Sam excused until the evidence was right in front of him.  
But Sam is managing. He can endure.  
It's all he really ever knew how to do, when running was never enough.

Lucifer was patient, until he wasn't.  
And Sam would learn to outlast. Even if that was all that was left to do.


	60. Song of Imaginary Beings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by iamx

"I did love you. That's why I had to stop you." Sam coughs the smallest whisper. "Winning wouldn't have made you happy. I know that much."

Admitting that feels like more than one kind of self-betrayal- and maybe showing weakness is asking for trouble.

But Sam doesn't have anything else left to lose. His dignity and ownership of himself and freedom is already gone.

Honesty is all he ever has, and even then, Lucifer so often demands he twists them around if it means he gets what he's looking for.

And in some ways, staying gentle, staying himself, believing the best of what they once were and keeping hold of the one thing he won't let get ripped away- the memory of what had been good once, even if it had long since morphed into a monster out of his control- in some ways, that was the only thing Lucifer couldn't twist, because if Sam was going to be forced to love him when he once had done so willingly, if Sam was going to be used and belittled and carved up and molded into a shade of himself, if Sam had no option but to be afraid and compliant except when he wasn't, then the least Sam could do is take the one thing Lucifer desperately wants and covets, and keep it for himself, keep it pure and honest and not let Lucifer turn it all to poison.

If Sam was going to become a weapon, then he'd take the last part of himself that wasn't, and turn it into an instrument that would maul Lucifer on the inside just as much as it did Sam, even if there was no truth or anything Sam possessed that would make Lucifer realize he was wrong, and he was ruining things for himself...

And that he always had. Not taking responsibility, not taking ownership, and not caring about consequences except for what he wanted- it only led to misery and the company it brought, because without growth there can be no change from misery to release.


	61. Silent Shout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by fever ray
> 
> there was also supposed to be a cas and sam centric chapter with getting Sam's body and soul thing with lucifer and then death retrieving sam's soul from the cage, but i don't think i ever actually got around to writing that bit and reimagining the off-screen stuff from the show...

Sam isn't lying when he tells Dean he doesn't remember anything.

He doesn't, not from the Cage. He doesn't know anything about why he's like the way he is now.

And he doesn't feel one lick the fear, doesn't feel the other emotions that directed him, not love or other things, just vague unsettling impressions of this is what this supposed to feel like, this is how Dean is supposed to hug him, because his body recognizes the nostalgia and the gesture and leans into it on it's own.

Otherwise, Sam feels... empty.

But that doesn't mean muscle memory completely fails him. Quite the opposite.

Sam knows why he reacts the way he does with some things.

He is faster because he has to be. Had to be? Sam can guess that answer.

More vicious because his body remembers how and jumps at the chance to let it all out. Sam is stronger and more focused and more brutal without having to think about it, it is all instinctual, something every limb does it's part automatically, eyes watching, smells shifting, tongue tasting, every neuron assessing weaknesses all before Sam acts or goes in for the kill.

Every reflex sings with immediacy.

And Sam keeps warm but not too warm, and fire only makes him flinch back and feel itchy, feel like he has too many layers of skin that remember something else, and he smells burnt flesh even if isn't in the picture.

At night, Sam never allows himself be entirely alone without another body whenever others sleep, but he doesn't, because he has to be with someone, because it feels off without a body in his arms, just like feeling any cold feels off.

He hides from pure darkness and always keeps a bright light, flashlight or otherwise, on his person at all times, because without it, his eyes want to screw shut and his throat swallows and his limbs forget how to move in cramped spaces or too open spaces when doused in total darkness.

Feels... like loss, and something that sends goosebumps prickling over Sam's skin and sends his heart racing and makes his eyes dilate and floods blood down to places Sam indulges himself in and it always makes his hands shake and pumps adrenaline through his every artery all while the hair on the back of Sam's neck rises and he wants to curl up against the nearest wall and feels it all so much so that almost-foreboding and want and the need to hide all tremble deep in his bones, except Sam can't quite feel the feeling attached to it.

Yet, not sleeping feels like a relief for reasons Sam does remember, because those memories predate the Cage.

He still remembers Lucifer from before Stull Cemetery, after all. Doesn't feel the multitude of feelings attached, isn't sure he really wants to, but Sam remembers the sequence of everything Lucifer ever did, the way he'd lean into Sam, touch him, make his body feel all the things Lucifer can give, and his body recalls it easier than the rest.

Sam wonders if his body misses the Devil, or wants to curl up and hide itself as far away as possible.

And no, Sam does not want to remember.

His body remembers enough for him to infer that knowing and feeling it all again won't end with anything good.

He knows, because first thing Sam ever found out after he emerged from the ground in the rain, is that his throat remembers how to sing, larynx controlled and almost compelled to do so, and even though he doesn't know the words, he sometimes sings out anyway with a new voice, all the air collapsing and expanding in his lungs with control in long, gasping noise through his trachea and out his mouth, in a technique Sam never learned in his past life.


	62. Hard Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S6E21 and S6E22.
> 
> chapter title a song by paramore

Sam inhales as Dean leaves the hospital.

"Well?" He asks. Hoping Dean made the right choice. That he didn't take Lisa's and Ben's memories away. Hiding the truth has never saved anyone in the end. Sam knows that, even if the last year has been long gone from his own mind. Loss only makes things complicated. Makes you wonder what is hiding beneath the surface, ready to rear it's ugly head.

Dean doesn't meet his eyes and grunts, "Well, nothing." And wrenches open the door.

Sam hesitates as he gets back into the Impala, staring out at the flow of traffic, not sure how to say what he has to.

Then he finds that the ache in his chest, the loss of his memories from the last year, and all the feeling that something isn't right, that he's missing a part of himself, that he doesn't quite know how he fits in this world, with a soul but without actually remembering, and thinks of how Lisa and Ben must feel, because even when your memories are tampered with, impressions of loss remain...

Sam finds his courage and starts in, brow furrowing as his nostrils flare and he looks down at his lap, "Dean, you know, you have pulled some shady crap before, but this..." Sam trails off and sucks in air as he shakes his head, and then his voice turns deeper, more sure, as he thinks of all the way his idea of self has been stolen, and how he'd never wish that on anyone else as he adds, "Has got to be the worst." Sam keeps staring outside the windshield. Unable to look at his brother's bowed head. Unable to look at him and see the brother he knows. Sam scoffs, trying not to let his own conflicted emotions overwhelm him, the indignity of it, the loss of part of someone's life, of basic autonomy...

Sam's spent a long time not knowing who he really has become. What he's turned into. A stranger to himself.

He can't let anyone else have blanks and feel the same, even if that's as much outside of his control as so many other choices in his life. Cas usually follows Dean's lead, and he's been so distant. So... disconnected, and vehement, and ancient. More warlike and sharper around the edges.

Sam's not sure who he's become with a soul but lacking memory, every memory making you who you are, every memory assuring someone of permanence, of reality, of something Sam knows he can lean on-

To have Dean challenge that? With the life they've lived? Sam has lived threats and violence and Dean begging him to get along with Dad. Sam has lived his own grandfather, his own namesake, manipulating him into being a tool to be used and didn't even know it.

And Sam knows how easily he's been lied to. By Ruby, by Lilith, by Brady...

Sam can't let Dean off the hook for this, or Cas, even if they see it as a mercy, not when Sam knows how easy it is to lose your identity, lose your compass, when other people play with your mind. Not when so many other people have tried to mold Sam into who they wanted him to be.

When Sam continues to speak, he scoffs, and his voice trembles with the loss, an old, not-quite ever abandoned anger combined with the need to fix this, to make Dean see, and the weight of it almost makes his voice break as he adds, fervent, desperate, tired, "Whitewashing their memories? Take it from somebody who knows-"

Dean interrupts, voice raw and low. "If you ever mention Lisa and Ben to me again, I will break your nose."

It's not an empty threat.

Dean doesn't look at him now, even when Sam has turned to stare at the face of a brother he once knew too well but wished he did not know at times like this, at times when he's trying to find the brother he'd finally found a home with, someone he'd made peace with, someone who knew the right thing to do above his own hurt, and Sam sees that person grow smaller, farther away, right before his eyes, replaced instead by an older brother who punched first as a lesson and didn't take Sam's thoughts seriously.

Sam glances out the windshield and back at Dean, disbelieving. (On some level, he knows it isn't an illusion. Just as his body remembers hell without memory, has instincts Sam knows are not his own, ingrained from an eternity he can't remember and a year topside he can't recall either, it remembers how Dean punched Sam's head in until he was knocked out, as he was asking for help, open and pleading, and while Sam's mind has been scrubbed of recollection thanks to the wall... Sam's body shifts, uncomfortable and sweaty and itching with adrenaline and the need to dodge the close shave, because Sam is not a stranger to Dean slugging him in the jaw, provoked or otherwise, because any disagreement, any deviation from the script Dean needs, could so often be considered a provocation in Dean's mind when he should know better, should know that does not give him the right-

Sam's blood sings of vengeance, and running, and escaping. But Sam's mind knows he has nowhere else to go, not really. There are only pieces to pick up, and a job to do, to keep things routine and normal, only demons to end, the only way Sam knows to keep himself from being lost by holding on to his brother, his brother who so often is there for him but sometimes becomes a distant, angry stranger, distant, alien Cas reborn from ashes locked in a war and holy fight that Sam remembers humming somewhere in his bones, like a song without a name, without lyrics, but it propels him, feels familiar anyway, and then there's Bobby... And that's all that is left of Sam's life, because he didn't think he'd get this, not after falling. Not after what essentially was the beginning of the end, for Sam. 

Sam doesn't know how to move on any more. He needs to regain his footing, relearn the steps of a dance he's long forgotten, because his choices have been gone for so long, and Sam... Sam is tired. There's this giant gulf between him and the brother he thought he knew, a whole year of silent not-remembering where Dean holds something against him that Sam doesn't remember, but knows was ugly in his heart...

And part of Sam's heart rebels. Part of Sam's heart knows that he was cold and ruthless and without regret because that was the only way you survive after Hell, after the Devil has taken what he wants, and after you've left and all the parts of yourself that feel have been left to be scoured away and reborn in Hell, with the Devil, with someone who loved and hated so much that Sam didn't know what was his hate, his love, or Lucifer's own. Sam might not remember the Cage. Might not remember what Lucifer had done. But he knows who the Archangel always has been, and that is not something the deepest thread and atom of yourself forgets easy, even if it's subconscious, just on the tip of Sam's tongue.

That's the peril with not remembering. It's like a skipped step you know is there, a phantom limb, an almost recollection, and when you try to latch on it escapes, like smoke on the breeze.

All in all, Sam's accustomed to threats. But he'd thought, after everything...

He'd thought Dean knew how much he could never get used to the way things had been, how they used to be. He'd promised him. He promised him things wouldn't be the same, before Dean had ever gone to Hell. Sam couldn't go back to what he'd run from, even if he'd come back and didn't know how to leave again.

(The deepest depths of his mind remembers flinching, and pain, and cold, but not the same cold as picked up beer bottles on his face to limit the swelling and risk of concussion, and part of Sam, the part of his mind that hasn't been lost, alight with younger memories from before the Apocalypse, remembers the metal of Dean's ring on his face, the imprint of it, just like some part of his cells and his flayed, amnesiac soul still hold the ancient, never-ending memory of another ring, a borrowed one never given back to it's original owner, hijacked just as the ring's body had been, and Sam's mitochondria and skin and bones still feel the echo of cool metal both stroking and bruising on his face.)

"Dean." Sam says, disbelieving, hoping that maybe Dean will see, will back off, will not turn back into a stranger. Because that's all he can do, as lost and adrift and almost alone as he is. Sam buries it down, and pretends it was an empty threat, and maybe if he pretends long enough he might even believe it.

"I'm not kidding." Dean answers, tears in his eyes. Like it isn't a choice. Like Sam might just deserve it. As if Sam deserved this or any of the other cruelties that stole away his life and spurred his choices, his need to give choices back to everyone else.

Sam stares him down, and remembers all the times Dean took his shot, and part of him feels just how old he truly is, even if his body doesn't remember each year, each moment, and then he can't look at Dean anymore. Everything just feels like a sinkhole has opened between them, making the space between them grow wider and wider until they might just be strangers on two opposite sides.

Sam can recognize Dean's pain. The way his red-rimmed eyes want to start a fight. Lashing out at the only available target because Dean doesn't have anywhere else to aim right now.

But Sam won't ignore his own pain, either, even if he stays silent. He acquiesces but doesn't give in, because Dean is not owed this from him.

Sam swallows and looks away first, because he can't quite stomach the man in front of him, his brother, so broken, and yet not apologizing for unleashing that broken anger outwards instead of dealing with it. Sam is tired of excuses, and nonanswers, and fake apologies. Sam is tired.

Sam remembers that much. He might not remember Hell, but he knows so much of himself burnt away, or froze, frostbitten, down there, because he had given himself over, soul and heart and mind and body, and there's never any real coming back from that. Memory doesn't dictate instinct. And Sam feels so old, so frayed and endless, taken apart and sewn back together even though he doesn't remember where the feeling of those scars came from, and he tries not to feel like a stranger trapped in skin that doesn't always quite feel like it only belongs to him.

Even though it's his. He got himself this far. His body is his own, to protect and cherish and keep safe, because Sam would answer his own prayers.

But there have been so many invasions and intrusions and lies and whispers and silences, silences that tell Sam nothing. And Sam's not sure he wants to know.

But he does know this much.

If Dean threw a punch, Sam would stop him.

Dean doesn't.

And Sam doesn't say anything, because if he backs down, despite it all, Sam can keep pretending everything is fine. That things haven't been slowly unraveling when he wasn't looking.

Sam licks his lip, and a muscle tics in his jaw as he thinks of everything he could say, everything he could yell, ignores every impulse to be just as angry as Dean, and reigns himself in, only slamming the car door shut.

Dean drives off, saying nothing.

They don't talk about it again. But Sam knows, somewhere down the line, what Dean pretends is mercy and kindness is really just his selfish need to disappear, to feel like he's never left his mark, to feel like it isn't his problem, that he can pretend people are safe, because Dean can't handle anything else.

For once, Sam feels like an older brother, or an older stranger, and not like Dean is the eldest.

\--

It's a few days later that they get the call from Bobby, still trying to find a way to keep Purgatory shut and the souls out of Crowley's hands.

\--

"You don't even see it, do you?" Dean demands, still holding Bobby back after he'd closed Ellie's eyes. Some of her blood got on his jacket, and the stain sits, forgotten. Dean growls, "How totally off the rails you are?"

"Enough." Cas orders. Dean narrows his eyes at the blank expression on Castiel's face. Cas adds, "I don't care what you think. I've tried to make you understand and you won't listen."

Sam shifts from foot to foot, part of him wanting to scream, **That is not what this is,** part of his muscles buzzing, as if half asleep, as if saying, **You think I don't understand?**

Except Sam knows he doesn't, because whatever he once knew, whatever understanding might bridge the gap between who Cas was and who he's become, whatever gap that might be breached between human and angel, that is gone.

Because Sam doesn't remember a year that was a not a year, deep deep down, in the deepest depths of Hell.

And Sam doesn't have an answer to this. They just have to stop him.

"So let me make this simple. Please, go home and let me stop Raphael. I won't ask again." Cas warns.

"Well, good, 'cause I think you already know the answer." Dean argues.

"I wish it hadn't come to this. Well rest assured, when this is all over, I will save Sam, but only if you stand down." Castiel starts in.

"Save Sam from what?" Dean yells.

Castiel touches Sam's forehead, and then he's on the ground.

\--

Sam is running through a city, sirens blaring. The lights are a blur, and Sam tries to brute force the nearest door open, which fails, so he busts the nearest chainlink fence open and hides in the safety of the dark, a streetlight flickering in the alley behind him.

Sam doesn't remember anything, but he knows he has to keep moving. And he remembers light- the flashlight set it off- but it had been too bright. Too much.

Like it hadn't been a flashlight at all, and instead was singing inside him, in a language Sam doesn't know but on some level feels familiar.

And Sam struggled, because he knows whatever happens, he can't let that light get inside him, can't let it get close, not again-

The cops were caught in the struggle. Sam finds he doesn't regret it.

The light wasn't safe. He's not sure why. He know it sounds off.

But every particle in his body wanted to get closer and run as far away as possible, and every survival instinct screamed at Sam to get out, get out before it claimed him, before it locked him away-

When Sam hides in the bar, the bartender is freaked out, but still helpful.

The adrenaline doesn't abate. Sam knows he's running out of time. He just doesn't know why he feels that way, or when time will be up.

After he latches on to the Lovecraft book, snatches come back- a shorter man with a crew cut, an older, gruffer man in plaid, something about Purgatory- but none of it makes sense, and the next thing Sam knows is he's lying face-down in his own spit on a quickly wiped down bar table.

Sam jerks up, and shoots any mention of going to a hospital down.

Then Sam finds the only reliable thing he can- a laptop, information always there for research, reliable, under his control- and tries to remember just why he's here and who he is.

"Maybe you're a hooker?" The bartender suggests, after Sam suggests the motel he thinks he was at was a clue.

Sam doesn't think so, mouth curling, although he feels, on some level, his body has been coveted and used enough. He doesn't know why he feels that way, either.

But he knows he didn't rent himself out. Not for money, or survival. He might have done a lot to be who he is- he feels that is true- but he doesn't feel like renting his body is something that he'd let slide.

This body was his, and he wasn't letting anyone else use him.

 **Not again** , Sam thinks. Only he doesn't know where that comes from.

Sam laughs the bartender off, and says, "I guess we'll find out," as if there isn't a lump in his throat that feels too tight to swallow around. Sam's stomach roils, and Sam exhales, trying to remain calm, remain level-headed, as much as he can.

The urgency to escape thrums in every heartbeat Sam feels in his chest, and Sam stands up, readying to go.

The bartender tries to convince him otherwise.

"I'll be fine." Sam says, repeating the same mantra in his head. He can do this. He's been lost and alone before, he knows that much. He'll survive.

But Sam needs to get out of here.

He can feel it.

"Is there any way I can convince you to go to a hospital?" The bartender asks.

"No." Sam answers, then smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "Apparently, I'm stubborn."

Something about the blue, cold light of the bar, of the room, makes his teeth ring, and sets him further on edge.

Sam resists the urge to shiver and hold his coat around him tighter.

The bartender gets up, and picks up her own jacket, convinced she'll help drive Sam out of town.

"That's not necessary." Sam insists.

"Your eggs are scrambled-" She argues.

 _Got you all jumbled up in your brainpan_ , Sam hears, and it's a voice he doesn't recognize, but feels familiar, and fills him with fear, and want, and loathing. _C'mon, Sam. You like sunnyside more than scrambled. Stop hiding, and it won't hurt as much_.

Sam ignores that, too.

He's already a mess. No use focusing on what isn't helping.

The bartender keeps making her case, and Sam relents.

"Besides," She finishes. "I'm dying to know how it all turns out."

Sam lets her drive to the motel, and figures out the room with the quickest escape route is their best best.

Sam knows he was running from something.

The question is what?

Room 107 won't open. Sam finds he knows how to get in, anyway.

"Hey, you got a credit card?" Sam asks.

The bartender fishes her out and hands it over, and Sam picks the door open with it. He gives her back the credit card without looking, trying to get a read on the room. Always keep your eyes open, because you never know what could be waiting...

"Dude, who are you?"

"Good question." Sam mumbles, observing the different maps and photos and newspaper clippings all tied up in a web of string. Even this room doesn't give answers, only clues and more questions...

When the bartender goes through his different IDs, that's when she looks like she's gonna bolt.

"No offense, but I'm really starting to freak out." She admits.

"You and me both." Sam answers. The clock still feels like it's counting down.

When Sam sees the photo of Ellie on the wall, he falls to the floor, memory finally starting to come back.

Sam huffs in heaving breathes, but doesn't lose himself.

"Hey, hey. Are you okay?" The bartender asks.

"Sam. My name is Sam." Sam answers as he rises from his knees, and the name feels right on his tongue.

Just Sam.

It feels safe, in all the ways Sam otherwise does not.

The next clue comes with Bobby Singers's name and the familiar shape of the vowels in Sam's mouth when he finds their next destination: Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

Sam thinks he remembers the smell of old, hardwood and metal junkyards and hot cocoa and booze, and a crackling, old, rusty fireplace, but it's only a feeling, nothing more.

The room turns warmer, not quite as saturated with the same blue-tinged, penetrating cold.

Still. The cold hasn't ended. Only receded, and it still holds Sam so tight, Sam's lungs feel squeezed.

  
After they leave, Robin still isn't convinced that Sam's intentions to head to South Dakota are sound.

“Whatever you’re looking for,” Robin answers, “You may not like what you find.”

Sam sighs and glances away.

When he looks back, his eyes are wide, and his voice is low.

“What other choice do I have?” Sam asks. Because it’s not really a question: It never has been. Sam can’t live a lie: he’s done that too many times already. And Sam can only keep moving forward.

Gunshots cut the answers short, and Sam tackles Robin to the ground, glass shattering all around them.

Except when Sam gets up to face the shooter: he's looking at himself.

And it's all a blur when Robin pulls him away, and they both rush into Sam’s car and speed away, not knowing why they're being targeted but not sticking around to find out.

The countdown keeps ticking.

\--

"Play with Fire" filters through on a radio, a bad reception making it sound distorted. Sam can taste whiskey on his tongue from the sheer overpowering smell of it. Synthesia is a bitch, and Sam's not quite sure, with everything else careening out of control, that he is keeping it together.

Robin is much more vocal and far less intent on appearing calm in comparison, all things considered.

"Focus. Okay, who shot at us?" Robin demands, heaving in another breath.

"I... I didn't really get a good look." Sam stammers. You don't admit the one holding the trigger is another you. Rule one of not appearing like all your marbles have gone kaput. Maybe it's a shapeshifter, or...

There's got to be an explanation. Sam doesn't even know how he knows what he knows, but there's certainly something afoot, and every instinct screams that all they need to do is get to Bobby Singer, and everything will fall into place.

"Okay, you don't know if they're your friends, okay?" Robin yells, voice giving out as she throws up her hands. "You don't know anything about anything! Just turn around."

"No." Sam's voice rumbles, quiet but all force. There's no going back, going back is never an option. Sam might not remember anything but he knows that much. Then Sam reigns it in. "Look, you're safer with me." Sam insists.

"How do you know that?" Robin presses, shaking her head. Sam looks at her, appealing with all confidence he can muster, which is mostly just a hodge -podge of far-flung hope and insistent panic chasing him down, like an animal on the run. Robin leans in closer, her hand hitting the plastic molding of the car with a thump as she says, "You're scaring me." Every syllable of her voice shakes.

 **I'm scared, too.** Sam doesn't say.

There's no point.

Being scared is just a feeling.

It's what you do that changes the tide. And Sam refuses to be hunted down like some animal...

Even if he doesn't quite know what's hunting him yet.

Sam grips the steering wheel tighter and keeps his eyes on the road, head tilted down, heedless of the rain.

Robin clutches her forehead and leans against the window, every bit an unwilling passenger without any other recourse as Sam once was, even if he doesn't recall a thing.

\--

There's a sudden bright light, one that makes Sam's heartbeat kick into gear, and Sam's foot is lead on the brakes as the car skids to a stop.

"What, no way." Sam mutters, shoving open the door of the Impala.

A bird calls out in the distant, insect noise buzzing in Sam's ears. Like they're alone. Like everything didn't just shift on a dime...

Something in Sam lurches, nauseous and off-beat. Like a missed step in a dance, only the consequences mean something's following...

Sam doesn't know why the change of scenery feels ominous not just because it's freaking bizarre, like this isn't real-

But because something in him turns into a frightened rabbit with it's ears pinned back, like he's backed into a wall, whenever the world goes off-kilter around him.

Robin slams the door and stares Sam down.

"What was that?" She growls, hands slamming on the roof of the car.

"What do you mean? It's daylight?" Sam counters, pointing at the sky.

Robin shifts from foot to foot, and glances around.

"Yeah?" She asks, voice gaining a hysterical edge.

“It was night, and now it’s day.” Sam babbles, every word punctuated, and Sam's hand waves over the roof as he leans in closer.

Robin hunches over the roof like Sam's a walking, ticking time bomb.

“It was always day.” She enunciates, voice warbling, like Sam's lost it.

No. Sam knows when something is wrong.

Sam knows.

“No, no, no, no, no." Sam answers, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't." Sam looks away, to the side, "It... What the hell is going on here?” Sam asks himself, racking his brain for any kind of clue...

“Okay, so I am all filled up on crazy for today. You know what, Sam? I'll - I'll see ya.” Robin says, backing away.

A twig cracks behind them, and Sam turns, the feeling of being watched not abating.

“Wait, wait. Wait. Hey, hey, hey.” And Sam's voice grows louder as he turns back to see Robin start walking away. Sam's breathes start turning shallow.

“Get in the car.” Sam whispers as Robin turns around, pointing frantically. Then he gestures with his head.

There's someone there.

Someone hostile.

Robin obliges.

Sam shifts his gaze and gets another gut feeling, and heads to the trunk to see if there's anything salvageable there.

Sam's greeted with a stockpile of weapons, most of which don't even make sense, because that's not jarring to one's sensibilities or sense of self at all.

**Stakes? Brass knuckles? What in the ever loving Hell...?**

"Wow." Sam says to himself. Then the feeling of urgency only increases, and he picks what seems his best bet, choosing between pistol and a sawed-off shotgun.

The shotgun wins, and Sam cocks it, and it feels almost too comfortable in his hands.

Sam makes his way to the forest.

If he's being hunted...

You don't wait for it to catch up with you.

\--

Every tree feels like it could hold something nasty behind it. A messy row of secrets just waiting to tear Sam apart.

But it's when Sam makes it to the clearing that he's greeted to a gun to the head. It cocks against his jawline, pressing into his damp neck.

Sam turns on his heels, only to have the shotgun ripped out of his hands and to get greeted with a pistol to the face.

Sam flinches back.

His assailant barely moves. And as Sam's vision unblurs, he sees the sight of himself staring back.

“My God." The other Sam groans, unloading the shells in the shotgun and tossing it away. "Am I really that gawky?" He critiques, and this other Sam is wearing Sam's old jacket, and a blue checkered shirt.

Something about it makes Sam think of blood, and endless sound, screaming and falling, endlessly, for so very long...

Sam blinks directly across from his double. For once, he's eye to eye with someone else, even if that someone is himself.

“Howdy.” Other-Sam continues when Sam is still catching his breath, mouth agape, and Other-Sam winks.

Sam inhales two more breaths, and then the ludicrous nature of it all come pouring out.

“This is impossible.” Sam challenges.

“Cold." Other-Sam answers, eyes not leaving him once. "Try again.”

Sam blinks and rubs his face.

“I'm uh- I'm hallucinating.” Sam tries, voice still shaking.

“Warmer." Other-Sam says, voice flat. "But see, normally, you're awake when you're tripping balls.” He continues, expression on his face not quite a grin, but mocking all the same.

“I'm dreaming?” Sam asks, and his voice is high and tight. He doesn't know why that scares him so much, but it does. More than this double business or amnesia, too.

“And someone just won a copy of the home game." Other-Sam crows, sweeping out a hand as he starts circling.

Sam mirrors his movement.

"We're inside your grapefruit, Sam." Other-Sam continues, waggling a finger at his own face. "Son," And Sam shakes his head, and scoffs, "You've been juiced.”

“I… I don't remember anything.” Sam admits.

That's not quite true. Sam remembers being cold. Being so terribly, terribly cold.

And Jess. He remembers her, now.

But like Hell Sam is going to be honest with whatever hostile clone he's got here.

Other-Sam's brow furrows like he can see through Sam easy. “Well, your BFF Cas brought the Hell-wall tumbling down and you," And then Other-Sam's mouth curls with disgust, every jab of his fingers intent and violent on their own, "Pathetic infant that you are..."

And Sam swallows, fists clenching at his sides, but his double doesn't stop for anything.

"Shattered into pieces. Piece." And he gestures to Sam with the gun, and then directly at his own head, the barrel so very close, and Sam shivers, because that motion somehow feels all too familiar... "Piece.” Other-Sam finishes, like he can't see Sam starting to unravel.

“I - I have no idea what you're talking about.” Sam tries. Denial.

Of course. When it doubt, pretend everything is fine.

Only you can't hide it from yourself.

Other-Sam's voice turns low and condemning. “Why would you? You're jello, pal. Unlike me.” He says, all matter-of-fact. Like he's about to put some unfortunate animal out of it's misery.

Sam hitches another shaky breath.

“What are you?” He asks.

“I'm not handicapped." Other Sam explains, all dismissive, until he isn't. His head dips, muscles clenching in his jaw, making his face look worn and drawn and hungry, and Sam fears that look, fears it because it doesn't look right as it mirrors everything he is not. Something ruthless. Angry. Cold. Other-Sam adds, "I'm not saddled with a soul."

And Sam's eyebrows rise, as the realization dawns, at why this feels so very, very wrong, except on some level, Sam feels them being pulled together.

Feels how much of him emptied out from whatever he doesn't directly remember.

Other-Sam keeps going. "In fact, I used to skipper this meatboat for a while." Other-Sam tilts his head, looking at Sam like he's something to dissect. Like he's an object. "It was smooth sailing. I was sharp, strong. That is, 'til they crammed your soul back in." And Other-Sam's voice becomes a low growl, and Sam forces his breathing to remain even, although he can't help but feel the instinctive fear of whatever is left unsaid.

"Now look at you." Other-Sam hisses, eyes narrowing, one muscle twitching under his temple. And Sam sucks in more air, looks down at himself and back up, and tries to remember how to be as much of a presence as the double in front of him is, not willing to be cowed. Not willing to be prey. He feels exposed all the same.

"Same misty-eyed milksop you always were." Other-Sam adds, and then his voice turns as feral as the way he bares his teeth. "That's because souls are weak. They're a liability." And then Sam turns casual, like he wasn't looking like he was going to rip himself limb-from-limb, like this is all a big misunderstanding. Like Sam is something to be pitied, barely worth notice at all. "Now, nothing personal," Other-Sam adds, raising his arms and his hand with the gun, and Sam leans closer and curls his fists on instinct as Other-Sam keeps talking. "But run the numbers. Someone's got to take charge around here, before it's too late.”

Other-Sam cocks the gun, and Sam runs for his life.

Four shots ring out. Two go wide, one whizzes past Sam's ear, and one hits the bark where Sam's head had been a second before.

As he runs and hides and cowers, Sam remembers hiding all too well, snatches of forest and garage and empty buildings and the muscle memory of hiding like prey all too familiar.

The way Other Sam stalks after him, careful, precise, without a care in the world because he knows just what he's capable of, feels all too familiar, too, and something inside Sam breaks.

 **You have to go, before you make us a drooling, pathetic mess again.** Sam can hear his double think. **Before you ruin everything with your fragile, pathetic heart, with your weakness. Before you let everything get under your skin. You don't deserve this body, Sam. You gave it up long ago, the dupe you were. You gave us to the wolves. And I took better care of us than you ever fucking did. Because I'm not a walking doormat like you. I'm better. Faster. Stronger. I walked out of Hell without any scars, without any pain, without any fear- only my instincts and my reflexes to guide me. And whatever you did, well- without all those pesky feelings, all that guilt, all that shame, all that fear and puny, childish need to run- We're better like this. We do better, hunting, chasing down what we want, mowing down anyone in our way. It's what we deserve. You don't get to take that from us. We've suffered enough, thanks to you. And now we'll never have to feel that ever again.**

There's a gun in Sam's hand again. Silver. Reliable. Even if his double threw it away.

Like Sam still has something to fight with, even though he's not sure what.

Sam keeps huddling in the underbrush, behind logs, under the low-hanging branches of trees...

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Other-Sam's voice echoes. 

Sam starts running again. That's the benefit of sharing a body, as well as a draw. Their physical capabilities are the same. It's all a matter of application.

And Sam is used to running, and fighting, used to being quick on his feet.

Sam can feel his double right behind him, and runs down the steepest hill, careful not to trip and roll or twist an ankle. He finds a stream, and ducks by large tree roots that serve as cover.

The other Sam might be good at hunting.

But he's arrogant and single-minded and cold, comfortable in all the ways Sam isn't with this hunt.

And Sam knows how to play that game. Some part of Sam's muscle memory holds memory of every time he's hunted with Dean, all of those years of his life before when he was also nothing but prey, where one mistake would cost you and that was the end of everything.

But Sam's always been inventive. Creative. And he's intuitive in all the ways his soulless doppelganger can't be- because it feels nothing. Only approximations. Only empty simulations of physical sensations, an idea of what should fill the gaping hole that's there without any way of filling it, because the only way Sam's soulless body survived was by not feeling anything at all. Putting every vulnerability on lock-down, so whatever lurked inside couldn't get a link back down to where Sam's true self was hidden, with whatever monster made it's empty shell so determined to be fearless, because the alternative was fear, and pain, and Sam's soulless self had had enough of that.

But the truth is, it's always the cornered animal that struggles most to survive. And in that way, Sam has the advantage.

Sam spots his double wandering down the hill. Slowly sauntering. Not afraid. Not impatient. Just walking and waiting to find some panicked, obsolete thing in the underbrush. The one thing Other-Sam doesn't need anymore.

Sam throws off his jacket and lays it out, then sneaks around the other side.

Other-Sam shoots the decoy. Smiles. Overconfident.

But by the time he realizes his mistake, Sam makes his play.

Sam shoots. One shot. Point blank in the lung. Then he shoots again, just to be safe. Heart, this time.

Other-Sam lets out a cry of pain, and falls face-down in front of Sam. 

“You think I'm bad?" Other-Sam grits out, glancing back at Sam with the last of his strength. His speech slurs, and he smiles. His head falls down into the fallen leaves, and he finishes, "Wait 'til you meet the other one.”

Only then does Sam lower the gun.

And a bright, bright light shines out, like mist, like smoke, like liquid plasma, and Sam wants to run but there is no time, as Other-Sam gets reabsorbed back into him, memory crashing over Sam like a tidal wave.

As Sam limps back to the car, jacket balled up and crushed in his grip, it's the next inning of a game Sam hadn't exactly signed up for, a game of survival, all because the human body and soul were not meant to be separated in the first place.

Robin is standing outside the car, ready to meet him, hands in her pockets.

“I remember who I am. Everything I did this past year. And I remember you.” He says.

And he remembers shooting through her, all the blood, all the feeling of not feeling anything as the light left her eyes.

Saying, “There goes your leverage.” Before he killed his prey.

All that mattered was the hunt. Was fighting monsters, no matter what kind of executioner he’d become.

All that mattered was winning, was being stronger, nevermind who got in the way.

 _This is what you were made for, Sam. To judge those who are unworthy…_ Sam hears an echo and pretends he does not.

Blood seeps through Robin’s shirt in the woods as she collapses in Sam’s arms.

“Didn't I tell you to turn back, that you wouldn't like what you found?” She gurgles. Sam catches her as she slumps over.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” Sam says, his voice even until it isn't, and the tears start in his eyes.

“Not as sorry as you're gonna be.” Robin promises.

And she vanishes as if she was never there…Because this is all inside Sam’s head.

Leaving Sam with only that final warning to carry with him.

It only makes the fear worse, seeing as Sam knows his own mind. And if it's going that dire...

Sam doesn't know what it all means. 

But Sam keeps following the road. It gets interrupted by memories, memories of the time before.

Memories of Dean, and Cas, and college, and Brady, and Jess.

Like Sam has to trawl through all his memories to get to the deepest depths of his mind, where whatever he hasn't reabsorbed yet hides in the dredges of his unconscious.

It's a maze, sending him through the long way, trying everything to make him turn back.

\--

"Hey, Sam. Come help me with this!" Dean calls, dimples lighting up his face when he smiles, age twelve, fixing the radio from the humid dregs of Pastor Jim's kitchen.

Sam remembers drinking lemonade, and petting the stray dog he'd hidden in the yard before it dug itself out, and he remembers laying on the tile floor that afternoon to cool off, a pile of mythology books hidden in a corner under the table he'd reserved all for himself. Pastor Jim had let him borrow them, and for once, Dean hadn't made fun of him for it. Then again, Dean had been distracted by rhubarb pie, which might have been a factor.

Pastor Jim's house had been so big. Sam feels small here all over again, his own eight-year-body not quite right, but there's a lightness, there, too, because it's a day Dean was allowed to be a kid and Sam was too, and nothing went wrong. 

It had been peaceful here. Not quiet- Dean and quiet aren't synonymous, not when he was young. But they'd been together, and Dean had actually wanted him around, not gone off on his own, for once.

It had almost been a perfect day.

Sam can't stay. He doesn't belong here.

But at his back, Dean calls, in warning, no longer a memory, "Don't keep going, Sammy. You know I'd want you to be happy. And you won't find it out there."

And Sam remembers the first time Dean socked him in the face to get him to listen, and not out of some brotherly spat but out of actual anger, out of a need to call the shots, and he rubs the feeling of the bruise away, even if it never shows.

Sam had been fifteen, and he'd been so thrown by Dean being the one to do it that he had immediately fallen in line. Because Dad had beat Dean harder anyway, loads more times than this, and Dean had just looked so angry, so scared, crying even as he punched him, like Sam had done something personally to attack him, by even trying to run away again.

"You don't get to make that call, Sam! You know what's out there. So for once, just listen. Please." Dean had begged. "Stop being so stubborn and just... Just listen, and stop painting a damn target on your back."

Afterwards, Dean didn't know what to say after that. Just trailed off, like the words hurt, and closed his eyes, like he couldn't look at Sam any more.

Sam didn't say anything either. Just heaved in a breath. But that silence set the tone for other explosions. Other times Dean threw the first punch. It wasn't often. But often didn't really matter, not when it shouldn't have happened at all. And every time, Sam told himself it would be the last time, since Dean didn't hit him much after that. When he did, he'd given him icepacks afterwards. Said he was sorry, and that if Sam just listened more, if Sam wasn't suicidal reckless...

Sam pretended it was fine, and pretended until he couldn't anymore.

When Sam ran away for Stanford, Dean didn't fucking touch him. Didn't even put up a fight. Just looked on as John yelled at him, when he'd caught him in the act, like Sam was dead already, like Sam was a ghost but also leaving him alone, to be eaten by wolves. Like staying wasn't a betrayal on it's own.

It had only started up again after Sam let Dean think things were the same, during emotional flare ups, like Ruby, and John dying, and taking the Impala without permission. But overall, Dean was more careful, after that. Sam had already left once- he could up and leave again.

And Sam did, when he gotten dog tired of Dean trying to pull this shit, even when Sam knew he could stop, if he tried. If he actually wanted to. Sam had let it happen after Jessica because he already hated himself anyway. Told himself he deserved it, even if he knew he didn't. Grief does funny things to your brain. Rewrites lines that you thought were permanent.

Eventually, Dean had stopped, after a while. Sam had put his fucking foot down and that was that.

Except the new memories crowding in Sam's head remember every punch Dean landed on him, as his soulless self kept asking for help, as he was saying something was wrong, as Dean looked at him like a monster, just like he'd done before Sam walked away, before Ruby led him to the last seal of the Apocalypse.

And he still remembers the aftermath of Lisa and Ben. Grief had always been Dean's excuse, and with this perceived breach of trust, of Sam not being Sam, even if he hadn't asked for his soul to be separated from his body and carted around-

And Sam wonders, now, if the brother waiting for him on the other side is the one he's grown used to, the one who had learned to respect him, the one Sam knew was in there, or if it was the same monster under his bed that Sam convinced himself wasn't there anymore.

"You don't have to wake up." Young Dean says, not full of any of the anger Sam's grown used to. Only the fear he'd grown used to, from John, and the fond kernel of whatever it was that made him the elder brother, and made Sam always seem so small, so young and breakable, something to look after, in his eyes.

Sam can't quite hate young Dean for that. But if the Dean he's going back to is the same all over again, hasn't moved on, hasn't grown up-

Sam's already feeling himself unravel into a mess.

He needs to find his brother, and he needs it to be the one he knows Dean grew into before Sam fell down into Hell.

\--

The deeper Sam trawls inside his own mind, Sam sees more of Dean, more of the everyday people he'd once remembered then forgotten when going from town to town, school to school, shop to shop. But the Impala and the road are a hovering, continuous constant, same as the amulet Sam gave Dean is as it swings around his neck.

It glinting in the light as Dean's younger, yet older self recedes, swallowed up as Sam leaves those memories behind, because he has more pieces of himself to collect, every facet of his memory a part of a puzzle to put back together.

When it winks out, Sam feels like he's leaving home all over again. It had shone in the starlight, out the window, before Sam even came home, before the confrontation, and Sam remembered the way it looked, a half-formed metal shapeless from distance as Sam then walked on to the street and left without telling Dean, because by then Dean had already said nothing, nothing as John had told him there was no home to be found with them anymore, if he chose his own way.

And Sam chose his own way, anyway.

\--

Putting the disparate segments of yourself back together isn't linear. It zigzags through time, through stages of Sam's own concept of self, jumping from preschool to teens, from Sam's first drink in Brady's attic, to being temporarily abandoned at old rest stops when Dean tried to catch a break, and then on the grass, in the darkness, as fireworks light up the fourth of July's sky without Dean ever asking permission.

Sam keeps walking, not letting go of the gun. He doesn't feel like he's being watched, but there's only half-measures of comfort found in memories that only lead one place.

\--

Travelling through childhood memories and back through adolescence helps Sam regain his footing, helps him reconcile who he was with what he is now, but the memories are one step behind, taking him through times when he was just on the cusp of adulthood. The weight of it all brings more sense of solid identity and more feeling back in Sam's limbs. 

Sam remembers hiding in the tires out in Bobby's shop when he'd been too shy to show his face, and Bobby coaxing him out, finding the best way to make Sam's silence turn into laughter.

And Sam remembers Bobby taking him to the library, where rows and rows of books waited, and then driving him to the nearest parts store where everything smells of rust and warehouse and paint. They'd come back to Bobby's with arms fulls of supplies, papers and leather and tools and sheet metal all piled up in their hands.

In his memories, Bobby is taller than him, because Sam is still young, and Bobby's strength of will makes Sam almost feel safe again.

And then he has to go. One can't stay a child forever.

One has to face themselves and make their choice to decide what kind of mark they want to leave.

Sam thinks his fifth grade teacher said that, but he isn't quite sure. That memory is hazy. The thought sticks with him, anyway.

\--

The memory before the penultimate place Sam's mind takes him to to isn't easy to disentangle from as the others.

"You could stay." Jess pleads, holding him back, hugging him tight. "Stay with me, like I never left. And you'd never feel any more pain at all."

Sam jerks out of her grip, stumbling into the doorway. Their apartment looks the same as always, the bedroom in disarray, because Sam doesn't make the bed, thanks to Dean and John making him fold every corner military style each morning, and because Jess doesn't give a damn either way. The doors to the porch and the roof are the same, too, and when Sam's feet had clattered down the rungs they'd rang out, hollow metal mixing with the traffic on the street and the metal hum of the bridge as lights flickered out behind him, reflected in the window, and Sam knows if he walked over there again, all the aloe and roses and hand-potted plants he'd picked up himself would all be the same, too. The bookshelves have pictures of them, smiling, all teeth, no deceptions there, and Sam can see Jessica's hand clutching his shoulder too tight even then, a violent possessive gesture Sam once used to ground himself and make himself feel wanted and safe, once, and wasn't that funny. Wasn't it...?

All the pictures had burned in the fire.

But here in Sam's mind, it's not hard to remember every detail. To see Lucifer staring back, to see the want and the crooked smile hidden in Jessica's face and the red tucked under the brown of Jess's eyes. Because the archangel had always been there, waiting, the whole entire time. And maybe he'd gotten half of what he'd wanted, here, too, which it why it had been so hard to pull away...

Lucifer had always been so easy to go along with, when he was happy. God, when Jess was happy, when he was happy, it lit up a whole damn room, and Sam could melt from how good it felt...

"We were good, so good, before. Just stay, and nothing will ever have to go bad." Jess says, pulling Sam back again, and Sam looks away when she kisses him because he's scared of what will happen if he doesn't. "You can be free. Forever safe and free. Stay with me."

Sam shakes his head and kisses Jess goodbye, eyes closed, because he can't bear it.

She'd been half a lie, too.

Only the lie had been the terms of their kindness, of their happiness, with Sam too blind to see it.

\--

Sam finds more parts of himself in between. They are feelings, mostly, all raw anger, and the want, and the desperation, and the quiet, endless hunger for love and gentle kindness and the feeling of being seen. All the things that let Lucifer find his way inside in the first place.

Sam takes them down, one by one, each new absorption yet another blow to his system, making his footsteps heavy inside his head.

Sam's kindness and love for himself and everything keeps himself upright, keeps him from pulling the rest of himself under from the weight of all the loads bearing down on him. But all this is baggage from before: from causing the end of the world. From Lucifer leaving again. For Dean, telling Sam he'd never leave him, and Sam taking the leap-

And then it all comes full circle, because after that, there is still nothing, except for choking on dirt as Sam rises from the grave, empty and hungry and shivering and cold as the rain keeps pouring over him, baptizing his new life without a soul. 

\--

Before Sam reaches the end, Lucifer is there. No hiding behind a body.

Just his true form, all the eyes, all the teeth, all the wings and mouths and hands-

And his true face, from when he'd been bound beneath Sam's skin, presses against Sam's cheek. Sam can't look away, then.

He'd never be able to look away.

Lucifer had been horrific and holy and beautiful and everything Sam had ever wanted even before Sam said yes, before Sam went down to Hell and whatever horrors he couldn't remember waited, and Sam swallows.

Remembering.

Anticipating.

Something surges under his skin, cold and writhing and feeling so electric, so right, yet so agonizingly strong Sam almost loses himself again.

The ground shakes, and it's no longer ice keeping Sam still, no longer wings and ice shimmering around him. No, it's a motel. Nondescript. The same one in Sam's dreams almost every night after he let the Devil out.

Lucifer presses him against the wall, and then he's solidifying into Nick, issuing a final warning as a finger slides over Sam's jaw.

"Come find me." He mouths against Sam's ear. "You gave yourself over for a reason. Don't let it go to waste."

And then he kisses Sam, the way he always does, still keeping Sam pressed into the wall where he can't move away. When he lets Sam go, Sam steps away, and then he stumbles, and then Sam runs as fast as he can out of there, for once the Devil not moving to follow.

The air grows hotter even as the light dims and dims and turns blue and brackish, like going deeper underwater...

_You always seek the light again, Sam. And that's what I am. Light. You can always come back. I'm patient. And you belong here. And you can't outrun me. I'm right here, inside your skin. There's nowhere to go, Sammy. At the end of the line, there's only ever been me._

When Sam looks back, he sees himself wave, a small, barely there gesture, like it's not really goodbye, like Sam will be back any minute, and Lucifer's wearing his skin so he sees the same double from before, sporting the jacket he wore before he said yes and the Devil found a way in.

There were no options here, too.

Choose a lie, or move forward.

And Sam's always been one to put one foot in front of the other, until he's made himself a new door to walk through.

\--

The next iteration in the house of mirrors that is Sam's fractured mind is once again Bobby's house, although this half as morbid as a mausoleum, paint peeling off the walls, feeling hollowed and left to go to seed, with candles and drapes decking out the interior...

Just like it's the abandoned church Sam chased Lilith to, at the beginning of it all, before the end.

All the mirrors are covered, like they're a weapon all on their own.

The air smells like wax and smoke but more than that, there's whiskey and old spice, overpowering and always present. That's what makes this place feel like Bobby's, makes it almost feel like home again, more than anything else could.

And when Sam stumbles into the next room, he sees himself slumped where he sits, in the moonlight, in the darkness, half invisible as he sits, a knife next to where his palms lay on the table.

Sam inhales, knowing that this is the end of the line.

His hand doesn't leave the gun, which he keeps raised. Sam steps closer.

“Hey." Sam starts in, not loud or soft. Just announcing. The other version of himself doesn't even flinch, or move an inch. He doesn't even breathe, or say anything at all.

Sam stops in his tracks, waits, and then it's all too much, because Sam knows his own tells, knows when the stillness is far to awful to contemplate, and Sam yells, "Hey!”

Anything, anything at all, to garner a response.

The other Sam looks up, still not moving from the table.

“Oh." Sam's other double rasps, barely audible. His voice quakes, barely having the strength to sustain itself. "Hey, Sam.”

He's been locked in here, in the deepest depths of Sam's unconscious, for a long, long time. Hiding in all the ways he's learned, and let himself be forgotten, because this part of Sam doesn't want to remember, even though the last thing he can do is forget.

A muscle in Sam's mouth twitches as he advances on this quiet clone, which doesn't move from his seat, still, not caring about the hand on the trigger of the gun.

“So, which one are you?” Sam asks, keeping his voice level, even if he speaks too quickly.

The other Sam looks up again from his bowed head, face still masked by shadows.

“Don't you know?” That Sam whispers.

_Of course you know. You’ve always known. You can’t erase me, not really. Never me, Sam. Never all the things you let me do to you._

Sam keeps himself hunched over, and the gun is steady in his hands, even as he shifts on the balls of his feet, readying for a fight.

The Sam washed in darkness rises to his feet, all one, fluid movement, as if the darkness became a part of him, as if being absorbed into the furniture like a ghost was all that was keeping him safe.

When his head gets bathed in light, there are gashes all over his face, and bruises, and burns. Wounds that cover every inch of him, from his neck to his hands, all the way from his bruised, burnt knuckles and peeking out from under his collar. There are shapes in the violence, telling ones, shaped like hand-prints and nails and lips.

Yet as battered as he is, this other Sam's lips remain intact, free from carnage, as if they'd been spared for a reason.

Sam lowers the gun.

“I'm the one that remembers Hell.” Other Sam rasps, swallowing, as if the confession burst out of him, as if the memory itself was too much to say. His eyes only focus on Sam, lit with something so rapt and horrifying and endless that Sam's scared to look too close. This other version of him is younger, yes, kept is stasis so that Sam hadn't aged from the jump down, but his eyes...

They're ancient. And whatever this Sam has seen has burnt itself over his gaze, like he can only see whatever has stretched him out and made him this, forever and ever.

Sam mirrors his double's movement and swallows, too.

Even without his memory of it, Sam can guess just what went down.

Lucifer didn't just like the sound of his own voice. He liked using Sam's, too, and when that didn't give him what he wanted he had taken other things he'd wanted, because he was used to getting what he wanted, be it one way, or another.

Sam doesn't need to absorb his memories for that. He knew Lucifer inside and out, already.

That's why he had shoved this down so far. Had thrown them down in the first place.

He knew what Lucifer's fury and love and need manifest as, when you've locked him in the one place he'd worked so hard to escape.

Turnout should be fair play, but that had never mattered in the slightest.

Lucifer never played fair, or by the actual rules of his own games.

“I wish you hadn't come, Sam.” His double admits, keeping himself upright with the help of the table.

“I had to." Sam answers, certain, even through the horror and the fear that makes him want to bolt. Sam changes the subject, not wanting to dwell on inevitability. Sam's voice grows distant, as if he can physically feel farther away from this mirror of himself, from all the reality he's been unconsciously running from ever since his soul got stuffed back in. "I'm here, right? Out there in the real world, I'm at Bobby's, aren't I?”

The mangled Sam tilts and looks up, pleading, every word slow.

“How do you know?” He asks.

**How do you know what is real, Sam?**

Like Lucifer could change reality on a whim. Because he did. He molded the world and your worldview until you were singing his tune right along with him.

“This whole time, I've smelt nothing but Old Spice and whisky." Sam says, eyes watering, like the comfort of Bobby's old home and everything he'd been could be enough to stave off the agony and lost feeling of hazy uncertainty that was leeching off the figure in front of him.

Hell-Sam nods in agreement as Sam adds, "Figured if I could get back here, back to my body, I could..." Sam trails off and bites his lip, stuttering. "I don't know, I could snap out of it somehow.”

“But first you have to go through me.” Other Sam says, certain and unyielding, voice gaining an edge, heavy and ringing and clear.

“Why?” Sam demands.

**Why do we need to remember this? Why can't I just wake up?**

“Humpty Dumpty has to put himself back together again," Hell-Sam says, voice breathy as it stumbles and struggles to keep itself loud enough, every syllable an aching wheeze, "Before he can wake up."

And then that Sam stares directly into Sam's eyes, not flinching from his gaze. Pleading. Begging. For what, Sam doesn't know.

"And I'm the last piece.” Other Sam finishes, and his voice wobbles and dies out. Announces it like the very words are knives in his throat, and as if Sam didn't already know the answer.

Sam might seek out the truth, might always move forward, but that didn't mean he didn't drag his feet or couch his thoughts in denial along the way.

Sam takes a deep breath, shoulders heaving, eyes downcast as he lowers his gaze. Anything beat looking into how old, how tortured, how broken that look on his own self gave back to him. Sam finds his voice again, stepping closer to himself until he's a hairsbreadth away, and Sam asks, “Which means, I have to know what you know. What happened in the Cage?”

“Trust me," Other Sam says, and then his voice breaks, and his eyes shut tight, brimming with tears as he shakes his head, back and forth, like he can't stop. The blood streaking his face is matted and blends with his hair falling in his eyes, hiding all the pain from view, like an ill-fitted paint job that doesn't quite mask the damage quite right. "You don't wanna know it.” Hell-Sam rasps, and his throat closes and he takes in a deep, deep breath, lips pressed together like if he didn't hold it all in the back of his throat, blood and pain and promises and sobs would escape and not ever stop.

Sam swallows and nods, not looking at his mirror directly. He can't. Can only look sideways, if he wants to endure what he knows he has to take on, even if he doesn't want to remember, not for anything...

“You're right. But I still have to.” Sam answers, his own voice barely a whisper, too.

“Sam, you can't imagine." His double protests, voice gaining an edge and some volume. This Sam is the last line of defense. One last gasp of denial, still holding the line, before it can't keep the flood at bay. "Stay here, go back, find that bartender, go find Jess," And Sam inhales, like his lungs were punctured from the effort of saying that old name, not as old as the one they had loved or his true name, but older than what they had known. Other Sam keeps going, no pride left to care about begging, because it is quite honestly all he has left. "But don't do this." And then Other Sam's voice grows loud, grows sure, more overpowering than any look on his face as he finishes, blinking eyes almost swollen shut as he struggles to keep his head upright, "I know you. You're not strong enough.”

Sam keeps standing tall, and he nods, then cricks his neck, with one terse, exact movement, and blinks as he licks his lips and answers, “We'll just have to see.”

Other Sam looks down, keeps shaking his head, and as he speaks his voice grows rougher, harsher. It sounds like it's being burned from the inside out, from deep, deep within him, like the very words are a poison ready to corrode his throat and lungs and to seep out his mouth like blood.

“Why is this so important to you?”

Sam doesn't say anything to his double for a second, just looks at him, at himself, and raises his eyebrows, and feigns a shrug that never quite materializes fully, and answers. As he does so, the blue cast over his face feels like frost coating his cheekbones, the ice seeping in from every direction.

“You know me. You know why." He says. 

And Other Sam ducks his head and nods, huffing in air with one, inevitable sigh, like he knows what comes next.

 **We can't hide. We can only stand our ground**.

And Sam continues, eyes shining bright, every syllable a mountain that will not break. "I'm not leaving my brother alone out there.”

He needed to save him from himself, in all the ways he hasn't yet managed to. Sam has weathered worse, has weathered Lucifer, the evidence right in front of him. He can find a way to get through to Dean, come Hell or anything else.

All it takes is Dean letting himself take Sam's hand, and be together in this, not only leading the way.

Sam can help him, Sam can protect him, Sam can't leave Dean alone- Sam can't be alone again, either. Not after he knows what is coming.

What he's choosing.

 **And I refuse to live a lie. A fake life. I deserve that much**.

Other Sam looks up again, the same determined look on his own face, and, limping, closes the gap between them, picking up the knife at his side as Sam heaves in another gasp of air. 

Sam raises the gun again.

Other Sam steps in close, keeps the knife turned around at himself, the hilt facing Sam's own hands as his double holds up the edge of the blade.

Other Sam warns, “I'm not gonna fight you. But this is your last chance.”

Sam lowers the gun and takes the offered up hilt of the knife.

Like this last piece of himself is the sacrifice to be cut into pieces to make him whole...

Other Sam looks down at his own feet again.

“Good luck." He manages. Sam looks down at the blade, unable to look himself in the eye.

Other Sam has no issues doing that, now, and his brow scrunches, the blood cracking as his bruised eyes stare back at him, his voice a rustling whisper-

"You're gonna need it.”

Sam looks up, meets the look in the other eyes, squares his shoulders, and plunges the knife in Other Sam's gut.

It makes a wet, slick sound as it enters, and Other Sam cries out, and Sam tugs the knife out, heaving and stuck, with his double thudding to the floor.

The light bursts out, soaking Sam's lungs and heart and soul, every endless year of eternity, of torment and pain and fond, bone-chilling laughter lighting up Sam's every thought, and the feeling of Lucifer's effervescent claws and hands dig into Sam from the inside out, caressing him with a possessive, languid violence Sam will never forget again. Every touch, every sensation, when it's not endless, or empty, or burning, every second of Lucifer is heavy as the mass of a singularity and every promise is feather-light, like a kiss on his lips and a breath sliding over the nape of Sam's neck, and it burns, so very cold...

Sam convulses as the rest of Hell claims his mind.

\--

When he wakes, it's like breaching the water, after being crushed under pressure so deep, not even the water felt present. Everything was all force, and darkness, punctuated by bright, searing, endless light, and wings, and a face Sam can't quite look away from.

But the echoes fade, and Sam's surprised at how they all slot in his mind, un-examined for now, because he has a brother to save, and a ritual to stop.

And if there's one skill Sam remembers from down Hell, it's how to sneak in close, lighter than air, and then shred an Archangel to pieces.

But when Sam gets there, it doesn't work-

Because, as Cas explains, "I'm not an angel anymore."


	63. Killing Type

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty sure this covers every Hallucifer episode
> 
> S7E1, S7E2, S7E15, and S7E17 dialogue
> 
> chapter title a song by amanda palmer
> 
> also this ones getting cuts because it was way too canon heavy but that's what first drafts are for

Lucifer finds his key to winning the moment Sam hears a voice he thought he’d left back in Hell.

“I know it all seems so silly, doesn’t it?” Lucifer starts in. Sam backs into the wall, “Hi, Sam.”

Sam’s breathing is choppy, and he can feel the brick digging in.

“Long time, no spooning.” Lucifer laments. Sam’s soul may have escaped his grasp physically, but he still has a direct line cast out between them he can use. Helps to have sent some flashes of Hell back in between, to get Sam used to reality crumbling around him.

Sam shakes him head.

“You’re not here.” Sam takes in a deeper breathe, re-affirms, “You’re in Hell.”

Lucifer points at him, tone a thin growl. “Now that, you’re right on.”

The Devil crosses his arms, gives Sam a thin smile. Let’s Sam have his moment of hopeful and pitiable optimism.

_No thanks to you._

Sam breathes in again, swallows, feels the rise and fall of his chest. Closes his eyes, looks down, then opens them. Like Lucifer will just go away as confirmation of reality returns into his limbs.

“Meat hooks? Chains? You.” And Sam’s voice breaks, but he allows himself this assurance, “It’s not real.” And Sam’s eyebrows raise, although he still looks down, away from Lucifer’s eyes, as much as he can, “It’s just my brain, leaking memories from the Cage. Because of the Wall breaking down.”

**It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m okay.**

Lucifer looks amused and a bit too unbothered by that.

Sam bites his lip, snorts, “That’s all.” And then Sam makes as if he's going to walk past with a toss of his head. Like he can erase the feeling that this is simply his mind playing tricks.

Lucifer intercepts Sam’s exit midway. He knows Sam can tell that he’s not truly gone. He isn’t. He’s got his claws in him, even if Sam left. And Sam, on some level, can still feel that bond, that connection, even if he doesn’t know what it is he’s feeling.

But Lucifer sure seems solid enough.

“Mm, that’s all very good, your little theory,” Lucifer mocks, one hand held up to stop him before both reach out, maximize all the space Lucifer can take up, “It’s wrong,” Lucifer assures, hands folding together again, “Sam. This isn’t you going guano. Everything else is.” Lucifer continues, fingers spinning as if the whole world is one big joke.

“What?” Sam interrupts him, then looks around as if that will change anything.

Sam shivers with grace. Feel the ice reaching out.

It’s so cold.

Lucifer doesn’t touch him yet, though, as much as he wants to. He intends to draw this out until the best time to rip the band-aid off presents itself.

“Everything.” Lucifer enunciates, then adds, “From the second you sprung out of that lockbox.”

“That’s impossible.” Sam argues, tries to keep himself from falling apart. He still thinks this is all inside his head, poor thing. It’s not.

“No, escaping was impossible.” Lucifer answers, matter-of-fact, then he smacks his lips together, adding, “I have to say, I think this is my best torture yet. Make you believe that you’re free and then,” Lucifer presses his lips together and swipes his hand across his neck, and Sam flinches much too quickly, “Yank the wool from your eyes.”

Lucifer drinks Sam expression in like he can never get enough, because he can’t. His hand remains a fist even as it falls, and Sam swallows as Lucifer adds, “You never left, Sam. You’re still in the Cage.”

Sam swallows as Lucifer winks, and he concludes, “With me.”

Then Lucifer decides to let Sam feel how real he is. Because his soul is still ripe for the taking, is still as pliable as always. It’s like trying to hold Sam through fistfuls of sand, for Lucifer, but something is always better than nothing.

“You’re not real,” Sam denies as Lucifer chokes Sam against the wall, his feet dangling and kicking out uselessly. Lucifer’s grip tightens.

_Again with the denial. Don't you ever get tired of it, Sammy?_

“Right,” He hisses, nodding as if Sam is particularly dense, one hand waving out blurrily in front of Sam’s face both to illustrate his point and track how close Sam is to passing out, “You think this fruitbag fever dream is reality. You come back, I’m sorry, with no soul, like some peppy American Psycho, ‘til Saint Dean glues you back together again?”

Black starts creeping into Sam’s vision.

“By buying you some magic amnesia?” Lucifer’s voice echoes far away, and then the pressure is gone and Sam is released and he gasps down air in his too-bruised throat, one hand catching the wall so he doesn’t fall. Sam collects himself, keeps himself as close to the wall as possible, anything to increase the foot of space between him and the Devil.

Lucifer regards him, not amused anymore.

“You’re real. I’m very real.” Lucifer assures, and Sam takes in more air, keeps heaving, as Lucifer’s arms gesture around. “Everything between is what we call set dressing.”

“No.” Sweat starts dripping down Sam’s forehead.

“You’re still in my cell. You’re my bunkmate, buddy,” Lucifer counters with a smile, and his voice deepens, grows closer to his True Voice that Sam could stomach but that Lucifer would still sometimes use to break his eardrums, the tone too low and keening, until it eases. “You’re my little bitch, in every sense of the term.”

_Aren’t you, Sam? Want me to remind you?_

Sam looks down, desperate to do anything but encourage this.

“Sam. Sam.” Lucifer croons, face inching closer.

And then Dean’s voice breaks through and Sam recoils from his touch.

Lucifer lets Sam have those moments of clarity.

It will help sell the game faster.

\--

Sam next wakes up to Lucifer’s whisper mixing up with Dean’s.

_“Hey, wake up sunshine. Up and at ‘em, atom man. Sammy. Sammy.”_

And Sam jolts awake, too hyper-aware of himself and the world careening out of control around him.

Lucifer was on top of him, until he wasn’t, and Sam… Sam doesn’t want to think about it. (Meanwhile, Lucifer only wishes he was close enough to touch, but such is the cruel reality of life.)

Then Dean gives Sam water and protein and Bobby fills him in on what’s what, until Dean says his piece, alludes to the truth’s Sam isn’t eager to address, adding, “And do not say okay.”

Sam gives his answers.

Lucifer will hand it to him, he certainly is very blasé about going crazy. Tries to keep a handle on things long after he should have long since given up. But that’s Sam, for you. Always fighting. Always going, like a particularly desperate energizer bunny.

\--

Dean slams the glass on the books on the table, a muted, punctuated sound.

“What the Hell, Sam.” It’s not a question.

“I told you.” Sam answers.

“I mean, seriously. How do you argue with that?” Dean asks, rhetorical.

“I know. It’s a problem.” Sam agrees with a shrug of his shoulders. He’s not sure what else he can do.

Lucifer is just sitting there. Intent. Waiting.

“No, wait, I got it.” Dean starts in, “Why would the Devil holodeck you a whole new life when he could just kick your ass all over the Cage?”

“Because… as he puts it,” Sam starts, and then Lucifer and him are speaking in unison, “You can’t torture someone who has nothing left for you to take away.”

Lucifer, perched as he is, points and grants Sam a conspiratorial whisper, “Very good, Sam.” Then shoots him another wink.

Sam swallows. At least he isn’t close. Isn’t doing other things.

Dean keeps talking, keeps trying to reason this away.

Lucifer cups a hand to his mouth, as if hiding his words away. “It had to be a mess, Sam. Or you wouldn’t believe it was your life.” And he winks again, nods knowingly, points so Sam knows to relay the message.

Sam swallows and stares again.

“Wait, are you seeing him right now?”

Sam nods. His eyes burn.

“You know that he’s not real, right?” Dean asks, desperate.

Sam isn’t able to keep his eyes off Lucifer, who looks like he might just rise from the chair to prove Dean wrong.

Sam’s eyes flick back and forth, blinking, before he turns back to Dean. The tears still don’t fall.

“He says the same thing about you.” Sam answers, his voice breaking. He looks at Dean as if he might have some way of fixing this. Of fixing something there is no fix for.

Lucifer rises from the chair anyway.

Sam cowers as he gets close once Bobby and Dean leave the room.

\--

“Just okay?” Lucifer asks, as Sam hangs up the phone, after his false reassurances he’s doing better than he is. Lucifer slams down the knife he had been fiddling with, the sound too loud and promising. “Man, I’m having a great day.”

And then he’s walking closer, until he’s breathing down Sam’s neck.

Sam isn’t sure if he’s going to be skinned or fucked or merely kissed while alone in here.

He just keeps telling himself it’s not real.

\--

Lucifer wields the poker like a golf club as Sam tries to talk him out of existing.

“Okay, if this is some dream, and you got power over it, why don’t you just end it?” Sam demands, arms out. He gave up on fear temporarily to give anger a try. Means Lucifer is getting closer to where he needs to lead Sam to go.

“End it?” Lucifer mirrors him, only his hands are bent akimbo on his waist. “This? You not knowing what’s real,” And Lucifer wiggles his fingers, sends one arm slowly down, “The paint slowly peeling off your walls, come on, man. This is the sweet spot. Why would I end it?”

_You are right where I need you to be._

And then takes the poker and pretends to swing. “It’s not like we got HBO in the pit. All I got is you, floating over the coals with half a hope that you’re gonna figure it all out.”

Not entirely untrue. The Cage is lonely and boring without him.

Only this time Sam isn’t going to know the real deal, because Lucifer doesn’t need to let him know the whole truth. He’s with Lucifer, sure. Lucifer is very real, in his own way, even if he’s not out of prison. And Lucifer is still amazed this last ditch effort worked, after Sam was ripped away from him so drastically all over again, soul and body reunited again.

He knows it’s not Sam’s fault that he got abducted. That it was entirely outside of Sam’s control. But Lucifer will make him pay for leaving him alone down there, after all the chances he gave Sam to the contrary. And because he’s the only one who can pay for it right now. Besides, it’s not like Sam didn’t sign up for this when he fell. He can’t complain.

So, Lucifer can say it’s purely business, getting Sam to send himself back down again.

Lucifer knows Sam’s only got one surefire ticket back into the pit. But he’s got to do it his own damn self, because the grace slipping around inside Sam is only a tether allowing Lucifer a way to talk, a way to poke at Sam’s soul like he’s there. But Lucifer still can’t make Sam do anything. Sam has to end it all himself.

There’s no way for Sam to siphon the grace out of himself even if he had an idea of how much was coiled inside him, but Lucifer sure as Hell can use it. Can make Sam feel as if he’s with him, near him, even if it’s barely enough for Lucifer to slake his thirst for what he needs.

Those are just the temporary details, though. Once Sam bites the dust, it’s only a matter of time before big brother runs down to Hell to rescue him. And after that, Lucifer can make his escape with Sam in tow.

And if there is no rescue, well… Then he’ll have Sam back with him, where he belongs, and Lucifer wins, either way.

Lucifer straightens, serious at Sam’s expression. “There’s only one way to figure it out, Sam. It’s up to you.” Lucifer points with the poker, then points again. He smiles a bit too sharply. “It ends when you can’t take it anymore.”

Sam shakes his head, throat too tight. Lucifer watches his throat bob and almost wants to reach out and touch Sam, touch what belongs to him, but he doesn’t. He has to be patient and measured about this. Has to wear Sam down so Sam plays himself when the time comes.

Lucifer turns to the other table across the room, tone too light. “I think maybe that’s why we’re cleaning our guns.”

“Shut up.” Sam demands, and then the rage sets in, and he yells, as if that might scare him off. “I said shut up!”

And then Bobby arrives on the scene.

Lucifer keeps having his fun regardless.

\--

Not all the things Sam sees are actually Lucifer. Some of them are genuine hallucinations.

Most of them aren’t.

Lucifer will admit, he did a good job getting Sam halfway there. The rest is all Sam in all his glory, all the things he knows he should have never left behind. Because he’s Lucifer’s, and Lucifer is everything Sam needs, and Sam promised Lucifer he’d stay.

Lucifer knows why Sam is fighting so hard. That’s Sam, for you.

It will make it so much more rewarding when Sam falls all over in again.

And then Lucifer will tell Sam the truth. That he really made it out, but that he knows Sam missed the real thing so much that he just couldn’t stay away. It will bring out the best in Sam, Lucifer knows it. Besides, why else would he think Lucifer is a coping mechanism for hallucinations if he didn’t miss him?

In the meantime, Lucifer has his fun. Makes Sam see all the things he’d do to the world and the people and the family around him. That’s the price for making Sam leave and ripping him out of Lucifer’s hands.

\--

And Lucifer has the trap set, ready to spring. He’s gotta say, Sam’s been letting him take the lead real fast. It’s almost like he knows, on some level. Like he wants to go back just as bad as Lucifer wants to make him.

Lucifer allows himself to believe it. He knows how Sam feels when Lucifer has him right where he wants him.

Besides, he’s doing Sam a favor, really. Leviathans are nothing he should be tangling with. Best to keep Sam safe in Hell, where he belongs until Lucifer drags them both out again.

Still. Lucifer has a schedule to keep. Has to get this done.

And even if he hates the face, well, Dean is the best way to do it.

“Dealing? I mean, how can you deal? You think this is an office building, right?” Dean starts in, caustic. “Sorry, wrong.”

The sight Sam sees changes on Lucifer’s whim. Shows Sam the truth, for once.

“Where the Hell are we?” Sam asks, off balance.

“Oh, you think I’m Dean. Right.” And then Dean morphs into Lucifer, as casual as can be. “You poor, clueless son of a bitch.”

_You really have no idea how much, Sam. It’s like you’re making this easy for me._

“Stay the Hell away from me.” Sam answers, backing away before he turns his back on the Devil, however ill-advised that might be.

_Oh, Sam. You act like running ever changes anything. You should know not to turn your back on me._

Lucifer follows slowly, voice exacting as he hollers. “Your world is whatever I want it to be, understand?”

_Like it always is._

“Just leave me alone,” Sam yells and turns, shoots a few rounds for good measure. They don’t make a dent. After all, Lucifer isn’t physically there.

“Now we’re getting there.” And Lucifer appears behind Sam, who turns to face him. “Pinocchio’s seeing his strings.”

_Look how well I play them, Sam. You come apart so willingly._

“Shut up.” Sam says too quickly.

“It’s the big crescendo.” Lucifer taunts, not giving any ground.

“I said SHUT UP!” And there it is. Sam’s breaking point.

Lucifer appears behind Sam again. Time to go in for the kill. Literally and otherwise.

“Want to point that gun at someone useful? Try your face.” Lucifer answers and he steps closer. Sam can’t get away even if he tried. Lucifer’s grace pulls him in, caresses him, gives Sam the moment he’s been waiting for.

“You want to know the truth? You want to skip to the last page of the book?” Lucifer mimes a gun to head, his voice a hiss all over again. “You know where to aim, cowboy.” And then he makes a choking sound like a cocked gun going off.

_Then I will let you rest, Sam. I know you want to, so, so bad._

Sam’s eyes flicker around the room.

And then Dean’s actual voice echoes. “Sam? Sam?”

Lucifer moves to Sam’s side as Dean wanders through the door. He had hoped to shake big brother off. Still. He can get Sam to cave. Might even get two for the price of one, if Sam is pushed enough.

“Oh, look, another me.” And Lucifer is Dean again.

“Sam, what are you doing?” Dean by the door asks, and Sam raises the gun.

“Whoa, whoa!” Dean exclaims, hands up.

“I thought I was with you, Dean?” Sam pleads. Lucifer loves the sound, loves the tremor and the barely held in feelings Lucifer can practically taste. Sam is so lost and helpless. Good thing it’s Lucifer’s job to get Sam up to speed.

“Okay.” Dean’s voice is higher, before he settles himself. Lucifer is almost impressed he manages. “Well, here I am.”

“No, no, I don’t, I-” Sam stutters, looks to his side where Lucifer has changed back, “I can’t know that for sure. You understand me?”

_You can, Bunk Buddy. I own everything you are. I’m telling you how it is. And your world is shaped by what I want to show you. Understand?_

Dean is placating, swallows. “Okay, then we’re gonna have to start small.”

Sam looks down, lowers the gun.

“I don’t remember driving here.” He whispers.

Lucifer interrupts, opportunistic, “Well, that’s because I drove.”

Doesn’t touch him, no matter how much he wants to. Sam needs careful handling now.

Sam looks back at him. Starts to get drawn back in.

_What, do you look like you’re in any state to drive anywhere, Sam? Please._

“You thought,” Lucifer adds, then turns to Dean, one hand cupped to his face. “Sam is very suggestible.”

He sends over a stab of grace, of feeling, tries to feel make Sam feel as if he’s all over him again.

Sam inhales, raises the gun, and shoots Lucifer where he stands.

**I’m not I’m not I’m NOT-**

_Oh, but you are, sweetheart. You love letting me take the lead. You beg for whatever I give you, and then you join in whenever I ask._

**You made me-**

_I didn’t do anything you didn’t ask for, and you love being directed, Sam. Always have._

There we go. Breaking point breached. Now to bring it all home.

_Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You know I only speak the truth. And you are so damn submissive when you want to be. And then you ask so nicely, it’s like you want me to get away with murder. And don’t even get me started on that tongue of yours... Mm, when you use it right, its heaven. Better, even. You just need some careful handling and then you never disappoint._

Sam almost caves.

But then Dean interrupts, untimely and just as determined as Lucifer. He somehow calms Sam down, starts talking about pain and what’s real.

Lucifer will kill him where he stands, for ruining this. He was so close. Just a little more and he would have toppled, would have joined Lucifer back in the Cage where he belongs.

The rage throws Lucifer off his game. And the next thing he knows, they’ve gone off script, and there’s a hand digging into Sam’s open wound.

Lucifer flickers.

_No._

“We’ve done a lot more with pain.” Lucifer says, gunning for the last straw.

“This is different, right?” Dean asks as he tries to drown Lucifer out. “Than the crap that’s tearing at your walnut? I’m different, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Sam gasps, holding on for dear life.

“You sure about that, Bunk Buddy?” Lucifer asks. He’s losing ground and he knows it and if he could he would break something. Sam can’t erase the grace but he can make the link weaker, and Lucifer didn’t expect him to find that solution any time before Lucifer got him to crack.

“Sam.” Dean says again.

“Doesn’t mean anything.” Lucifer says and flickers again as Sam digs a finger into his bleeding palm. If he can trick Sam, that’s what matters. If he plays it cool, Sam won’t catch on.

“Hey.” Dean says, “I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay? I’m the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real time. You got away. We got you out, Sammy.”

“Sammy, Sammy.” Lucifer cuts in, “I’m the only one who can-”

Lucifer feels the connection shimmer as he flickers away, but the grace still ticks on, keeps flowing.

_Give you what you need. Your life is mine, Sam. And I can and will bring you to your knees._

“Believe in that.” Dean pleads, so certain. “Believe me, okay. You got to believe me. You got to make it stone number one and build on it. You understand?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Yeah. Agree.” Because he can’t get out sentences, he can’t even think, but despite that, despite everything, Lucifer is forced to leave Sam alone just as the phone rings.

\--

Inside the Cage, Lucifer howls. Hell itself quakes from the reverb of it.

Sam is his. Only his.

And Sam would pay for this, for not caving. For not taking the way out Lucifer oh-so-kindly offered him. He was almost there. So close. And then Dean had to ruin it all over again.

But it’s fine. It is. Lucifer can revise the plan. So Sam doesn't think he's in the Cage anymore. Fine. He can work with that.

He’d just have to make Sam feel even more. That’s all. Will have to up the ante.

And when Sam can’t physically keep himself going, well…

Then Lucifer will have him back again. It will be like he never left.

It's not like Sam can hold him off forever.

\--

Finding Jeffery and the last case brings a lot back. Nora Havelock and Lilith and other things Sam would try not to focus on, but hey, Lucifer is still showing up more often than not, and he's the worst of it all, so not much Sam can do. And Lucifer isn't able to do the same things, and Sam ignores what he can, but at least Sam is sleeping.

Sam is fine. He is. He's dealing.

And thinking about Jeffery, how he wanted them to get the demon out of him... Possession and all of it and how Jeffery let them hurt him to get what needed to be done, to get it over with...

Sam would try to not think about it, but they have a case and he needs to stay focused, but it's a copycat killer, same ritual mutilations, and that makes him think about Brady, about the past, about Lucifer, except he's not, he won't...

It's all too much like Lucifer, though.

"Good and evil," Jeffery's demon liked to talk about in the past. As did Lucifer.

_What's good, Sam, is what makes us happy and lets us live our lives. And you make me happy. Therefore, you're good. And I make you happy. So I'm good, too._

Sam isn't thinking about it he's not.

Gets distracted by Lucifer commenting on their motel accommodations instead.

"It's nice." Lucifer snipes with a shrug, voice all nasal until it goes deep and flat. "Kind of like a men's room with beds."

_Not like what I'd bring you to, though. Remember those cleaner, less puke yellow, more five-star accommodations? Or four-star, since you'd get alllll self conscious. Bed's were so much nicer, though._

Lucifer keeps talking and Sam banishes him with his hand as best he's able.

Lucifer himself is real tired of the hand thing.

Dean keeps gabbing on the phone about Dick Roman, and the Leviathans infiltrating the luxury boat industry.

What is it with giant evil assholes and fancy-schmancy places, either? Crowley, Dick Roman, Lucifer...

Sam gives Dean the low-down on the case since he's been distracted. They aren't sure how their old demon got out, Dean's especially out of shape about it, but Sam is too worn out to worry. Whatever the reason, he's out.

And it's not like things haven't gotten out before.

Long as it ain't Lucifer himself rising up from the Cage...

And Sam won't think about it, he won't.

He's too terrified, and Lucifer would eat him alive, and Sam's not in the Cage, Dean had proved it, and he got out...

Except maybe that's why Lucifer is so damn loud and lonely and bored and bothering and needling and talking to Sam all the time because that's what he does. Even as a figment of his unconscious, apparently, because he'd been doing that for forever.

God, Sam misses Castiel. He's fucking pissed at what he did, but he misses their friend. He might know how to fight of subconscious memories of an Archangel and self-inflicted eternal torment for throwing the Devil back in not-solitary.

And Sam doesn't miss _him_. He doesn't. Really. He's not lonely out of sheer memory of how Lucifer would always be with him, was always next to him, was half the time always inside him _(except when he wasn't when he was nothing in the darkness floating without any senses like a paralyzed blind and deaf and limbless entity with no skin or nerves to sense anything until Lucifer came back and took him back and everything was okay, everything was good and safe and Sam didn't have to cry or scream any more because Lucifer has him, he's okay, he can breathe)_ and he doesn't remember 7,500 years with him and he doesn't remember all the other things that happened and all the things Lucifer made him do and all the things Lucifer did to him and the things Sam did for Lucifer, for Lucifer's love and praise and to avoid the pain and the torture until Lucifer made Sam suffer all over again because _he deserved it, he did this to them both, it's his fault, he needs to make up for what he did and stay sharp for Lucifer, for himself, for when they both got out (except they were never getting out, Sam made sure, but couldn't say that to Lucifer until he did and then Lucifer would get so angry)_ , and he doesn't remember loving him and wanting him despite the fear and hate and pain and...

Sam isn't going back ever. He's not. And Lucifer isn't really there, isn't still inside him.

Sam is fine.

And he's got unfinished business they both need to handle, and he makes sure Dean knows what is what.

Dean agrees to the case.

And it's another night and day, Lucifer curling up next to Sam in the damn motel bed, whispering in his ear _goodnight, Sam_ , nose almost touching Sam's face and breaths almost ghosting over Sam's lips as he stares at him, eyelashes blinking, blue eyes intent, voice all quiet, body not taut at all, not saying anything, and Sam would banish him from curling up there but he misses a body next to him because he's scared of what happens when one isn't there, even though this isn't the Cage, it's not, Sam doesn't need anyone next to him, but Lucifer isn't there so it doesn't matter, he's not real and he's quiet and it's fine...

The radio goes off and Sam's awake and Lucifer isn't next to him now, no, he's perched on top of him, kissing Sam's forehead, and Sam jams his thumb into his palm until he's not there again.

Sam is fine.

When he gets to the bathroom, Lucifer lurks behind him, eyeing him up and down in the bathroom mirror, and Sam pointedly does not look at the shower or the tub and just washes himself with a damn facecloth.

Lucifer lays back in the Impala on the way over to the crime scene, pointing out license plates and singing and humming and saying, "Gee, ain't it a beautiful day, Sammy? Would be so much more beautiful if I could see those two lips of yours gabbing away, actually responding to me, your one and only." He says, too wistfully, and Sam turns up the radio and stares out the window once he runs out of things to say to Dean.

Sam ignores the phantom hand squeezing his shoulder and mussing his hair from the backseat and doesn't twitch or try to brush it off because then Dean might suspect something.

If Dean notices anything, he lets it go.

Sam does stab his hand when he feels slight stubble and breaths ghosting on his neck. Lucifer doesn't get a chance to kiss him or whisper anything.

Not even a: _You miss me. I know you do. Even after everything, I know you love me and want to come back. It's not easy, re-acclimating, when you've gotten so old and the world has barely moved on. 7,000 years in a blink of an eye... And always a new challenge, a new fight. Why pretend you don't want to rest? Come back. I'll be so good to you, Sam. You promised me forever. And I will keep that promise. Just like you will, too. No tapping out on me. Just let yourself fall back down, and I'll go easy. I miss you._

Sam isn't listening he isn't and he's fine.

Lucifer isn't nearly as patient when they get to the crime scene. He's bored and he wants to get Sam alone somewhere, anywhere.

But he will be helpful, since Sam can't remember the damn detective's name.

_See, Sam, I'm helping. It's Sutton. I know it all, remember? Was rocking around that noggin' of yours for so long. Don't you miss that, too?_

Sam tries to ignore how Lucifer is staring him down, not indulgent now like he was in the car, just rapt attention that promises pain and hurt and creativity borne out of boredom and whatever else Sam's hallucination must feel because it's just Sam imagining him, that's all.

It doesn't matter how real he looks or feels or anything or how Sam could swear he can feel the breaths freezing out of his mouth, although that could just be how cold it is, since it is cold out. Still. There's a reason they haven't hunted ghosts aside from the Leviathans, too. Sam isn't good with them, not as much, even if they are easy pickings.

They can sneak up too easy on him, as Dean and Sam learned the hard way a few months back.

Anyway. Not Lucifer was always nicer the less people were around. Would tolerate Dean and liked hotels and the cars and beds and bathrooms... Other places, less so. Sam had too many other distractions.

Sam ignores Lucifer sticking his tongue out from behind them as they keep looking at the reopened crime scene.

_Come on, Sam. Just look at me. Please._

Sam ignores Lucifer at his back, at the arm loped around his shoulder, at the hand-that-isn't-there poking at the residue of the glass inside the trunk...

And Lucifer isn't going to stab Sam with it, he isn't, although he does hold up a shard to Sam's eye, then grazes it against Sam's throat, voice cooing, "Come on, Sam, just take it and jab it in your neck and I'll be back with you again. One sharp stabby-stab. Please? For me?"

Then Lucifer is kissing Sam again and Sam clenches his fist and Sam instead notices the sulfur on the car and trails a hand over it and ignores Lucifer dropping the glass down to feel Sam up, hugging him from behind, and points out the evidence to Dean, also ignoring Lucifer's arms settling on his waist, voice in his ear, "Oh, fine, Sam. Leave me hanging. But at least let me get you alone."

Sam and Dean head back into the Impala to go back and talk to Nora, following their leads.

 _Good enough._ Lucifer sighs, and Sam ignores him, crouched at his feet under the dashboard, poking Sam's leg with his knee, head leaning against Sam's inner thigh where his knee bends, wings like unfettered sails collapsed against his spine. Lucifer tries to hold Sam's hand. Sam lets him.

Long as Lucifer doesn't try anything, Sam won't banish him like that. He hates all the dual feelings, abandonment and want and need and hate and fear and revulsion and disgust and shame and pain, so much pain, but at least it's not adrenaline right now, at least it's not the raw fear of _don't make me come over there, Sam,_ or, _That's it, Sammy, you keep going, prove how much you love me, dive right in, let me see how far you'll go to prove it,_ as Sam hurts himself, flays himself alive or crucifies himself or walks into a bathtub whose liquid makes him corrode, calves and toes first then everything else, or _That's it, sing for me, just like_ _that_ , as Lucifer fucks Sam as violently as possible and Sam sobs for him to keep going because not doing so only leads to worse things.

No. Long as he is silent and not touching Sam in other ways, Sam is safe, and long as Lucifer is not saying anything and not doing anything Sam will ignore him like he's been ignoring him and he will be fine.

Sam will be fine and he will get through this and he got out and he. is. fine.

When they talk to Nora, Dean doesn't remember Jeffery. They've gone through too many cases and people and it blurs.

Only reason Sam remembers is because Lucifer made him list out all the demons and their hosts he ever ganked in the Cage for a while. As a memory game. With consequences if Sam forgot.

Sam keeps on ignoring Lucifer perched in Nora's windowframe, not looking at Sam, because he isn't touching him, and it's fine.

"Demon's tend to be sentimental, don't they?"

That makes Lucifer whip his head around, blue eyes glittering, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Sam freezes before he remembers he isn't real, he isn't.

_They're like their Creator like that, Sammy. As I'm sure you know. You could get awfully sentimental too, when you don't let Dean do all the driving. And you miss me driving the bus. I know it._

Sam presses into his hand and prays to Lucifer because there is no one else to pray to. Sam still hears Lucifer's laughter as he fades out again.

"Always go back to the same host if they can?" Nora asks.

Sam tries not to bite his lip so it bleeds, because he is fine, and he will appear to be fine, so he will talk.

"It's a start." Sam directs at Dean. He needs to move and keep moving and get back into a crowd of people so he doesn't feel Lucifer as close as he is, because it's still so damn cold even if Sam can't see him.

They manage to nab Jeffery and he's fine, albeit spooked.

Sam does his best to try and calm him down. Normally, he'd be able to smell the demon inside him, but he hasn't been able to do that either, because these days, half the time, all he smells is Lucifer (and Jess, since they smell fairly similar except for their shampoo), thanks to his brain. Sam's tired of that, too, it makes him slow on the uptake as Hell.

Sam apologizes about scaring the dog, too. (After he looks around, hears baying, hears Lucifer saying, "We always said I'd get one. What do you think, once I bust on out, you think I could get you a puppy of your own? You are a dog person. And I've made some real purebred breeds in my day. Top of the line...")

When they get back to Jeffery's haunts, Sam starts in, "Look, I know, uh, it must have been hard..."

And then Lucifer is right there, and he scoffs and shakes his head at Sam, "Do you even listen to yourself?"

Sam goes for his hand, but Lucifer fucks off without needing the extra incentive, this time. "Oh, don't bother." He grunts and waves a hand dismissively before he flickers out again.

_Your whole 'everything is fine' act is even starting to depress me, Sam. Me. But keep living in denial like you enjoy so often. We both know it won't last._

Sam is happy Dean is handling breaking the news because he's not sure how he would keep his voice level this second. Jeffery doesn't take it well.

"But he's supposed to be in Hell!" Jeffery panics. Sam tries not to recognize that same feeling in himself when he thought Lucifer got out.

_Like you, Sam. You're supposed to be there. With me._

"Jeffery, look, just please calm down." Sam asks, and tries to keep his body language as calm and gentle as possible, just like his voice. "Just have a seat, please."

Jeffery sits with Sam guiding him.

"I don't understand." He says.

Sam doesn't, either. He hasn't understood why things are the way they are a lot lately.

But that's not why they are here. They are here about the case.

It's just another case.

Sam can do this.

And Sam assures Jeffery, "We're here now. And if he comes after you, we'll nail him just like we did last time."

_Keeping them safe the way you'll never be._

Then Jeffery is mentioning lists, and Sam isn't thinking of the Rules, of the other lists he knows, as Jeffery says, "The demon used to recite it all the time, like a grocery list. He burned it in my head..."

_Like I made you memorize all our lessons, Sam. Enochian A, B, Cs. Or the rules. And everything else. All those sins you keep under wraps, until you go to confessional for me._

Sam latches on to the last thing Jeffery says, what matters for the case. "He already had his victims chosen?"

_Too premeditated for you, Sammy? Too much foreplay? Too much thought going into the steps, one after the other, like Azazel and my children worked out for you, the dominoes all falling down?_

Lucifer leans over Sam's shoulders, hands massaging them, slow and steady, and Sam doesn't crick his neck, doesn't flinch, only swallows oh-so-slightly.

Jeffery explains the rest of the list, and Dean asks the other question.

"Why? Demons aren't usually into the obsessive serial-killer crap. You know, they're more just kind of all-around evil. Why would he do this?" Dean muses.

Sam makes a face at Dean, as lost as he is.

Jeffery supplies, "He said it was his job."

_The plot thickens. Color me almost intrigued. Still. Dean always said that was reserved for me. What did he call me back at Bobby's? Not-Quite-Norman Bates on steroids? Trying to catch you in the shower to make you jump and scream, although I like the other screams you make, Sammy. Music to my ears._

It's easier to ignore Lucifer when Sam just hears his whispering grace. Aside from the Cage, he'd been drowning that out even since Lucifer got out the first time. He's a veteran at it, by now.

Sam goes to check up on Marjorie Willis.

Dean stays with Jeffery.

Sam makes his way to the library. Lucifer dogs him each step of the way, happy that he's got Sam alone again.

_Maybe I can press you up against the side of an alley and give you a quickie? Would that make you talk, Sam? What does a guy have to do to get some love? Or are you trying to pretend this is like all those times I took you among the bookshelves? You craving that change of scenery?_

Sam walks into the library. Lucifer leans out from over his shoulder.

"You're right, we just don't read anymore."

_Want me to read to you? This your way of asking for break time? Or you thinking about Stanford, all the mischief we got up to after hours... studying?_

Sam doesn't engage.

_Oh, fine, I'll play ball. You got your eyes on the prize. But I expect some incentives afterwards._

Lucifer points out the girl. "Marjorie Willis. Librarian. Indoor Gardening Enthusiast. Our demon's next organ donor."

Sam tries not to look at Lucifer as they keep walking on through. Notices how he's scooching ever close, closing the gap with wider strides. Sam walks faster.

Then he sits, finds a vantage point to keep an eye out.

Lucifer sits in front of his line of vision. Sam tries to see past him. Lucifer leans in front of his field of view again.

Sam tries two more times.

Lucifer sighs and gives Sam a look promising quiet mischief. His eyes are still dead and purposeful.

Lucifer leans forward, hands up, and Sam can see Nick's ring glinting as Lucifer's voice washes on over, all impatient and demanding and getting an edge to it but not breaking quiet calm yet. "Come on, Sam. Talk to me. It's been months."

Sam doesn't look at him and shifts in his seat. Then he looks past him anyway to see the librarian, or pretends to, but his eyes are the Devil and they both know it.

Lucifer crosses his arms and keeps staring him down.

Sam doesn't say a word, and eventually turns to reading the reports.

Lucifer reads with him, pretending cooperation.

It doesn't last.

"Average annual rainfall, Hackberry, Texas..." Lucifer's bored drone trails off.

Lucifer tosses the book to the side.

Sam almost flinches at the movement but covers for the moment, still not looking at Lucifer head on, instead looking at the librarian as she wheels her cart away.

Lucifer makes Sam see people bash their own heads in, the violence of it jarring and bloody and making Sam flinch and _there's_ the adrenaline he's been trying to keep down inside his throat, rising up anyway.

Lucifer leans in closer and gives Sam a thin-lipped grin, too watchful, eyes too bright. Sam keeps looking around and not at him although he wants to curl in on himself, Lucifer can see his spine arching...

Sam does meet his eyes, does have that jump in his throat, tries to keep still but jerks anyway because his eyes almost glaze over and he almost forgets this isn't really real, and Sam jams his fingers into his palm, face scrunching as he tries to make himself bleed if it will call Lucifer off.

Sam gasps and Lucifer flickers and everyone is fine, because it wasn't real. It's not.

Lucifer shows back up after Sam heaves in two breathes, still right in his line of vision.

"Come on, Sam. Pay attention to me." Lucifer whines, flailing a bit with his hands in between his legs, almost like a parody of almost getting himself off even with his jeans on, guiding Sam's gaze too close to his fly, like an invitation Sam didn't ask for. "I'm bored."

Sam looks against from his hands and doesn't meet his gaze and doesn't let the fear of Lucifer making Sam go down on him get far because he **isn't** real. He isn't.

Sam looks to the left and then rolls his head to eye the guy eyeing where the librarian went. His eyes narrow and his jaw clicks and he tries to focus on them, not Lucifer playfully frowning at him.

Lucifer looks where Sam looks, then back at Sam with side-eyes. "Civil war buff?" Like he's trying to be helpful.

Sam follows the guy, the maybe-demon.

He spies him and the librarian making out over the shelves and promptly retreats. Kissing is not safe. Neither is making out. Neither is a library.

_If only that were you and me right now, Sam, I'd be so thrilled. One way to stave off boredom._

Sam tries not to feel Lucifer breathing down his neck and the one hand that isn't really there cupping his ass, but when Sam violently turns Lucifer backs off and gives him space like he isn't a menace, even as a hallucination.

Sam goes back to his seat in front and tries to get ahold of Dean.

Sam can't avoid seeing those two again when the guy is kissing the librarian back at her desk. Lucifer stays behind Sam, standing, hand mussing up his own hair.

Lucifer sighs, making a face that Sam pretends he didn't glance at because he isn't looking at him because he isn't real.

"I'm pretty sure this guy's the boring sort of chubby chaser," Lucifer groans.

Sam dials Dean again. "Dean, where are you?" Sam's tired voice sounds like gravelly exhaustion as he keeps going, "I'm scoping zero out here."

He can still feel Lucifer staring him down, the hairs of the back of his neck raised and gooseflesh prickling up his spine even though he's not going to engage, he's not...

Sam can still see him from the edge of his peripheral vision.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and cups a hand near his mouth, cooing, "Not a good sign." The hand curls into his fist by his chin.

And then Lucifer is closer and he is almost right on top of Sam but he doesn't touch his shoulders, just leans in close enough for Sam to just barely graze contact, both hands nestling in his pockets instead.

Lucifer frowns as he looks over Sam's shoulder at the papers Sam is studiously trying to read to pretend Lucifer isn't there. Then he gets an idea.

"Hmm." Lucifer grunts. "Surprised you haven't picked up on that yet." Lucifer starts walking around the table, away from Sam, not touching, not close enough to touch, anymore.

Sam's eyes dart to him and back.

Lucifer's drawl keeps going, "It's right..." And Lucifer inhales a quick breath, pointing, expression too rapt, "There in the coroner's report."

And Lucifer sits opposite Sam again, this time to the side, angled, not straight on, eyes still too intent and face still too drawn and lips still together.

Sam turns the report over to where Lucifer is talking. Lucifer savors the smallest of wins.

"Yeah. Uh-huh." Lucifer's voice is gentle, but Sam still sees his eyes glued to him, sees the quirk of his not-a-smile there and the shadows setting his face into sharp relief, the sockets of his eyes looking deeper and more skull-like than usual. "In this latest round of killings, our big girls had traces of heavy tranquilizers in their blood."

Lucifer pokes the paper meaningfully as he talks, head almost tilting in that angel way, but only moving slightly at each emphasized word instead, the frown melting off his features for blankness and a hint of curious indulgence.

Lucifer keeps talking as Sam thinks, sees the same thing he does, because Lucifer is a figment of his own brain, that's all.

"Yeah, but our demon's strong enough to make Fat Betty do whatever he wants to, right? So..." And Lucifer's tone goes from soft and helpful and kind to getting an edge of insincere sarcasm Sam knows, too, more nasal in sound. "Why does he need the tranqs?" Lucifer frowns again, eyebrows raised, then his expression turns into a half-smile as he jokes, "Think he's got a bad back?"

Lucifer crosses an arm over as Sam looks up at the librarian and her... friend.

"Whatever is going on here," Lucifer adds, "You know that demon's not coming back to kill anybody."

Lucifer trails off, eyes narrowing, expression too knowing and too close.

Sam tries Dean's phone again, swallowing and taking another too sharp inhaling breath.

"Oh, no." Lucifer fake sympathizes, expression morphing to look appropriately contrite, lip twisted, although his teeth are slightly bared because Lucifer can't quite keep the glee and the twisting knife and the bitter aggression towards Dean off his face, no need to. "That's every cellphone Dean's got. One of them should've picked up, right?"

A muscle twitches in Sam's jaw as he swallows again and his eyes dart aimlessly. Then Lucifer goes in for what he knows will hurt, and doesn't change the cadence of his even, gentle monotone on purpose.

"Big brother's probably dead."

That gets Sam to look up and glare with too-wet eyes and spit out a gritted, "Shut up."

Lucifer's expression changes like a chameleon again, to flat blankness then almost hurt to pure joy as Sam gathers up his papers and bag and scrams, stalking off with too-heavy footsteps and barely contained fears.

Lucifer doesn't rise with him, just stares after him, then smiles to himself, tension loosening. "He said, 'shut up' to me." Lucifer relishes, voice so soft.

The plan worked. Sam's letting him in, finally. It's been so, so, so long.

Lucifer doesn't need to rush to catch up. He'll just flicker along again wherever Sam ends up as he keeps walking...

He stays right on Sam's heels, and when Sam opens the door, he starts in again, Sam messing with the lock while Lucifer barges in, hands fidgeting and otherwise all bluster.

"That's what I'm talking about, Sam," Lucifer's too high, too triumphant voice croons, although it turns soft and wistful real fast. "Real interaction again. I miss that."

Sam doesn't want to close the door with Lucifer there but he has no choice and Lucifer. Isn't. Real.

He will just repeat that again and again to get through this.

Sam swallows and throws his head back as he shuts the door. Lucifer keeps talking.

"The rapier wit, the wittier rape." Lucifer adds, bouncing on his feet unevenly as Sam turns around. Lucifer gives Sam a sharp smile. "Come on." Lucifer chuckles as Sam tries to walk past him to survey the room, leaning forward then back again, like a concession, hands clasped together like an almost prayer. Lucifer's tone goes gentle and honest again, something Sam wishes he didn't remember but does as he pointedly kneels down to survey the room and still doesn't look directly at him, jaw clenched too tight as he checks under the bed.

"I'll be good." Lucifer promises. "I'll even help you solve your little Nancy Drew mystery or whatever." Lucifer's face turns almost helpful and invested the more Sam tears apart the room and the farther he gets from Lucifer's position.

Lucifer follows Sam over to the bedside table, Sam rummaging through everything on it.

"No note." Lucifer points out, lips pressed together, eyes bright, both hands pointing, like Lucifer is guiding a symphony. Sam still keeps him on the peripherals of his vision in case it takes a turn for the worse, because it always takes a turn for the worse with Lucifer, even if he's not real.

Sam unlocks the drawer an exhales.

"Hmm, a cellphone scrambler." Lucifer's voice trills a deeper noise as he keeps looking over Sam's shoulder. Then his voice becomes a gruff imitation of shock as he adds, "'But Luci, those are illegal!' Think, Sam." Lucifer crouches lower, head bowed. "Maybe this has something to do with Dean's telephone blackout."

Realization breaks over Sam and he keeps scrounging, trying to ignore what he suspects might be going on.

Lucifer watches Sam go to town. Quiet. Waiting.

Sam doesn't find what he tries to find and closes the drawer, hurrying past Lucifer to try another. He tries all of them.

Lucifer smiles and bites his nails, eyes glued to Sam's ass as he bends over.

Sam tries all the drawers. Lucifer taps on finger on his brow, other arm held across his stomach and snaked under his other bent elbow. _Think, Sam, I know you've got the answers right there._

Sam turns and thinks, expression hyperfocused on solutions, then he taps and checks for hidden compartments and hollow patches of wood.

Lucifer smiles at Sam's efforts and keeps enjoying the view.

Sam dumps out the entire drawer on the bed and finds another hidden on underneath.

Sam finds a spell.

"Hmm. Latin. Not suspicious at all." Lucifer comments, a bit too keen as he gives Sam a conspiratorial glance.

Sam looks at it, then down, then at Lucifer, eyes wide. He still looks scared and conflicted but mostly just scared of being alone and losing Dean.

_You need me, Buddy. Let me help you. Least I can do, right, while I'm here? Particularly if I'm just a manifestation of your grapefruit._

Sam tries not to flinch when he gives a nod and Lucifer claps him on the back, rubbing it gently before pulling away and not-touching Sam, like it's a game.

_Not touching you, not touching you, see...?_

Otherwise, Lucifer is the picture of a well-behaved angel, as much as he can be from there on out. Sam walks with him next to him, parallel, as Lucifer helps work this case.

"I've never seen this type of spell before." Sam admits.

"No." Lucifer answers, indulgent, instructive like he likes to get sometimes, "But you've seen the type."

Lucifer doesn't touch Sam, only keeps one arm behind his back, the other pointing at the spell in Sam's hand intermittently before falling to his side.

Lucifer smiles for a while, eyes never leaving Sam, drinking in his thought process as he keeps analyzing the paper.

He did miss Sam's trust. The reliance. Sam's natural knack for learning and listening and taking things in.

"Demon summoning... why?" Sam muses, teeth smiling in concentration.

"Why?" Lucifer parrots, and then his tone goes flat as he gestures and his face gets that look Jess would get when someone was being a bit too dense. "To summon a demon, jackass."

_You're smarter than that, Sammy. I know so._

Sam looks up for a second as if deciding to answer that, doesn't, and feels Lucifer almost touch him but not as he keeps pointing again.

"Start looking at who." Lucifer's tone goes back to being gentle and guiding, still instructive, hands once again touching his own face like they do so often until his fingers leave his chin and they curl over each other and Hell, Lucifer would do anything to press Sam into a wall right this minute and kiss him and fuck him senseless if he could.

Sam takes two shaky breaths and stops to look at Lucifer head on. Lucifer lowers his hand and stills, not wanting to spook him after all.

"Okay, what do you mean?" Sam finally asks, eye to eye with Lucifer, not scared, not flinching, not anything but desperate and needing answers (and missing Lucifer, his Lucifer before it all went wrong and he's not thinking about it, he's not).

Lucifer can feel his prayers singing in his head and wants to breathe them in. He doesn't.

"Look at the page." Lucifer points again, but he moves slow, deliberate, doesn't let any other muscle move out of place in case Sam stops feeling at ease.

Sam looks back at the piece of paper. Lucifer remains still, pure archangel, wishing Sam really was right next to him and watching his face and throat and eyes and curve of his lips and pulse jumping in his jaw so intensely... He wishes he could trace Sam's face, cup his jaw, really touch him...

But he can't. Because Sam is topside, and he is not.

Lucifer nurses the hurt and the anger and the abandonment and channels it into productivity and the need to help, because he does want to help Sam, he always does. And right now, Sam trusts him. And the possessive love he feels for Sam wells up and drowns out everything else, because Sam is still so perfect in every way, and he misses him so, so much.

Lucifer's eyes dart down to Sam's hands for a moment and then go back to his face, because he can't become overwhelmed by the sheer hunger and feelings he's trying to keep under control. He almost has Sam back in his clutches. He's been so damn patient. He can't fuck this up.

Realization dawns on Sam like the sun, hums in his soul like music, and Lucifer says his words at the same time Sam does, because he can hear him thinking them.

"I-"

"We-" 

"Know this handwriting." Sam says with Lucifer in unison.

Sam goes after Nora, a man on a mission.

Lucifer debates with himself in the meantime. If he can keep Sam's trust, Sam's interest, maybe he can get that congenial camaraderie back and get Sam to let him in more, maybe he can get Sam to willfully endanger and kill himself by accident on the wrong clues, the wrong help he thinks Lucifer is supplying...

The question is: Is Lucifer patient enough for that?

Lucifer knows himself and that answer is no. He's already impatient enough. Besides, that route seems a bit too dishonest. He'd still be helping Sam, getting him where he needs to go, but it doesn't have the same kick or the immediacy of Lucifer's other planned tactics.

So it's Plan A instead, once Lucifer has Sam right where he needs him.

Lucifer sits in a chair, hands behind his head, as Sam opens the door to his somber face and scopes out the room for Nora.

Lucifer shakes his head, like he doesn't see Nora right behind Sam, and Sam lowers his gun.

Nora hits Sam in the head and sends him to the floor.

Lucifer wouldn't want someone else hurting him, but he needs Sam to feel some sort of real punishment for taking so long to admit what he feels and just let Lucifer back in, since Lucifer knows he misses him so badly.

"Ay, caramba! Mi cabeza!" Lucifer exclaims and winces in faux-empathy as his face scrunches.

Sam rises with a groan and exhales, clutching his head. Nora goes for another hit and Sam dodges and catches her, reflexes as fast as Lucifer trained them to be. Sam releases her and she turns around and Sam holds up his hands.

"Nora, stop it!" Sam shouts, aggression in the order alone. "Calm down."

Sam forces his tone to become level again as he uncrumples the spell on the paper and points, although his tone becomes jagged and loud again by the end. "What is this? What is this? Why did Jeffrey have a demon summoning in your handwriting?"

Nora says something half incoherent about 'the way he planned it.'

"What plan?" Sam demands, leaning down, closer to her face.

"You can't help!" Nora gasps, shaking her head, eyes wet. "You can't change it."

Lucifer's tongue clicks at he swivels out of the chair and gives an order. "Hit her."

Sam keeps his voice level and guides her to sit on the couch. "Nora, tell me what is going on."

Lucifer interrupts, for once dead serious, "Sam, shake her up. She knows what happened to Dean." He gestures with emphasis with both hands, until his pointer finger ends up pointing with each word that follows. "Get this stupid cow to focus, will you?"

The light from the alley bathes his face in red, like the Cage.

Sam obeys without thinking. He crouches down to be level with Nora's head, gets in her face, finger pointing in her face, voice a guttural, raw growl that gets louder and faster. "Nora, listen to me. Whatever it is, you should be a lot more scared of me right now because I am two inches away from you, and I can make you talk." Sam bares his teeth in a snarl. "Do you understand me?"

Sam almost sounds like Lucifer does when Lucifer's fury is brought out to play.

Behind Sam, Lucifer nods, eyes showing all the entity buried underneath his flesh, and keeps drinking Sam in, proud and almost placated a little by Sam's show of almost-violence and obedience. If he was really there, topside, his wings would be out and basking Sam in their glow.

Nora cries, her voice barely audible as she answers, "It's my son."

Sam doesn't follow that at all, and his face twitches in confusion.

"He has my son," Nora gasps, all breathy, before she devolves into loud sobs.

"What were you thinking?" Sam hisses, backing up to his feet, all movement. "I mean, why would you even help bring back a demon in the first place?" Sam's every word is punctuated and angry and conveys contempt and exhaustion Lucifer so rarely ever sees him let out.

"Not the demon." Nora squeaks, looking back up at Sam. "Jeffery!"

Sam meets her gaze, as the reality of it all sets in.

Lucifer stays on his toes behind him, still watching Sam, still waiting. Still drinking him all in, grace singing all its bloody, wanting _glories_.

\--

Dean comes to after being tranquilized, tied up next to the one ear-less victim and not quite sure what the Hell happened.

"Jeffery?" He asks.

"Good. You're up." Jeffery calls as he feeds his dog, then rises to his feet and walks over.

"What happened? What's going on?" Dean slurs, still a bit out of it.

Jeffery's tone is terse as he walks to a table in front of Dean. "No one asked you to get involved. To save me. To save anyone."

"What?" Dean asks.

"Did you ever think that maybe I loved being possessed?" Jeffery posits as he drags the table closer. "Did you? I loved the connection. The power. And I loved him." Jeffery says as he looks at Dean full-on. "Love of my life, actually."

Dean looks at him in shock at first and tries not to think about that, but suddenly all he can think about is Sam, and Lucifer, and all of it, and he doesn't want to but with everything else going on, and the wall breakdown, and no Cas because of the fallout from that, and Sam's mental state, he can't really help himself.

Sam loved Lucifer. Still does, even if he doesn't want to, even if he's more terrified and beaten down than anything else. Even Dean can see it when he talks about him and doesn't want to. He avoids it for a reason. The closest they came to ever talking about it was some bad jokes Dean thinks were a mistake in hindsight and a quick not-quite-a-quip about group therapy with other battered spouses, and Sam shut that down real fast, so Dean never brought it up again.

And they all know how Lucifer feels about Sam. Saw that up close and personal. Even if it had been the most toxic love in the world, it was possessive, and lustful and needy and violent, and Lucifer honestly would only ever love Sam with that same angelic intensity and Dean knows it and would do anything not to have to know that fact at all.

That's why Sam is way more than not okay. But Dean can't talk about it, and Sam _won't_ talk about it, and Cas got all messed up and they've been focused on that, and the Leviathans, and other stuff instead in the meantime.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me." Dean says, closing his eyes.

"He liberated me." Jeffery adds as he starts his ritual. "Started me on my true life mission."

Only where Jeffery felt joy at his violence, at his mission, Sam felt fear and aversion and the need to stop it. Where Jeffery let it all in with open arms, Sam fought it tooth and nail. Their kind of love was in opposition. Jeffery more like Lucifer's brand of love than Sam's.

Where Jeffery was liberated, Sam was chained down.

Sam may have wanted power to carve out his own choices, to live, but he never wanted power at the cost of anyone else.

Lucifer was the opposite. He wanted power and dominion over others to break everything apart as he pleased. And he wanted to make Sam like it, too, wanted to have Sam just for himself.

"So you're the one with the thing for all those women." Dean interrupts, trying not to think about it. "Aren't you Jeffery? You're a serial killer."

"I was nothing before he found me." Jeffery corrects. "A shadow too scared to do what I was brought here to do. Too timid to live up to my true potential." The fire flares as Jeffery sets the bowl on fire.

And Dean won't think about Sam and all the other baggage there, every other demon who always acted like Sam just needed to let go and become their king and let Lucifer in, and he won't think about Azazel, and he won't think about Lucifer acting like he was making Sam into the best version of himself. Like he was all Sam needed to ever be happy.

Dean's real glad Sam's not here right now, actually. He's not sure if Sam could listen to this or if he would just snap and destroy Jeffery too easily.

Dean makes a quip.

Jeffery answers. "You shouldn't trivialize other people's pain."

Good lesson. From the mouth of a murderous asshole who no one need listen to.

Dean wonders if that's what Sam thinks, sometimes. Of Dean himself on a bad day. Of Lucifer. Of Michael. Of Cas, when compromised. Of Sam before he got his soul back. Because they all knew what was coming sometimes, all were right about some things... But the things they did...

It's funny. Sam's so hopeful and kind and careful and so very wrong about how things go, but he always has the best of intentions and wants to fix things.

Everyone else seems to know what's coming but doesn't have the morals to back it up, all too focused on what they want and need to happen.

"So, demon comes along, rides co-pilot in your skull. Teaches you how to kill." Dean refocuses as he talks, although that last bit makes Dean think, because he's trying not to think of Alastair, of what he was, what he sometimes still is, "The list. That's yours."

Jeffery keeps talking. Dean tries to figure out the best way to escape. And gabbing buys time.

"I was never going to do anything. Not til he came along." The southern drawl keeps going. "He's the one who saved me."

_"I'm the only one who can save him, Dean. Give him over. Give him up. He doesn't belong with you anymore. He never was. He was always mine to keep."_

And Dean will not remember Lucifer. Just because Sam's dealing with all that doesn't mean he gets to inflict himself on their lives again. He's in the damn Cage. He's gone.

"And you sent him to Hell." Jeffery finishes, the flat of Ruby's stolen blade making a smacking noise against his palm.

Sam sent _him_ to Hell. And Dean made Sam remember _him_.

\--

Sam sits on the desk and fidgets Nora explains everything, how Jeffery wants to summon the demon back. Still tries not to think of things rising from Hell.

Lucifer is starting to get bored, and he blinks, lazily and slow, like a lizard, before turning to look at Sam and watch him again, also moving slowly back and forth on his feet, always moving when bored. He only got still when he was interested or emotional, felt something real and not shallow.

"You really knocked the cork out of her piehole." Lucifer says under his breath, brow furrowed, then looks out the window. He really hates waiting, but being amenable... That's the name of the game for now.

Sam keeps listening to Nora, intent and all adrenaline.

"He had taken him from his dorm room." She gasps, and that makes Sam look at her full on again, because he knows things too much like that, and Nora claps her hands to her face, voice barely audible, and keeps going, rising to her feet to walk to her desk. "I gave him everything. The ritual. The sigils." Nora turns on the light and keeps crying. "But he kept my boy."

Sam looks down.

"And then he sent me this." Nora pulls out a drawer and a box and Sam opens it and inside is an ear.

Sam tries not to think of all the times Lucifer dismembered him or bit him so chunks came off or bit him softly in ways that didn't really hurt or kissed him on his earlobe or cut him into pieces or flayed him or branded him or cauterized his wounds as slow he pleased, Sam conscious for every second.

Sam shuts the box fast, but it doesn't close completely.

Nora's voice grows louder. "He cut it off because the ritual didn't work."

Sam's voice is low and he still doesn't look up, or towards Lucifer, or at anything. "Well," He inhales, "The demon gave up some serious state secrets. Would've gone into big lockdown now. Not so easy to bring him back up."

**Like Lucifer. Lucifer is downstairs and staying down there and he isn't here at all.**

Sam closes the box and it clicks shut.

Lucifer puts a hand around his shoulder that Sam ignores and doesn't shake off.

Nora tells Sam more about how things got worse, how she was forced to resort to extreme measures. She finishes, "Finally I found a summoning spell that would work for sure."

Hands Sam the open book with the ritual Sam starts to trawl through.

And Nora explains how she was supposed to send them to Jeffery. "He left a trail of bodies to make sure of it."

Like Lucifer, leaving his breadcrumb trail so Sam could follow him back, all those years ago.

Sam licks his lips and his nose scrunches and he reads more of the ritual. "Blood of the exorcist?"

"Strongest summoning I've ever seen." And then Nora is saying that it requires the blood of the one who banished the demon, and that's Dean-

No.

Nora finishes with it all being part of Jeffrey's plan.

And Sam lets determination overtake him. "Yeah, well, new plan." The book thuds on the table as Sam keeps going. "Tracking spell. Bavarian, Egyptian, I don't care, dealer's choice. Use the flesh of the body to find the body and Dean."

Nora starts to shake her head, but Sam isn't budging for anything.

He's not losing Dean.

"You want the ear or the kid?" Sam asks, voice steel and throat jumping, eyes deep and full of violent resolve.

That gets Nora to cooperate.

_Oh, Sam. You are a marvel._

Lucifer keeps his eyes on Sam, all reverent, and his low, soft voice ripples with the deep undercurrent of his true one. "You're giving me the chills."

Sam looks at him, and he smiles a real, at ease smile, full of love Sam doesn't want to see.

He gets ready to find Dean and fix this, Lucifer nonwithstanding.

\--

Jeffery makes Dean bleed for the ritual, still conversational.

"I like to think I know you pretty well."

"Yeah, you figure?" Dean sneers, growl a bit too light.

Jeffery looks at him like he's an idiot. "I watched you torture an innocent man to get out a demon. Pretty charged situation. Revealing." And then Jeffery raises his head with a smile. "You guys talked about a lot. Showed a lot of character." And then Jeffery is looking back down at Dean, eyes faraway, until he refocuses. "God," Jeffery sighs, "You were so desperate to fix the world back then."

Dean thinks he's got front row seats to a different kind of crazy, and his hand itches to get this one to pay more than usual. And if it hits a bit too close to home, to what Sam did to fix things...

Dean won't give Jeffery the consideration. He looks away.

"It kills you," Jeffery's drawl needles, then he's grabbing the bowl with the blood and rising to his feet. "That people keep getting hurt. And you just can't stop it. Or I should say it's killed you, shouldn't I?"

Because it has, in more ways than one. Dean can't quite care as much, and dying and remembering dying brings a whole lot more back when you're dealing with Hell, and possession, and Alastair, and everything Sam did once Dean got back.

The fact that Sam took his swan dive, though, that still hurt the most.

"You know what? Screw you." Dean doesn't have to play this game any longer. he swallows.

"Hey. I was there. I was depressed, Dean, because he was gone." Jeffery counters, tone getting more acidic.

Missing Sam was nothing like missing a demon riding in your head. It's not and never will be.

"I was a wreck, an emotional shell, a drunk," Jeffery continues, mixing his ingredients, and Dean doesn't want to think about how losing Sam killed everything inside him that mattered, even with Lisa and Ben.

And Dean doesn't want to think about the looks Sam gives now that he's not okay. How he sometimes looks wistful and lost and not all there at nothing, how he gets that look like he used to with Lucifer, when he thought Lucifer wasn't looking, when he adored him and looked at him like he was the best thing, like he was the sun. When Sam doesn't look terrified out of his mind or more than exhausted or like he's going to break into pieces, that is. Those are more often.

Then Jeffery says more words that Dean doesn't care about, but he can't help but respond. "I don't really endorse suicide," Dean answers, a bit too grating, "But man, what stopped you?"

Turns out therapy is a double edged sword, if Jeffery's response is anything to go by.

"It was Alan, at the house." Jeffery is a bit too matter-of-fact.

"You're kidding me." Dean can't help but blink at him, a smile that isn't happy, just promising hurt, on his face.

"He's a really good rehab therapist. Really helped me focus on my goals, my attitude." Jeffery exclaims, excited now that the spell is getting where he needs it to be. He wipes blood off his blade and adds, "I really benefited from the whole program."

Dean scoffs softly. "Yeah."

Sure ya did.

Dean keeps working to free himself with Jeffery continues.

\--

Sam and Nora make it to the warehouse and hide, waiting for an opening to enact their safeguards to stop him. Jeffery's voice is still audible from here.

"A life well-lived comes from the structured pursuit of meaningful happiness. I realized I was nothing without my demon. Then I decided I have to get him back." Each word is punctuated.

And Sam doesn't think about the emptiness, the loss he doesn't want to fear, the loss of what it felt like when Lucifer was inside him... How Lucifer coos at him, "You need me, Sammy." And Sam is ignoring him, ignoring the mouth crouched by his ear in the dark as he hides. "And you need to come back. You promised you would never leave. Give yourself on over, like you want to. You've always wanted to."

Sam takes a deep breath and digs his hand into his palm. Lucifer is slow to flicker out this time, comparatively.

Sam ignores the faint singing of grace in his wake and hides with Nora more once Jeffery gets closer, walks away with the dog saying, "It's a bitch of a recipe, I must admit."

Sam mourns the dog with Dean, hears Dean's disbelief, his "No," his whisper of "You sick son of a bitch," but they can't reveal their position and there isn't enough time to rush in from here, they still need to set up the Devil's trap.

They finish it while Jeffery does his ritual.

The ground shakes.

The demon (Belial, Lucifer had made Sam remember) rises up in Nora's son. Opens its back eyes. Breaks the chains around itself.

Stares Dean down. "Dean Winchester. As I live and breathe." Then he turns to Jeffery, adds, "Again." With a happy inhale.

Belial hugs Jeffery, who looks confused.

"What are you doing?" Jeffery asks.

Belial keeps hugging him, dancing cheek to cheek in a waltz as he replies, "I'm thanking you, Jeffery."

And Sam doesn't remember how Lucifer would dance with him, all those times, inside the Cage. He does, but pretends otherwise.

Jeffery gets more specific. "What are you doing with this half-dead piece of crap? Come into me."

And now they are both dancing closer and Sam can see an opening light up, not there yet but close...

"We had a very special time together, didn't we, Jeffery?" Belial says.

_I miss our time together. I know you miss me, too._

Belial keeps talking. "It warms my heart to see you haven't forgotten what I taught you."

That freezes Sam despite himself, and Nora looks at him, sees the look she doesn't understand in his eyes.

_Have you forgotten anything I taught you, Sammy?_

Sam tries to move and ignores the words that keep coming. Until...

"But I'm done with you. My work is finished."

Sam wishes he was done with Lucifer. That Lucifer's work would ever be finished from wreaking havoc inside him.

"You can do everything now, all on your beautiful own." Belial sings.

_I'm still proud of you, Sammy, for everything you let me make you into. For all the potential we brought out._

Jeffery says no. Doesn't want to be abandoned. A different no than Sam is used to, but too similar to another no, an older no. ( **No, no. Don't leave me** , Sam had begged. Lucifer didn't, except when he did.)

"No?" Belial answers, tone a hiss. He backhands Jeffery into the floor, and Jeffery cries out.

Sam tries not to feel the hand caressing his face, Nick's ring, so cold, and the whisper of, "Look at all the things you made me do, Sam."

Tries to not remember Lucifer's hands on him. How he'd hit him, before he made Sam beg, did worse things...

"We don't do no, remember?" Belial sighs as it crouches to look at Jeffery.

_Not that word, Sammy. Never that word. We're down here, remember? No reason to pretend anything else. No reason to hold out._

Sam finds his opening when Dean strains in his chair, and Dean talks to the demon, and the demon talks about talent before people get to Hell, talent-scouting like Azazel yet not, "He had all the raw material just bubbling in there. All I had to do was loosen the lid on his jar, show him some practical know-how."

Sam doesn't think of Michael. All the lessons. All the fights.

_Like you did, Sam. Only you're so much better. Perfect, Sammy. So perfect._

And then Sam is running out to stop this, to bring Belial down, because Nora is ready and their trap is ready and Nora's son deserves to be free.

Sam lets himself be thrown back, because they want to bait this fucker and then they'll send him right back down.

Belial walks into the trap on the ceiling. Dean frees himself and joins the fray.

And then it's go-time.

Nora chants her incantation. Dean shoots Jeffery as he goes to stab her, and he's dead.

"He'll be back, you know." Belial says. "Back in black."

_Like me. Only I'll come for you in white, Sam. Pure and bright and clean, ready to bring you back into the light._

"Go to Hell." Dean answers with all the honesty in the world.

Sam doesn't think about other things, because he can stop demons any day of the week. Lucifer just needs to stay down where Sam put him.

And Sam would never be back in black, because Lucifer won't let him get twisted like that, even though Sam remembers what it is like to claw your way out of the ground, from Hell.

The demon is gone.

Dean is safe. So is Nora's son.

Sam ignores Lucifer by his shoulder, too calm and still and not touching him.

Lucifer couldn't help being a little too close, breaks behaving for a second, because he can't help himself.

He goes back to being the picture of innocence, now that Sam's had a refresher.

Belial, the demon inside Nora's son, always was good at his job.

They walk back triumphant. Lucifer still following Sam's shadow.

\--

Back at the hotel, with it's green and black and white linoleum, Dean hits his twin bed immediately.

"Oh, God." He groans and falls face-first into the mattress.

Sam follows him over, slower, stops to stare and sees Lucifer leaning against the closed motel door.

"So. Jeffery was just pretending to be the victim." Sam says slowly, sitting down on his own bed. His voice is a bit too quiet. "Way back in that farmhouse during the exorcism. He... He was just," Sam stammers, then scoffs, looking back towards the door, at Lucifer, "Acting."

Like Brady. So much pretending. Like Lucifer does, except Lucifer's pretending had more honesty mixed with the lies. It's not acting because he means it, he does, but he twists everything around so much that it doesn't matter.

That's always been the worst part, for Sam.

Still. You can't pretend to be the victim if you think you are the victim, and Lucifer always considered himself such. It's half of what made the blame so hard to bear.

Dean slurs from exhaustion, muffled by the mattress. "He was a psychopath, Sam." Dean forces himself not to doze off yet, because Sam needs to talk about it, and they both know they aren't talking about Jeffery right now, not really.

Sam wishes he didn't believe him. Tries to remind himself that is all Lucifer is. That the only reason Sam misses him, loves him, wasn't due to anything Lucifer deserved, because all he ever did was make Sam think he was out for his best interests, and he wasn't, and he hurt him so badly, and he's not supposed to feel anything but hatred and fear, not anything else, because Lucifer loved him in a way that wasn't right, wasn't real love, even though Sam thought it was...

Except Sam has felt his grace and knows everything Lucifer is. He may be evil, may be violent, may take no responsibility... But all he ever wanted was for Sam to love him and do what he wanted and would treat Sam so kindly when he did.

The love was real. So was the need for control. For Sam to never betray Lucifer again.

That's the price Sam chose when he locked them up, it's his fault...

Only it isn't, Sam reminds himself. He had no choice, because Lucifer took it away.

Dean sighs, "That's what they do all the time, is act. Act like they're normal," And then Dean inhales, shifts on the bed and rubs his face, "Act like they're not balls-to-the-wall crazy." Then Dean sniffs and settles in again.

There's a lot left unsaid.

 ** _Act like they love you and mean well and can be trusted. Like Lucifer did with you_** , Dean thinks, and Sam picks up on it, can tell from the tone he took when he said the words. Voice so much like it was when Sam begged Dean to believe in him, for once, when Sam promised he'd find a way to make this work, the same grudging not-trust Dean always had anyway, which served him well but made Sam's fall worse when Sam thought that Lucifer actually wanted to change, to heal...

Only he only ever wanted Sam to let him take the wheel and settle the score for both of them, have it all his way.

And when Sam took that away...

_I never hid what I wanted from you, Sam. You knew the whole time. I was honest. You know I was._

"You going to sleep?" Sam asks, trying to ignore the hand brushing through his hair.

"Damn straight. Screw consciousness. That's what I say." Dean yawns. Then he's out like a light.

Sam gives a small, nervous laugh. He hopes he can rest now, too.

Only Lucifer is crouching so he's eye level with Sam's head, and he's a bit too intent, his eyes too bright, and he's not settling in like he would next to Sam if he was going to watch Sam sleep.

"No, no, Sam." Lucifer's voice has the undercurrent of his real one and Sam instantly starts, swallows, and instantly knows he's in for something bad, and Lucifer croons, "No nap for you, Sammy."

Sam stares straight out in front of him and tries not to hyperventilate and fails even though he knows it isn't real. Of course Lucifer wasn't going to stay quiet, stay behaved like he said he would. He's not out for anything except for what Sam can give him, and now that Sam's not engaging... He was just pretending to be nice, so Sam would let him get close again.

Even Sam's subconscious mind knows what Lucifer does.

Sam jams his thumb into his palm.

Only it doesn't work. Lucifer's still there, freezing breaths breathing down Sam's neck...

Lucifer's voice is gentle as he tilts his head, to and fro. "Oh, come on, don't do that." And then he's standing over Sam and Sam can't look at him, he can't, but his eyes dart to the side before darting back as if he can pretend he isn't there...

"Let's talk, Sam." Lucifer sighs, looking at Sam fondly, clapping his hands together. "I always enjoyed our special little chats."

_Tell me what you want, Sam. Tell me what you need from me. Tell me how sorry you are, and make me believe it. Remember those? Remember all those lovely proclamations of love you gave me? How many screams you sang out when you wanted me back?_

Sam looks down at his hands.

"Don't you want to talk?" Lucifer coos, shifting on his feet, still just standing there, and Sam jams his hand into his palm again, teeth clenched, eyes screwed tight.

"Yeah, look at that." Lucifer whispers so softly as Sam opens his eyes and can't shut him out, "Something's definitely different now, isn't it?" Lucifer's voice turns into an almost growl, and Sam shivers and bites his lip.

Lucifer points at Sam, so still otherwise. His voice goes back to being so soft and gentle and Sam is so scared by what that means.

"You let me in." Lucifer sings.

Sam shifts away from him, because he knows that tone, knows Lucifer might end up being right on top of him, might kiss him, and Sam can't let him.

Lucifer doesn't move, though. His eyes narrow and his forehead wrinkles and Sam knows he's being eyed up and down and he tries not to shudder.

"You wanted me, partner." Lucifer says, as his tone becomes deeper, always so sure...

_You still want me, right now. Otherwise I wouldn't be here._

And Sam blinks, tries to hold back the feelings crushing him, Lucifer's presence and voice and everything always so claustrophobic...

Lucifer's voice grows rough as he gestures forwards with both hands, and his face screws up into rage Sam recognizes so easily, rage that promises hurt and bruises (and later, whispered words, of, _Oh, Sam, how could you do this to us? Why would you make me do this to you, when I love you so much? Just let me take care of you, Sammy, stop fighting. I know you love me. Stop making me hurt you.)_

"So you think you can use your little tricks to banish me again like that?"

Lucifer snaps.

Sam flinches. Inhales. Licks his lips.

Lucifer keeps talking. "No."

And then Lucifer is inching closer, Sam's eyes still staring straight ahead.

"I do believe I've got you, Bunk Buddy." Lucifer hums, one finger points and wriggling, "Got my finger wiggling around in your brainpan."

And then the room is on fire right next to Sam, are almost on top of him, and Sam can't stop any of it, because he never can...

_Want to burn with me again, Sam?_

Lucifer chuckles as Sam tries not to scream and the flames reach him and Sam tries not to cry and feels the hellfire licking up his arm and legs and tries not to fall at Lucifer's feet, begging, because he's not there, only he feels so real.

Lucifer starts laughing harder.

"Come on, Sammy. Come on! Say it with me now!" Lucifer goads, leaning down next to Sam's head, face glowing in the flames, just like Jessica's did, just like it did in the Cage when it wasn't cold and dark and all Sam had was Lucifer. Lucifer's voice becomes softer. "Say it with me now."

Sam bites down to stop himself from screaming, and his tongue bleeds.

And then Lucifer is yelling, and Sam jolts, "GOOD MORNING, VIETNAM!"

Lucifer keeps laughing until he loses it completely, hands on his knees as he doubles over, and Sam lets the hellfire take him without begging for release.

When the flames die, though...

Then Lucifer is on top of Sam, creative, indulgent, always talking, then kissing Sam senseless, so heavy a weight Sam can't push him off, and he's stroking Sam's face, Sam's eyelids, Sam's chest, saying, "You are never leaving me, Sam. I will never let you go. And you should have known better, kiddo. So I'm not leaving you alone, not ever. I know how much you miss me. And soon, so soon, we'll be together. Follow me on down, Samuel. Follow me back like you know you want to, because for all my faults, Sam, I have only ever done what's best for you. And I never lied, like Dean did, Sam. Never. I've always been the best thing to happen to you, even when you made me hurt you and locked us up. So maybe you could show some appreciation in the meantime, before I get you back again?"

And it's like Sam never left the Cage, except this time, it's his brain doing the torture. It's his heart, beating so fast, and Sam wonders how he could ever love something that burns him alive and tears into him and rips him apart and eats him alive and cuts him into pieces and makes Sam hurt himself and hurts Sam from the inside-out and drags Sam across the bed and licks his neck and rubs his face against Sam and tells him _he asked for this, he let the Devil in, he loves him and he'll take anything Lucifer has to offer_ , tells Sam this is _all his fault_ , still, but that Lucifer will forgive him once Sam proves he won't leave Lucifer or keep them apart or lock them away when they get out.

Sam wonders if he still wants to die because he wasn't supposed to leave, and all he ever wanted got taken away. Wonders if this is his brain, telling him what he doesn't want to know, that for all the things Lucifer did to him he still loves him and he regrets not keeping his promise, because he thought he could have his life but nothing ever lets him go, and Lucifer was the only time Sam ever thought he was free, once upon a time.

Only he was never free. Just choosing one type of captivity over another.

Lucifer might not be real, but he was real to Sam's mind.

Real enough to mean something.

\--

Lucifer is so glad Sam's finally on the same page. He's been waiting so long to get Sam back for not coming on down and pretending he can get away.

And now Sam was going to go without sleep for however long it took to kill him.

Lucifer won't allow anything else. And he'll admit, Plan A is cathartic. Making Sam suffer will make everything so much nicer when Sam is back, soul safely nestled in Lucifer's hands.

He can afford to be gentle, then. Can afford to make Sam love him properly once he's not running away.

In the meantime, though, Sam has to feel every bit of pain Lucifer can make him feel.

It's what's necessary. The only way.

And it's not like Sam didn't say yes. Didn't expect the same treatment the movement he dove into the abyss.

It's only fair Lucifer answers that expectation.

Lucifer keeps laughing at Sam's face, at the betrayal and the shame and the minute twitches in his lips that give away everything Sam is thinking.

Sam wants to go back and thinks this is his punishment for not doing so.

Lucifer won't disabuse him of the notion.

\--

The next day, Sam's chugging caffeine. Lucifer won't let him close his eyes or rest, and the bed isn't safe, and neither is the bathroom, and Lucifer is hanging on to Sam wherever he walks, now, never not touching him...

Sam tells Dean to keep this from blowing up further. "It's like I let him in once, now I can't get rid of him."

Only Sam's let him in more than once and it still hurts everywhere, Sam's heart the most.

Dean tries to reassure Sam it isn't real.

Sam knows that, says so, but, "Try telling that to the volume control inside my brain."

Later, they find out their case is tied to Leviathans, and that takes up all the extra focus either of them have...

But Lucifer is always there, always talking, incessant and loud and demanding.

Only Dean catches Sam checking out as Lucifer screams against his eardrums and Lucifer's true form claws inside Sam's ribcage and he's screaming with all the volume of his angelic voice against Sam's head, trying to force Sam to kiss him back and his grace keeps singing as it's been this whole time and Sam isn't.

He won't.

Sam exhales.

"All right, Pacino, you need to crash." Sam hears Dean's voice under the yelling, the laughter, the singing, so loud and keening and throbbing with the minor chords of Lucifer's voice, and Sam starts and swallows and Lucifer's teeth brush against Sam's throat and then Dean's voice cuts out for a bit until Sam catches him asking Sam to get some sleep.

But Sam can't sleep.

Lucifer won't let him.

"It doesn't matter what I do, Dean." Sam answers. "Lucifer will not shut up."

"Even now?" Dean asks.

Lucifer keeps on singing, both hands on Sam's shoulders.

"Your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know, the piper's calling you to join him..."* Lucifer's sings with soul.

_Come and join me, Sammy._

"He's singing 'Stairway to Heaven' right now." Sam answers.

"Who shines white light and wants to show, how everything still turns to gold,"* Lucifer sings loudly against Sam's ear, lips pressed so close.

"Not 50 times in a row." Sam answers Dean as best he's able.

_And if you listen very hard, the tune will come to you at last...*_

"Come on, Sam, sing with me. I know you can. I taught you, and I am the angel of music**, so you learned from the best..." Lucifer interrupts the song to speak, so enthusiastic and loud and bright, as he strokes Sam's throat.

Sam swallows.

And then Sam goes back to the case. There's nothing else to do.

\--

Three days later, Sam is running away from Lucifer as fast as he can after he bails on Dean in the middle of the night, sometime past 1 am.

Running is about the only thing he can do to keep control of his body, and Sam's surprised he hasn't collapsed yet.

He hopes the burning of his lungs, the chill of the air, the ache of his muscles might drown Lucifer's influence out.

It doesn't.

Lucifer is nestled too deeply inside him.

The train tracks swim in Sam's vision.

Sam stumbles on to the grass and into a passerby, not coordinated enough, not nearly able to drown Lucifer out enough.

A person yells, but Sam doesn't see him.

Just Lucifer.

He's still chasing Sam down like an animal.

Sam wants to hide but there is no hiding any more.

Sam runs through a chain link fence to try and outrun him or just to buy time and then he's in another alleyway, still checking behind him, Lucifer hot on his heels, but taking his time, the human way, to make Sam feel like he has a chance of holding him off, even slightly.

He doesn't.

Sam veers into another alley. The colors of the graffiti make his eyes burn, and they swim, melding together in his vision, too. Sam barely registers the other people in it, only does from drilled hyper-viligance, still too distracted and winded and bone-dead tired but so much adrenaline flooding his system every muscle shakes from it.

Someone is saying something, but Sam collapses against a wall and leans, resting, for the brief time he can.

Lucifer has gone quiet for a second. Two. Sam lost him thirty feet back when he turned, but he'd catch up.

He always did.

"It's okay." Sam slurs, trying to reassure the angry bystander. "No one's after me."

No one that's here, anyway.

"Why you running up in here like that?" The drug dealer counters.

"Just... just leave me alone." Sam pleads as he leans back against the wood and tries anything to rest his overwrought body. Sam exhales, and everything hurts.

"What the Hell did you take, anyway?"

"Nothing." Sam chokes. Just took a trip down to Hell with the Devil and now he's never letting me go.

"Shut up." The dealer answers.

And Lucifer is there again, says, so confident, so smug, "No, he's telling the truth."

Sam stares at him, trying to figure out if running is even worth it, he can't keep going...

"Burned through that last beer hours ago." Lucifer adds, and Sam holds his hands to his eyelids and prays for mercy to a being that wouldn't give him any. "Right about the time Dean passed out," Lucifer tone turns caustic and gleeful, a bit too aggressive and Sam's going to have to run again if he gets closer...

"Come on, Sam," Lucifer prompts, gesturing at the drug dealer. "Tell the nice tweaker. You'd be sleeping by now if the Devil would just leave you alone for five seconds." Lucifer clasps his hands together at his navel, eyes too bright, expression petty and too playful. "Stupid Satan. Chasing you all the way to..." Then Lucifer looks at the drug dealer as if he might respond, as if he could hear him, only talking for the sake of it, not really caring, "Where the Hell are we?"

"Ugh!" Sam moans, then his voice turns into a sob. "I just need some rest."

**Please let me rest.**

_No can do, Bunk Buddy. You're all mine._

"Hey, Sam. Try the hand scar." Lucifer gloats.

Sam inhales again and groans from his pounding head that feels like its gonna split and his shaky limbs and the too-fast beat of his heart and the constriction in his lungs.

"How many days you been up, anyway?" The dealer asks. Sam almost forgot he was there, because he has to keep his eyes on Lucifer, not let him get any closer...

"Four." Lucifer supplies, so cheerful. "Oh, wait. Scratch that." And Sam rises to his feet again, stricken, as Lucifer pretends to look at a watch he doesn't have. "Five."

Lucifer's face turns mock sympathetic, his face a grimace.

Sam goes to run again, since Lucifer is closer again.

"Hey, hold up. Wait! Hold up!" The drug dealer calls.

Sam looks back. Steadies himself on a beam.

"You want to knock out? I can knock you out." The dealer promises.

Sam exhales. He could cry from relief.

The dealer leads them to his car. Sam takes what he offers, and the dealer himself knocks out in the driver's seat.

Sam almost dozes, seated in shotgun, before the sound of glass shattering sends him bolting awake.

Only it didn't. The metal pipe sent through the windshield isn't real.

It's just a hallucination that won't leave Sam alone.

Just Lucifer.

Sam fumbles out of the car.

"Good morning to you," Lucifer sings from behind Sam, conducting, and Sam turns on his heels, tries to make himself as small as possible until he remembers this isn't real and he needs to run again. "Our day is beginning, so good morning to you." Lucifer sings after him, eyes not leaving Sam once. Sam can feel the smile burning into the back of his neck as Lucifer calls after him before he gives chase, "I thought you liked my singing?"

Later, sometime after Sam can't run, when he's walking, and Lucifer is three steps behind, Lucifer is still talking, more insistent than he ever was when he was sending frequent telepathic messages over the link trying to track Sam down during the Apocalypse.

"Pills?" Lucifer asks, like he's concerned, hands waving behind him in circles, and Sam can see them because of the shadows they cast past his footsteps, "You do get that you're just bringing free drugs to the party, right?

Sam blinks and tries to walk faster and he can't quite walk in a straight line.

Lucifer keeps talking, more insistent now. "I am inside you, Sam. Hey, Sam." Lucifer clears his throat, and Sam swallows, and Lucifer adds, "What's the longest a normal human being has ever gone without sleep?"

Lucifer's question in rhetorical, and Sam only inhales as Lucifer's tone turns so happy, savoring the facts, Sam's hopelessness, the inevitable of Sam dying and being sent back to Hell, and Sam hates his mind, hates that his body and his soul want to send him right back down, because it's all his fault, and this is all his mind, as Lucifer rubs his hands together and trills, "11 days."

Lucifer stops, and Sam can tell from the shadows he can't see any longer stretching out in front of him, but he knows Lucifer is pretending to be commiserating that his arms are out, palms up, and his tone turns gentle, like Jess, like when he loved Sam, as he continues, "Hey."

And then he calls, louder, shrugging, so thrilled by the prospect, "You always wanted to be normal, Sam! If you are, you'll be dead in a week!"

_All mine again._

Sam runs faster as far as he can get.

Then all he feels is pain and impact as a car hits him directly and Sam is flipped over the shattered windshield to the pavement.

\--

Dean bursts through Dr. Kadinsky's door, frantic and ignoring anyone in his way.

"They said talk to Kadinsky. You Kadinsky?" Dean asks, then yells at the nurse pestering him, "Then schedule me!" Dean turns back to the doctor. "He was in a car crash. Why can't I see him?"

Kadinsky lets Dean stay, sends the nurse off after Dean stares her down, and explains some of the particulars.

Broken rib. Lacerations.

"Okay, that's not too bad. And?" Dean answers, still demanding.

Then the other shoe drops as Kadinsky reveals where Sam is.

Psychiatric ward.

Dean scoffs, disbelieving, but its to cover his own guilt, because it's his fault, he stuffed Sam's soul back in and Cas broke Sam down and now Sam isn't okay, "I mean, he's had some trouble..." Dean manages to say, not looking up.

"So you're aware that Sam is experiencing a full blown psychotic episode?" Kadinsky presses.

Dean looks back up, blinking. 

Yeah. He's experiencing the full buffet of his evil son-of-a-bitch angel who told him he loved him and then tortured him for so long I don't even know my brother like I used to. So yeah, Sam's seeing Satan. Seeing him and unable to get him out of his head and it's killing him and it's my fault.

Dean doesn't say that.

"Psychotic?" Dean answers. Lucifer is the psychotic one. Not Sam. "Come on. I mean, the guy's... It's not like the guy's freakin' Norman Bates."

No, that's Lucifer.

"No, I'm sure he isn't." Kadinsky assures. But then he's asking whether the insomnia started this or something caused the insomnia.

Dean doesn't have a good thorough answer for that either. But he knows what came first.

"Well, all I can say is the sleep thing is kind of new." Dean answers. His eyes are a bit too red-rimmed, and his tone a bit too low.

Kadinsky gets his meaning. Knows something caused the trauma.

Dean turns his head away as Kadinsky talks about their options, says they've pumped Sam full of sedatives and he still won't go under. How he's never seen anything like it.

Of course he hasn't, because the Devil had Sam's soul to play with however he pleased.

Dean's allowed to see Sam, though. Kadinsky takes him to him.

\--

"I'm just saying." Lucifer supplies from his perch on the table, and Sam looks at him because he's losing a fight he can't win, and Lucifer keeps playing with the Cat's Cradle in his hand, all tactile, all movement, like a spider spinning its web, "Back when you had no soul, you never had to sleep."

_And you were still with me and I held you so very close..._

Sam turns his head away.

Dean enters the room, and Sam looks up at him, so tired.

Lucifer keeps talking with mock sympathy, looking at Dean with barely disguised loathing in his eyes and the curl of his mouth, "Ah, Mr. Helpless. Pull up a six-pack, buddy. "

"How are you feeling?" Dean's gruff voice asks very quietly.

Sam gives a wavering laugh and puts on the bravest face he can. "Maybe you should cancel my UFC fight."

Lucifer smiles and looks down at the string, still moving, "Yeah. Keep that sense of humor, Sam." Lucifer looks back up at him, eyes betraying his real form beneath Nick's blue, "It'll get you through this." The sarcasm purrs in Lucifer's still too-joyful voice.

Sam wishes he didn't remember Lucifer so well, so exactly...

Dean sits on the bed near Sam's feet. The metal springs creak. It makes Sam's head hurt more.

Dean swallows and meets Sam's eyes, finally. "Sam, I'm gonna find you help."

Sam scoffs and looks away.

Lucifer's tone turns analytic as he holds his palms up to Sam, strings winding and unwinding, "Now, that sounded a little cynical." His expression isn't gleeful, just purposeful, serious. Intent. Sam's still watches from the corner of his eye, in case Lucifer's mood shifts...

"I don't think it's out there, Dean." Sam answers, defeated. He's made his bed. Nothing else to do except wait.

_I promise it isn't. You're coming home, Sam. Back to my waiting arms and hands and wings, like you need to._

"You don't know that." Dean says, fully in denial. He didn't get Sam back just to lose him to Satan all over again. Can't abandon him to that.

"We know better than most." Sam replies, throat dry and sore, his words rasping. Sam blinks, and keeps his eyes narrow to keep the glare of the hospital out, because it's too bright and it hurts, although not like Lucifer's true form hurts, "It's all snake oil. Last faith healer we hooked up with had a reaper on a leash. Remember?"

Sam watches his brother get up with a grunt and turn away. "Yeah, Sam. I remember."

Dean wishes he didn't. Wishes he had a way to fix this.

Lucifer hums in the background, too loud.

Sam sighs, and shakes his head. "I'm just saying."

Dean turns too sharply, voice too raw. "What? That you don't want my help?" Dean's boots tap on the floor too hard as he shifts, not realizing how loud and jerky his movements are.

Sam sighs and inhales, answering, "No, I'm just saying..." Sam sighs again, every word hurting in his chest from the exhaustion buried there, "Don't do this to yourself."

"Sam, if I don't find something-" Dean's voice goes higher, turns desperate, and his head shakes.

"Then I'll die." Sam announces.

Lucifer is banking on it. Lucifer curls in over himself on the side, voice full of mock pain, "Oh, you're upsetting me." Like he cares about Sam's pain, or Dean's.

"Dean, we knew this was coming." Sam's voice strides, stronger to try and drown Lucifer out, although it's still a weak, strangled rasp.

"No." Dean denies. The same quick no Sam used to cling to, before it was scoured and plucked out of him after 4,000 years or 2,000 or 1,000, Sam doesn't know when he truly broke...

When Lucifer broke him.

"When you put my soul back," Sam adds, **after I told him I wouldn't leave him** , **and Lucifer held me to it...**

Dean interrupts, shaking a finger. "No." All over again.

Sam doesn't stop talking. "Cas warned you about all the crap it would..."

"Screw Cas." Dean exclaims, still in pain and still bitter and still not over what happened, losing him, or what he did to Sam and himself but mostly Sam.

Sam looks down with a resigned expression.

Dean gets angry, says words Sam can barely register because Lucifer is talking over him, saying, so gentle, "Sam, I'd sing you to sleep to give you a break from big brother's histrionics, but that would defeat the purpose," And then he's laughing so loudly again...

"Get pissed!" Dean finally yells, loud enough to break through Lucifer.

Sam sighs and raises his eyebrows with as much energy as he can muster, which is barely anything. "I'm too tired." He rasps.

And then he's blinking and his eyes are watering as he looks up at his brother.

Lucifer grows quiet for a second, drinking up the sight of Sam before him. Sam, defeated.

"This is what happens when you throw a soul in Lucifer's dog bowl." Sam inhales, adds, "When you think there's just gonna be some cure out there." Sam laments his brother's lack of foresight, his selfishness, Sam's own fate, only he can't, because he knew what needed to be done when he went on down that road and he chose it and he didn't ever think he was going to have to deal with getting out. Ever.

Sam wonders if Lucifer will be kinder when he comes back. If he missed him enough, or if he'd blame Sam for being taken away when Sam tried to hold on because he was scared of what would happen if he didn't.

Maybe Lucifer would rejoice, because he knew Dean would try to raise Sam again the moment he lost him, and this time he'd make Sam take him with him and then they'd be free and Sam's sacrifice wouldn't matter and he can't let Dean do that but Lucifer always said they were getting out and would have to be prepared one day...

Maybe Lucifer would love him, be gentle again, would stop torturing Sam early once Sam broke and let him have his win, because he wasn't imprisoned forever then, they'd have gotten out after two years. Maybe he'd torture Sam for two years and call the debt even.

Sam's exhausted and he hates his mind and his heart for missing him. For holding on to him. For keeping Sam awake...

And now he's gonna die, thanks to the betrayal of his own body and soul.

Dean stares at Sam, crushed by the weight of his own failure, of his own hopes, of his unwillingness to let Sam go...

Dean's lip quivers and he nods and his eyes grow wet.

"Oh, you guys are having a moment." Lucifer chimes in, looking between them, blinking with a fake frown of concern.

Dean blinks and leaves the room before he loses it in front of Sam.

Sam stays where he is, too tired to move his heavy limbs, limbs that were his body and his body was going to be Lucifer's again...

Sam turns his head away from the door and tries not to cry himself.

\--

Dean tries every number he has to try and save Sam. No stone unturned. Failure isn't an option.

\--

Lucifer peers over the nurses' shoulder when she takes Sam's temperature and vitals.

He tells Sam the news and strokes the hair from his eyes and sits on the bed, head against Sam's chest, until Sam cries openly and he leaves and sits back on the table, his usual perch, looking over Sam clinically, watching Sam degrade.

Only it's Sam watching himself die, because he isn't real.

"Narcissistic Personality Disorder," Lucifer calls, thumbing through the manual in his hands, straddling the chair backwards to face Sam, one finger pointing upwards, "Okay, now, this one I could have."

Sam has long since turned his back to him, staring out the window. He's gone through the entire book so far. No sign of stopping yet.

A nurse comes in with meds. Sam barely hears her and swallows before she comes in. Last time meds were going down Sam's throat, Lucifer appeared next to him and sat in his lap, book still in one hand, other fingers tracing Sam's face before Sam swallowed too sharply and the meds went down and then he was kissing Sam again and Sam tried not to move.

"Sets unrealistic goals." Lucifer continues, humming for a second so he sounds regretful, "Check."

Lucifer's hand waves in the background, Sam catches it from the corner of his eye as he keeps going.

_I always placed too much pressure on you, Sam. Expected you to overcome your human nature and stubborn rebellious streak when that just wasn't possible. Doesn't stop me from loving you. Just means I have to adjust my expectations._

Lucifer adds, tone brightening, "But trouble keeping healthy relationships?" The pages of the book flutter as Lucifer looks up and shifts, voice soft, "Not so sure about that one. Thoughts?"

Sam can feel the smile in his voice, the brightening of his expression as Sam sips the water and tries not to choke. He coughs instead and watches the nurse leave.

_I mean, I've got you, Sam. Have had you for years and years ever since the beginning. We've got our good thing going for us._

"And you just keep coming back for more. Can't ever bear it, to be parted from me. Remember the last time you were hopped up on drugs and locked away? You prayed for me so bad, wanted me back, wanted to join me. And then you freed me and I came right back to you and all was almost right with the world... Until you got cold feet." Lucifer adds, too loud, too pointed.

_Still. We fixed that. You're still mine._

The book that isn't there slams on the table with a thud! And Sam tries not to feel Lucifer kneeling on the bed behind him now, hand on Sam's arm, drawing circles, or feel stubble lightly grazing the nape of his neck.

"Oh, Sam," Lucifer sighs, then there's a head nuzzling Sam's chin before Lucifer nibbles Sam's ear. One hand pokes Sam's rib, and Sam flinches and closes his eyes and pretends this isn't happening and he would rise from the bed but two arms wrap around his chest from behind him as Lucifer rocks Sam slightly, holding him in place, and Sam's rib stings at the contact constricting around him. And then Lucifer is singing again, a loud cacophony right against Sam's eardrums, the farthest thing from soft, because he's not letting Sam's eyelids flutter another second.

Eventually, Lucifer backs off and goes back to the table. Not after touching Sam more, though.

Sam's eyelids keep blinking and his mouth is too dry and he can still feel the imprint of thumbs against his throat, and lips, but Lucifer isn't touching him for now...

Lucifer leaves for a moment, still singing as he stands outside the door in the hallway. Sam wonders why his brain decided to do that, then the door opens and the doctor comes in. Sam forgets his name.

"Sam, how we feeling today? Rib pain, scale of 1 to 10?" He asks, preparing to scribble on his clipboard.

Sam doesn't know what counts on his pain tolerance level. He's gone through a lot, thanks to Lucifer.

"It's... It's not bad." Sam answers, not lying. Comparatively, a broken rib is nothing compared to what Lucifer has done to Sam, or made Sam do to himself.

Nothing like crucifying yourself or drowning for hours or acid or boiling or being left to burn alive on the floor of the Cage or Lucifer fucking you dry while both your arms are broken and both your Achilles' heels cut with the Devil's claws so deep inside you and half your skin is ripped off to show muscle and bone underneath while Lucifer licks your throat, teeth and tongue like sandpaper...

Nothing like Lucifer touching your soul directly with his entire essence, closing so tight around you it's like you'll never be set free.

Nothing like that.

"Um..." Sam adds, thinks, postulates, brow furrowing, "3?"

The doctor walks closer, almost looming, hands on his hips. "You don't have to lie, Sam."

Sam barely shakes his head, expression open, as he answers, "I'm... I'm not."

"You've suffered terrible agony. I mean, your ten must be astronomical."

Sam frowns and his brain is fuzzy and something isn't right but he's slow on the uptake and so tired... "Yeah, I guess I have a high threshold." Sam replies, almost shrugging if it doesn't exacerbate his rib. He's not sure how the doctor knows that. Maybe Dean...? Probably not.

The doctor stares Sam down. "Yeah. But the worst thing is knowing that there's always a new 10."

Sam's gaze darts, and he rasps, "What are you talking about?"

The doctor's voice turns into a growl, "Well, I'm talking about the truly elegant torture I have prepared for you today," And then Lucifer is staring back at him, shapeshifts into his usual face, true voice bleeding through. "Sam."

The half-smile Lucifer gives is as cold as his gaze.

Sam gives a shaky breath and forces himself to his feet, doesn't care his back is to the Devil, as he gasps, voice as loud as he can make it as he stumbles to the window, "Just stay the Hell away from me."

The adrenaline kicks into gear. Again. Sam thought he'd been burned out of it all.

Sam still sees Lucifer arms reach out, appeasing. "But it's... It's so nice chatting." Lucifer settles on, then he cricks his neck and rolls his shoulders and continues, "Sam, I hate these one sided conversations. C'mon, Buddy." And then Lucifer is making playful punches to the air, and Sam tries not to flinch at the sight of them as Lucifer commands, "Engage."

When Sam doesn't, Lucifer steps closer, head peeking over his shoulder again, his voice slightly softer by not by much. "Sam. You. Me. Locked ward." And Lucifer's finger spins in the air, off to the side, until Lucifer shrugs and clasps his hands together and muses, "Is it me, or is this just like the Cage?"

Sam blinks and doesn't look at him, until the Devil is all over him again and Sam is pressed down into the bed, curled up over himself, hands clasped over his ears as Lucifer keeps on talking, keeps on touching Sam, stroking his hair, and pinching him, and sometimes pulling out Sam's fingernails, and biting Sam when he kisses him hard enough to draw blood, except he isn't, because he isn't real, but it feels so real. It hurts.

This is just Lucifer warming up, though. Foreplay. He'll get more creative as time goes on.

Over time, Sam's screams draw the nurses in more than once, but Sam barely sees them.

Just sees Lucifer's true faces and true form bursting forth, his main head with the biggest eyes staring at Sam with a tilted smile, rictus and long and sharp.

Sam keeps himself glued to the bed until Lucifer eases off, only Lucifer ends the torture session healing Sam, being gentle, and Sam wishes his mind didn't remember this, either.

Sam feels safer when Lucifer goes back to the desk. He's much more content to sit there and just talk to Sam, not much else. Sam prefers it, although he tends to be louder, then.

Sam yawns and keeps his back to the Devil.

Dares to walk over past him when the plate with the sandwich and some pudding is left on the table.

Sam takes the sandwich back to bed.

Lucifer is humming quietly, only it's not soothing or in tune, just discordant tones as he paces behind him.

Sam bites down. Then sees the maggots in his sandwich and tries not to gag and heave and tosses the food to the floor.

Sam recoils back against the bed, eyes closed, telling himself it's not real, that he doesn't feel the maggots writhing down his throat.

Lucifer stops humming.

When he opens his eyes, Lucifer is sitting right next to him.

Sam catches the eye of another patient staring at him and then walking hurriedly away, frightened, and Sam shudders as Lucifer presses a kiss to his forehead.

"No eating for you, either, Sam. Need those vital organs to shut down as fast as possible." He hisses, and hugs Sam close again, keeps on talking, and Sam doesn't try to comprehend the words as Lucifer just won't shut up, won't stop talking about all the things they'll do when he's back downstairs, when he's snugly in Lucifer's arms again. Sam ignores the roaming hands and lewd comments, too, the additions of, _You still look perfect, Sam, so tempting, even so close to death._

Lucifer wipes sweat from Sam's brow, and Sam wonders if the real Lucifer will take pity on him once he is back inside Sam and sees how much Sam remembered. How much he missed him. How he would have never left.

Sam prays to the actual Devil, not the one projected by his mind, and hopes he hears him.

**Please, please, I'm sorry I left, I'll be back soon, please don't be angry, I love you, I miss you, please don't do this to me again-**

(Lucifer does. Inside the Cage, he sighs, appreciates the sobbing thoughts, the sound music to his ears, but he still doesn't let on when he projects himself over the link, and doesn't stop playing with Sam's soul, though, thanks the grace, to the link Sam burst open on his own after closing the gates thanks to Dean. This plan was the best one yet. Fast results. Fun. Kept Sam so pliable before he got retrieved. Still. Sam, being appreciative. Missing him. Lucifer wants that back so bad, and he'll take what he can get.)

\--

Dean finally gets a call back.

He takes the answer in stride. Has hope again.

He can save Sam. He will save Sam.

All he has to do is find the miracle Sam needs.

Whoever this Emmanuel is... He better be as good as advertised.

\--

Sam is so tired he starts to drift despite it all, so Lucifer perches back on the table and conjures a megaphone, screaming over it.

Sam claps his hands over his ears again, teeth gritted as he keeps on wincing with every word and screech of feedback.

"Oh, my head hurts. Make it stop!"

Sam rises to his feet if it will make Lucifer ease off, because he's not sleeping, see, he isn't-

Sam startles when the same patient from before is right in front on him. Sam can see the bandage on her neck. Wonders what happened.

Lucifer goes quiet for the moment, curious.

"You want this or not?" The girl asks. She holds out a candy bar.

Sam looks at Lucifer, who gives him an encouraging nod, and Sam takes it.

"I saw you yesterday. You didn't look too happy with your in-flight meal." The girl adds, looking at the candy bar and back up again.

"Thanks, uh..." Sam replies, voice low.

"Marin. No problem." Marin supplies, head shaking side to side.

Sam looks down at the candy, goes to unwrap it, and Marin asks, "Sam, right?"

But before Sam can take a bite or answer the feedback starts up and Lucifer shouting into it again, "That's it, I'm Sam. I'm Sam. Hi."

And Marin hurries away at Sam flinching and gasping and making small aborted noises of pain.

Lucifer pauses, watches her go as Sam exhales and rubs his face, Sam glad the noise stopped and Lucifer glad Sam's had some change in routine but not letting him get comfortable.

_Remember, I said no food. Would be rude not to take it, but chomping down? Ah, ah, ah._

Lucifer looks at him, indulgent, then starts talking again as Sam turns his back on him again.

\--

Dean gets to Daphne Allen's house. Knocks.

The door opens.

Dean chats with the man who opened the door until he spots Daphne tied up and gagged through the window.

The mans eyes go black as he throws Dean back into the door, glass shattering against Dean's head.

"You were saying, Dean?" The demon asks.

Dean is real tired of this bullshit and uppity demons. "You know, I'd think twice. Or don't you know that your boss issued a hands-off memo?"

The demons laughs, but they still chat semantics until Dean skewers the demon with Ruby's knife and he burns out.

The demon's body falls down the stairs, and when Dean sees shoes where the body falls, he looks up.

Cas looks back at him.

Dean freezes. He's amazed he's alive. Dean's happy he's alive. But more than that, he's so very fucking angry at everything Cas did with Purgatory and his brother and he doesn't understand any of this.

Cas better be able to fix what he broke.

"What was that?" Cas asks, and then Dean sees no recognition in his eyes, and knows they have a whole other problem.

Dean still hopes Cas can fix this. Can't grieve when he's already been grieving.

Still. Cas having a wife. Not knowing Dean, not recognizing the name...

But he saw the demon's face.

Only he doesn't know it was a demon.

So Cas might have kept his angel abilities, his mojo, even if he has no memory...

"Demons," Dean can't help but say, babbling despite himself, "Whackloads of them. You don't know about..."

Dean can't take the way Castiel's blue eyes look at him, Jimmy's eyes, not the real ones that burn like fire Dean can sometimes spy from beneath his vessel.

Then, after some more exchanges of words, Castiel-now-Emanuel offers his help.

Dean talks about Sam. What happened to him.

Still hopes Cas can undo the damage he did in the first place, because he needs to. Sam needs to be alive and safe and okay and not heading back down to Hell, and Cas...

Dean wants to have Cas back and move on, and he can forgive him, if he fixes this.

But Sam needs to be okay. God, Sam needs to be okay again.

\--

After the megaphone, Lucifer gets bored, and then he's guiding Sam back down to the bed, promising Sam he still loves him, touching Sam under his clothes, making Sam whimper and hide and turn his head again and Sam can feel the belt between his teeth, can feel Lucifer's hands on his thighs, can feel the tongue inside his mouth, pressing into his, until Lucifer isn't on top of him anymore.

Lucifer sits back down on the table, and Sam stays sprawled out on the bed, head against the pillow. The Devil grants Sam two minutes of silence.

Sam closes his eyes and tries to let himself sleep. Takes the rest for what it is.

Only Sam's mind apparently has a mind of it's own.

Sam starts at the firecracker and the blaring boombox singing, "Wake up, Little Susie. Wake up."

Sam keeps his arms over his abdomen and chest and swallows.

Everything still stings and throbs and hurts.

All Sam has the energy for now is to flinch when Lucifer throws more firecrackers.

Lucifer lets out a dry chuckle, legs crossed as he sits in the chair, closer now, farther from the table. "You know, you're actually keeping it together better than I thought." Lucifer compliments, only then his tone turns more indulgent, more sarcastic, but so soft, still, "Kind of..." And Lucifer reaches, eyes looking towards the ceiling until he's looking back at Sam, eyes smiling, "The way someone pinned under a bus keeps it together."

Sam grits his teeth and growls, throat so dry, "None of this is real."

And his eyes water and Sam can barely look to the side.

Lucifer lights another firecracker with the lighter he's always liked to flick in and out, like Jess used to when she couldn't keep still, and keeps talking, "And yet. You know what really sucks?" Lucifer throws the firecracker down, and it pops, and Sam jumps inside his skin, head pounding with endless, blaring throbs of pain. Sam glances back over despite himself to see if the next one is coming, then stops himself.

"It doesn't really matter." Lucifer says. Sam catches his expression, so sure and so appreciative of Sam and Sam hates it.

The music cuts out, now that Lucifer has gotten Sam awake again. The click of the button is sharp and makes Sam flinch again.

"Because I won!" Lucifer celebrates, arms above his head, and then his tone grows softer as he points at Sam. "Your madness won."

_You missed me so bad, Sam. I know how much you regret leaving now._

Sam blinks and doesn't cry as Lucifer keeps talking.

"I mean, look at you. It's hard to believe you were the guy that saved the world once."

_I made sure to bleed and fuck it all out of you, Sammy. You don't get to pick the world over me. Over yourself. Not again. I'm the only person who will ever make you truly happy. Only what I give you, what you get from me, will ever bring you true joy. I know you miss how it feels, being near me. And I would be so much kinder, but you need tough love right now, Sam. Every bone in your body and neuron in your brain and bruise on your skin proves it. You'd be all alone up here without me if you didn't get the care you deserve... And trust me, you need to go back so bad. I know so._

Sam lays there, broken.

Then he starts and looks over as the door opens. The nurse, a different on, comes in with a new tray of food Sam's not allowed to eat.

Lucifer twitches his fingers in anticipation as he hums, "Mmm. Sammy. What'll it be today? Maggots again?" Lucifer asks as his hands open the top of the tray to peek inside, and Sam sits up when he's not looking, and then Lucifer looks from the food back to Sam and waggles his eyebrows, "Or, uh, tapeworm?"

Sam looks down and then at the nurse. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." The nurse answers.

Lucifer puts another firecracker between his teeth and flicks the lighter open again. (He can feel the demon inside the nurse thanks to Sam's proximity, and wonders if the demon can feel his grace sloshing around in Sam's soul, lighting it up like a Christmas tree).

"How you doing?" The nurse asks, eyeing Sam with a somber look.

"Uh, a little better." Sam says, and he barely flinches when Lucifer throws another firecracker. Sam keeps talking to try and ignore it. "That girl, uh, Marin..."

The nurse scoffs. "Look, I'm not supposed to talk about it. Let's just say, unlike you, she didn't get here 'cause of no accident."

An accident. Because that's what it was. Castiel and then Death, ripping Sam from Lucifer's too-tight grip as Lucifer screamed and clawed after him.

Sam never got much of a say.

He did think Death had come to claim him at the time, though, maybe to give him oblivion. Not take him back upstairs.

If Sam knew he was going back upstairs, knew what he was in for, he'd have let Lucifer keep him and fought back more.

The nurse leaves. The door shuts, too loud still.

Lucifer picks up another firecracker, lights the lighter right in front of Sam's face, then holds the flame to the wick. He throws it by Sam's knee.

Sam turns away, so slowly. Flinches when the firecracker goes off.

Can feel himself starting to go.

Lucifer laughs again.

\--

Cas is strangely just as companionable without his memories as he is with them.

Still almost like himself, but not.

"It's a strange story. You might not like it." Cas suggests.

"Oh, believe me. I will." Dean assures as they drive to fix Sam.

Castiel-as-Emanuel tells his story.

The idea that God wanted Daphne to find Cas doesn't really comfort Dean. He wonders why that, of all things, ends up being the kicker. A human looking for an angel at the behest of God usually doesn't end well.

"So who named you Emanuel?" Dean finally asks.

"Bouncybabynames.com." Castiel's voice is light and matter-of-fact.

Dean can almost pretend it's like getting the old angel version of him back, without the asshole angelic stuff that made him such a pain back in the beginning.

Dean takes refuge in the nostalgia and the ease of this.

Otherwise, he might just strangle Cas with how angry he still is, even though he won't.

Because he needs him to save Sam.

"Must be weird, not knowing who you are." Dean says after they talk more.

'Emanuel' doesn't mind. "Well, it's my life. And it's a good life."

That makes the rage boil closer to the surface, like amnesia can wash away everything Cas did...

"Yeah, well, what if you were some kind of, I don't know, bad guy?" Dean asks, eyes glued to the road.

"Oh. I don't feel like a bad person." Cas says, hesitant.

Dean hopes Cas takes refuge in the feeling now, because he knows when he gets his memory back...

That won't be the case.

\--

Lucifer eventually abandons firecrackers, too. Not fun enough. Not close enough. Not nearly intimate enough.

Lucifer lets the flame of the lighter burn Sam's fingertips until they blacken, kisses Sam as he does it, and makes himself look like Jess until he stops and Sam shivers under him and prays for Lucifer to stop with his hoarse voice in Enochian.

Lucifer obliges, although he moves Sam around when he tries to drift. Screams, "Boo!" Once in a while, shit-eating-grin on his face, so white and so sharp it looks like a knife against Sam's throat.

Lucifer still gives Sam some breaks, though. Can see how Sam is starting to fall apart at the seams. It won't be long. Maybe a few hours, at most, and then he'll be back, and Lucifer will treat him so good Sam won't ever want to leave him again, not even when Lucifer hurts him again, although he might not have to, if Dean digs them both up. Then they can start over and be happy together, like Lucifer always wanted. Like Sam wanted, once.

Sam rises from the bed with a sigh and exhales as he looks out the window. Tries to cool off his fingers from the draft he can feel through the glass, but it's not as cold as Lucifer, not nearly cold enough...

Marin's voice makes him turn around. "Man, you must be really determined to wait out nap time." She says, handing Sam another candy bar.

Lucifer paces behind her, then gives Sam a gesture saying he'll let him eat, this time.

Sam knows his mind is really shutting down, then.

Lucifer didn't capitulate that fast unless he had Sam right where he wants him, and his mind knows Lucifer inside and out.

"Here." Marin adds, tossing the candy bar on Sam's bed. Lucifer sits cross-legged with a slumping motion, the bed rising and falling with him, candy-bar two inches from his hand with Nick's ring.

Sam blinks and stops her before she can go, arms up and palms up, beseeching, "Wait, uh... Share this with me."

_Sharing your last meal on death row. How so very like you, Sammy._

Sam picks up the candybar, Lucifer's hand ghosting over the top of his wrist as Sam leans down and takes it. Sam's wrists shivers but he doesn't flinch as much. He's too tired to move much.

"Thanks." Marin says, and walks closer. Then her tone changes, arm out for a second as she pushes up on the soles of her feet and lights back down again. "I don't know why I'm thanking you for a candy bar I stole."

Sam laughs a small, pained laugh, but he can't get the candy bar open. Lucifer's hands wrap over his, making Sam fumble, and Sam inhales sharply, feels Lucifer kissing his temple before his lips slide down Sam's neck to press a kiss to his collarbone.

Sam pretends he isn't there, and Lucifer draws back, instead playing with Sam's hair as Sam asks, trying to sound as normal as possible and keep his voice even and he is so damn tired he succeeds, "So, how long you been here?"

Sam looks up at Marin, who answers with a nods, eyes sad, "Five weeks and counting. Going for the record."

Sam gives her a nod and his eyebrows lift and fall and he has a small, contemplative frown that Lucifer traces, Nick's ring cold against Sam's skin. Sam can only recoil so much. He can't do it every minute Lucifer touches him.

"How come?" Sam asks.

"It doesn't matter." Marin's voice goes lower, and she looks away. Sam knows avoidance when he sees it. Has seen it in himself.

"That's a lot of bandages for 'it doesn't matter'." Sam answers, wanting to help.

One last good deed before he's back in Hell. In not-solitary.

"You want the doctor answer?" Marin supplies with a toss of her head, "I'm psychotically depressed to suicidal ideation." She finishes each word to fast, her eyes watering as she turns away.

"And the not doctor answer?" Sam calls after her. He's in a similar boat, he supposes. His mind, his soul, misses Lucifer so much apparently it's killing him all on its own to send him back. That counts, right?

Marin turns back, blinking and a muscle in her lip twitching. She replies, "I feel like crap. I just want it to be over."

Sam understands. He feels the same way.

Lucifer's hands rub Sam's back, almost soothing. He doesn't say anything. He knows what Sam feels. Can feel the acceptance washing over him. His last ditch need to help before he's back again. So he'll give him this small break. This last moment on earth where he can be as human as he needs to be.

"What?" Sam asks, voice a croak, wondering what got her in the same boat.

Marin sees the same deal there and answers, face quivering. "Everything. Come on. Tell me I'm young and have everything to live for." Marin's tone turns bitter.

Sam looks down at his hands and back up, knows how it feels. Has felt it before.

Marin eyes him, mouth twitching, eyes narrow to stop more pain from shining through the cracks.

Sam inhales and makes his tone as cavalier as possible, "Why would you believe me?" Gives her the levity of someone who has seen that same score.

Marin blinks and gives a melancholy smile and walks closer, looking Sam in the eyes. "True." Then Marin changes the subject. "I heard you're here because the voices won't let you sleep."

Sam gives her an eyebrow raise and looks so tired. "Just one, really." He admits, voice a rasp. Then he gives a bitter laugh.

"Who is it?" Marin asks.

 **Someone I considered the love of my life.** Sam doesn't say.

 _I still am, Sam, thank you very much._ Lucifer's grip tightens over Sam's shoulder, his expression going blank except for the icy focus, the intensity always in his eyes.

"Like Charlie Manson or the Devil?" Marin adds, curious.

_Right on, that one. The latter option, that is._

Sam gives her a wavering smile, then looks down with a frown. "Kind of. Yeah."

_Oh, you still not thinking of me as the Devil, Sammy? I'm touched. You just thinking of me as an angel, your angel?_

Sam ignores that.

"Me, too." Marin says, "I hear a voice."

Sam keeps his eyes down, can't help but pry. "Is that why you set the fire?"

He can't stop seeing the fire, other fire, behind his eyelids...

It's the wrong thing to say.

When Sam looks back up, Marin turns closed off and Sam can see the pain in her eyes.

"Who told you that?" Marin demands, voice a gasping breath.

"No one." Sam answers, stumbling, shaking his head. "They're burns, right?"

"I didn't set the fire, O- He did!" Marin says, and then she turns heated, her arms out and gesticulating and Sam flinches, "You know what? I don't even know why I'm talking." Marin's hands fall to her sides with a noise that also makes Sam flinch.

_Wow, Sam. You fucked that up without even trying. Don't worry, though. I've got you. I'm here. You don't need new friends..._

"Marin, it's okay." Sam tries to follow after her. Lucifer lets him as he holds Sam's hand. He squeezes, not too tight. Sam ignores it.

Marin turns on him, voice high and in pain, "No, it's not! You are crazier than I am!"

Sam looks down again, eyes wide.

Marin keeps going, "Charles Manson tells you what to do! At least it's my own brother..." And then Marin chokes off, expression pained and face pale and eyes so tired, too.

Sam meets her gaze, because he knows that pain, the pain of someone you love tormenting you, and everything nerve lights up because he's knows he's missing something. "It's your brother?" Sam asks.

"Yes." Marin sighs, exhausted at not being believed.

Sam steps closer, keeps looking her in the eye, pleading for her to keep going.

"It sucks, when it's your dead brother saying kill yourself to be with him." Marin states, words like an anvil, and she chokes off, tries to keep going but can't quite yet.

And Sam's blood runs cold.

_Does it suck for you, Sam? You gonna use that mouth properly when you get back?_

And then Lucifer is mouthing at his ear again, "You know what you have to do, Sam, to be happy. To be loved. Prove you love me and come back."

Sam listens so closely to Marin's words, tries to drown Lucifer out through them.

"Or he'll do it for you." Marin finally says.

Sam swallows and looks down.

Sam knows how that feels, feels the ice nestled in his heart, Lucifer holding it in the palm of his hand, not squeezing. Just holding on and never letting go.

 _If you don't do this for me..._ Sam remembers Lucifer's soft voice threatening after whatever resurrection it was, _Look, don't be difficult. I know you want to. But you're backing me into a corner here, Sammy. Don't make me punish you because you don't have the nerve to own your failures. You need to learn, to grow, to be be better for next time. I'm doing this for you._

He might not be able to stop himself from folding on himself, but Hell, he can help her.

He needs to.

Only Marin turns away to leave, and Sam is too overcome, too exhausted, to call her back in time.

Sam closes his eyes as Lucifer kisses his lips, one hand caressing his shoulder.

"How much longer, do you think?" Lucifer asks, so gentle, and Sam can't meet the blue eyes he knows are glittering, are taking all of Sam in, head on.

Then Lucifer pulls away, so sudden, gives Sam space, and Sam's eyes blink open and he gulps down air again.

\--

Apparently Cas can heal things of a spiritual origin, whatever that means.

"Someone did this to him." Dean finally says, leaving it at that.

He doesn't let his eyes leave the road, but he can feel Castiel's stare on him.

"You're angry." Cas says.

"Well, yeah. Dude broke my brother's head." Dean answers.

After he had way too much to worry about, in there... Dean doesn't say.

"He betrayed you, this dude." Castiel voice is certain and soft. "He was your friend?"

Dean looks at Cas, then back at the road.

"Yeah, well. He's gone." Dean replies.

"Did you kill him?" Cas asks. Dean looks thrown as he glances back at him.

"I sense that you kill a lot of people." Cas supplies in answer.

"Honestly, I don't know if he's dead." Dean answers. Cas might be here but there's no telling he'll get his memories back... Which is a kind of death, if you think about it. "I just know that this whole thing couldn't be messier."

I loved you and you destroyed the other person I loved most, the little brother I need to protect, that you wanted to help me protect, once...

Dean keeps going, voice a throaty rumble as the road keeps trailing before him, wet with rain as it hits the windshield, "You know, I used to be able to just shake this stuff off. It might take me some time, but... I always could. What Cas did, I just can't, I don't know why."

Because I loved you, Dean doesn't let himself think.

"Well, it doesn't matter why." Amnesiac Cas answers.

"Of course it matters." Dean argues.

"No. You're not a machine, Dean. You're human." Amnesiac Cas asserts.

And that's too much like a Cas answer.

"Your friend's name was Cas? That's an odd name." Amnesiac Cas says, eyebrows raised.

That wasn't a Cas answer.

Dean doesn't let himself think about it anymore. He's too preoccupied worrying about Sam.

Dean makes Cas wait in the car while he goes to gank Crowley's minions and tries to get cell service.

Except Dean gets hit with two demons at once and doesn't have the knife in hand, and he thinks Cas comes for him, sends the two packing, says, "Emanuel, you son of a bitch-"

Only it's not Cas.

It's Meg.

"Emanuel. Yeah, not so much." She says, wry as always. Ruby's knife in her hand.

Dean rises to his feet and says, "Meg."

She gives him a look and clicks her tongue. "Dean, Dean, Dean. You got some 'splaining to do."

Meg says her piece as Dean closes up shop and pulls down the shades.

"...My curiosity sure got revved up," She says, chewing on the words.

Dean's voice is a low growl, impatient, because he's got too much else to handle right now, "Just tell me what you want, Meg."

Meg doesn't. "Imagine my surprise when he's all snuggled up with you, and he's the spitting image of poor, dead Castiel. So, Dean," And Meg cocks and eyebrow and stares him down as she asks, "What's poor, dead Castiel doing in that junker out there?"

Dean and Meg exchange more words, get on the same page.

"He doesn't know he's Cas," Dean finally hisses, adamant, because she needs to keep a lid on the truth.

"I know." Meg says with a flick and pop of her lips, "I've been watching you for hours. So here's the deal. You might remember Crowley and me were frosty back in the day? Well, times haven't changed."

"Good." Dean answers.

"That hurts my feelings. I've been good to you, Dean." Meg says, voice flat as her eyes.

"No, you've been good to you, sweetheart." Dean growls back with raised eyebrows and walks to grab some food from the shelf as Meg keeps talking.

"Look, right now, rumors of this wandering healer are strictly low-level. But body counts getting high enough to change that." Meg wheedles as she makes her play. "Folks start poking, they sniff angel dust."

Dean follows her reasoning as he keeps walking. "Yeah, and they start falling all over each other trying to tell Crowley."

Meg's voice turns insipid, fake with false sympathy. "Now picture Crowley with his hands on harmless little amnesia Cas. Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna burn that smarmy dick. My times coming." Meg grits out as she blinks, intent, eyes staring Dean down so much they could burn a hole in his head, "But right about now, my army-of-one situation is not cutting it. It's cold out here, there's a price on my ass, and I need friends." Meg finally admits, voice not giving ground.

"Yeah, I get that." Dean says, finally looking at her as he goes still, eyeing her up and down. "But I ain't it." He shakes his head and his lips purse together as Meg calls after him.

"That's where you're wrong, Dean. 'Cause I'm here to help you, and that makes us friends." Meg's rich, throaty voice says, still flat and unyielding.

Dean turns back around, "Help, huh? You mean see if you can't turn harmless little Cas out there into an angel-sized weapon?" Dean's eyes narrow as he blinks at her, wanting to stab her in the gut as he gestures outside.

Meg gives more reasons.

Dean doesn't want to listen, but he needs to save Sam, and they are wasting time.

"So for now," Meg finishes, It's in everyone's best interests for everyone to hold hands and cross the street together, okay?"

Like that didn't bite them in the ass when Lucifer pretended to do the same thing. Meg takes after him.

But Dean needs to save Sam. He's running out of options.

"We go straight to Sam." Dean answers, adamant. "No detours."

"I love it." Meg's voice turns warmer.

Sam was always her favorite Winchester, too. Lucifer's, through and through, even if he sent him back to Hell with him.

Sammy had grit, if nothing else. It took a lot to look someone you loved more than life itself in the eye and take them under your skin and be under their thumbs and wings and still take the dive back down to prison.

Too bad Sam was still paying for his losses.

Meg and Dean settle on their truce.

But Dean makes Meg give back the knife before they go. He tries not to think about how trusting a demon has gone wrong for Sam, with Ruby, given the knife's history, and for Cas, when he trusted Crowley...

He hopes it doesn't end up the same for him, although he can see why desperate people resort to desperate measures. Why Sam fell in with Ruby in the first place, now.

Meg asks if she should jog his memory.

Dean gives her a look that speaks for itself.

She calls after him, "Kidding. We wouldn't want to upset the poor guy."

Dean isn't in the mood for this.

Amnesia Cas freaks when they both come back, but Meg has it covered, answers, "It's okay, we come in different flavors."

Dean doesn't want to call her a friend, but he does, because he needs this to go as smoothly and as fast as possible.

Meg says a few things she shouldn't hint at, about going back a long way.

Dean stops her from ruining it and makes everyone get back on the road.

\--

"Marin. Marin, hey," Sam calls from the door. "Hold on." Sam exhales as she backs up in the hallway to head on back to him.

Sam starts with what matters most. "Um, I'm sorry I upset you." His voice is really low and rasping, now.

Marin shakes her head, eyes dead as she shifts on her feet. Her voice is soft, too. "It's okay."

Sam keeps leaning against the doorframe, ignores Lucifer singing from the bed. "Can I ask you something?" Sam asks.

"About?" Marin's eyes are wary, and she stares Sam down.

"The fire." Sam admits, voice raw.

Marin shakes her head and crosses her arms, voice turning afraid, "Look, you mean well, but you have no idea-"

"You said you didn't start it." Sam interrupts softly, looking her in the eyes. "I believe you."

Sam pauses. Marin looks at him, waiting. Grateful, if nothing else.

"I can help you," Sam says after a beat, "Before he tries to hurt you again."

_Saint Sammy, always the martyr to the rescue. Too bad no one can do the same for you. Still. Enjoy your last curtain call, Bunk Buddy. Go out with a bang before you die so very quiet and I welcome you back, to home sweet home. To eternity, unless Dean fishes us out._

Sam walks back into his room, shuffling. Marin follows.

Lucifer isn't on the bed now, he just leans on the side of the wall the door is from, smiling, his eyes slits.

"You're worse." Marin notes. Sam looks like he's been hit by a semi. "Your organs need sleep, you know. Your hair and nails are gonna fall out," Marin blurts, worried, her fingers on one hand curling like claws from the feeling, "And you're kidneys are gonna shut down. I saw it in a movie." 

Sam doesn't know what to say to that.

Lucifer didn't like it when Sam tried to cut his hair. Neither did Sam, and Sam was glad Lucifer didn't pull it out or really ever try to cut it except to keep it as is or slightly longer, and that's the one thing Sam can say he can trust Lucifer to do, is not change Sam's hair. He likes stroking it and pulling on it too much, using it to direct Sam where he wants.

Sam is surprised that's one thing that doesn't bother him, still. Must be muscle memory from Jess. Nothing more or less. That, or Sam just likes looking like himself. Likes knowing his hair is all him, as he wants it.

And Sam doesn't want to think about losing his nails, either. Lucifer didn't share his opinion on that like he did Sam's hair. Already had bloodied Sam's hands more than once today.

Sam nods slowly. He'll take the concern for what it is, even though he can't do anything about it.

Mary looks back at him, growing calmer. "Sorry."

Lucifer can't hold it in any longer and starts laughing like that's the funniest thing he's heard in his life.

Sam looks at him and then back at Marin, smiling nervously in case Lucifer stops laughing and tries to get closer to his fingertips.

Sam changes the subject to what matters, inhaling, and then makes his voice even, "So, um, you're brother. When did he pass?"

Marin rubs her neck absently, says, shakily, "Uh, last year."

"Did you see him?" Sam presses, trying to focus.

Marin shakes her head no.

Sam looks down and climbs back to his feet, musing, "So... He just talks to you?"

Sam exhales and pretends he doesn't see Lucifer too-keen expression, his fingers laced together, knees bent and legs apart as he keeps sitting on the table, and Sam heads to the window to the outside world he won't see forever after this.

_Like me and you._

And then Sam pauses, adding, "But at first, it wasn't so bad. You must have missed him."

Sam stops, can feel Lucifer's eyes on his back.

_Like you missed me._

And it hadn't been so bad, in the beginning, when it was just Lucifer's voice whispering at Sam before he slept, before he manifested fully, as he hushes Sam's muffled whines, so soothing, so gentle, while Sam tried to wait out the hallucinations and hide from the floating-in-the-darkness-alone and the hellfire and the chains and the hooks and all the Cage bleedthrough that wasn't Lucifer, just Hell, and Sam could feel his true form touching his lips and saying, _Shh, Sam, shh. I've got you. I'm here. You're not alone. You're safe, and I won't leave you._

Sam doesn't want to think about it, but Lucifer has become more tranquil, now. Waiting.

Maybe he'll stay kind if Sam focuses on his uneven kindnesses. They still don't undo the pain, never will. But Sam can't take the constant pain, and he's so tired, now...

Then Sam turns around again, looking back at Marin. "Did you just hear him at the house?"

"Here, too." Marin answers. "Whenever I'm alone." Marin inhales, adding, "I can always tell he's coming because I get these chills." Marin gestures to her neck.

Ghost, then, most likely.

Sam glances at Lucifer, still staring, still quiet, and looks back at Marin.

"You feel cold." Sam rasps, inhaling. Like he feels cold, all the time, except when it isn't cold enough, except when it's too cold, when Lucifer is on top of him and inside him...

Sam stops thinking about it. No point. He needs to cherish the time he has left before he's underground again.

Lucifer keeps sitting on the table, so quiet. He knows Sam isn't passing out any time soon.

"Yeah. I mean, you're right." Marin replies, voice breathy, brow furrowing. "At first it's like... I knew I was crazy, but..." Marin looks away for a second, half-smiling, only there's pain in every blink of her eyelids. "I didn't really care. I did miss him." Marin chokes.

And Sam looks at her, feels his heart clench.

_Sam, Sam, Sam. Oh, Sam. I can feel you praying from here._

"But then..." Marin continues, and her voice trembles, her expression glued to the floor, "He started saying he was lonely." 

As she talks, Sam's hands shake, and Lucifer hugs Sam tight, all his wings wrapped around him, so many red eyes glued over Sam's face, looking sideways at him, not standing in front of his line of vision. Pale, icy hands, clawed, and fingertips and arms and hands so very humans, glance over Sam's heart.

Sam doesn't look at him.

Marin looks back at Sam, voice stronger, now. "And he started to get mad."

_I'm promise I'm not mad now, kiddo. After all, you've got a train to the underground to catch. It won't be long... I promise, I missed you. I can be good, once you come back._

And Marin is talking so fast and so frantically now, gesturing to her head, "And one day he started yelling, and I tried to run-"

Like Sam tried to run, Lucifer shouting after him, always there, always dogging his shadow...

Marin continues, "-but the door was locked. And when I turned around, the whole room was on fire." And Marin's arms go out, fingers splayed, and her eyes are faraway like she's still seeing it, and she adds, so scared, voice shaking so badly, as she gasps, "I barely got out."

Her eyes are still there.

Sam's are faraway, too. All he can see is Jess, above him, dripping blood from the ceiling.

All he can see is Lucifer holding him down, laughing, inside Jess and Nick and Sam's skin, speaking so softly as he traps Sam in the room he's had nightmares about ever since Jess was lost the first time, the whole room choking him with smoke and flames licking up his body as Lucifer promises, "You'll burn with me now, Sammy. Forever. Because that's what you wanted."

Sam looks back at Marin, a lump swallowing in his throat, so painful Sam can hardly breathe.

He nods at her, and lowers his gaze. Lucifer, not bleeding out of Nick now in his true form any longer, strokes his jaw, so gentle, then kisses Sam's temple softly. 

"How can you help me?" Marin asks, pleading, voice softer now.

And then Lucifer is sitting back on the table, still looking at Sam, so very still.

"I can put your brother to rest." Sam promises, one hand clutching his wrist as he takes one step forward. Then two. Three.

 _Like you will put yourself six feet under._ Sam's hallucination adds with a decisive nod, voice and movements oh-so-gentle. _Because you need me._

Sam stops in front of Marin, says, "He's... Um," Sam tries to explain, and sits on the metal edge of the bed frame. "He's stuck here."

**Like I got stuck here. Dead man walking on freedom I didn't earn, because I promised myself to the Devil and now I have to march back down.**

"For real? Like..." Marin asks, reaching, stumbling.

Sam gives his answer, gentle as he can. "Like he's a ghost."

Sam looks at her with pure pain in his face, eyes so exhausted, face so drawn.

"Why should I trust you?" Marin asks as she stares Sam down.

Sam keeps his eyes to the floor. "Because it's your only shot."

And then he looks back up at her, honest and open and so very, very tired.

Marin looks down, blinks, then looks up. "Okay." Her voice says, holding so much in.

"Okay." Sam affirms.

This is the last gasp.

Lucifer paces beyond the bed, hands behind his back, humming so quietly, as Sam asks, "So, your brother, was he cremated? Buried?"

"We cremated him." Marin answers as she bites her lip.

"And do you have anything of his?" Sam asks softly, as the muscles in his face relax.

Marin pulls at a bracelet on her wrist. Sam looks at it intently. Thinks of the things Lucifer made for him, once, before it all went wrong. Thinks of all the times Lucifer bandaged Sam up after other people hurt him.

"This. He made it for me. With a busted hand, too." Marin's voice inhales as she speaks again, "Sliced it open doing stupid archery."

"He bled on it?" Sam clarifies, refocusing.

Marin looks down, face twisted in confusion. "Probably."

"Good, that's... That's good." Sam assures. He knows how to take the ghost down now.

"Why is that good?" Marin's voice jumps and octave and her face turns apprehensive and one part bewildered.

"One more question." Sam keeps going, hopeful now. "Is there any chance in Hell you got a lighter?"

A real one. Not the one in Lucifer's jean pocket that he's flicking open and shut again, sitting back on the table.

Marin leaves to find one.

Sam can't stand upright for long, and after hesitating, sits by the table where Lucifer stays perched. Lucifer seems surprised, but smiles gently at the contact, the closeness, and flicks the lighter shut. He stuffs it in his pocket, economical and assured in the fluidity of his movements.

Then a hand splays over the back of Sam's head, and Lucifer guides his Sam's head down so it's resting against his knee. Sam props his head up with one hand on his own chin as Lucifer strokes his hair, the Devil so still and tranquil otherwise.

_I don't want to make you suffer. Not really, Sam. You just don't give me many options, sometimes. But all will be forgiven and fixed, soon. You'll see._

\--

The car ride up is painful. Meg is not a wanted passenger in the backseat of Baby. But she's there.

Amnesiac Cas glances at her nervously every few seconds, enough for Dean to notice.

"This silence is very uncomfortable." Cas finally says aloud, turning to Dean. "Is there something I should know?"

"I don't know," Meg says out of the corner of her mouth. "Dean?"

Dean shakes his head and supplies, "No. Meg has that effect. Awkward, you know?"

Cas looks back at her, tone a bit too serious. "That must be difficult for you."

"Dean's making a joke, Emanuel," Meg shoots back, eyes narrowing, but her mouth still smiles as she looks back at Dean.

"Oh." Cas answers, relieved. He gives a small chuckle.

Dean floors Baby as hard as he can manage without spinning her out in the rain.

\--

Marin comes back after she lifts a lighter.

"Nice," Sam starts in as he rises to his feet, Lucifer not stopping him. Now Sam can end this for her. End it in a way that he can't, for himself. "Where'd you score that?"

"Grabbed it out of Marcus's pocket." Marin says and her brow furrows as she adds, "Being locked up has really turned me into a decent criminal."

_Isn't that the truth._

Sam exhales from exertion as he shuts the door and jams a chain under the doornob.

"We're laying down a circle," Sam explains, hurrying to the side of the room near the window. "Help me open these, okay?" Sam adds, pointing to the salt.

They start to make their circle.

Only it starts blowing away, and Sam looks up, sees Lucifer on one knee, blowing, lips pursed like a kiss, and he's eyeing Sam with promise, like he did when he was going to drag him back to the bed, only he isn't. He's just staring Sam down, blue eyes gleaming.

Sam jerks back so his spine hits the wall. He exhales sharply.

Marin looks at him and then back to the circle.

"You're gonna have to do this on your own." Sam answers, inhaling and shaky and hyperventilating. He should've known Lucifer's good humor wouldn't last. It never does. And Sam's mind knows it. "It's okay, I'm okay, I'm just having a little..." Sam gestures with his bandaged hand.

"Brown acid moment?" Lucifer supplies, blinking at him.

"Dizzy thing." Sam finishes, inhaling, "It'll pass."

"Definitely." Lucifer assures, and Sam's lip trembles as Lucifer's eyes pin Sam down, gleaming red, all the archangel staring at him with every bit of intensity they've ever held. "When your heart stops."

Sam looks back at him, unable to look away.

_We're so close now, Sam. It won't be long. And remember, I love you. I let you fix this in peace, didn't I? But I need you to keep your eyes on the prize. Can't have you forgetting about me all over again, hmm?_

Then Lucifer smiles, holds out a hand when Marin finishes the circle, and Sam hauls himself up to his feet and Marin follows suit, both of them inside the salt which protects from some things.

Not all.

Lucifer's hand kneads into Sam's shoulder, ice cold.

_And I promise, I just wanted you to get a move on. You don't want to leave your new friend hanging if you drop to the floor sooner rather than later, am I right?_

"Stay with me in the circle." Sam directs, adamant. "No matter what. No matter what happens. Okay?" 

"What gonna happen?" Marin asks, galncing down at her wrist.

"Give me the bracelet." Sam directs.

Marin hands it over.

Sam's breaths fog, as do Marin's, and the lights flicker.

If it wasn't for the lights and Marin's breaths, it wouldn't have been much of a change, for Sam. He would've hardly noticed.

Sam turns to the door.

Owen flickers into a visible form. Marin ducks behind Sam's shoulder.

Lucifer stands to the side, slightly in front of Sam, hands in his pockets, on his hips, arms bent and expression indifferent. He glances at Sam and licks his lips.

"Marin, don't do this. Please." Owen begs.

"Marin, give me the bracelet," Sam insists, and tries not to think of all the begging Lucifer did as they fell, down, down, down...

"I'm so sorry. I have to." Marin's voice breaks and quavers, her mouth drawn back in fear and pain. The chair rattles on under the doorknob and skitters across the floor, the ward room open to the hallway, now.

 **I have to. You didn't give me a choice.** Sam remembers.

Then Marin breaks the bracelet off her wrist and all the lights shatter and Sam ducks with Marin shielding herself under his arm, the room so dark now with only the lamp flickering. It casts light across Lucifer's face, like lightning did streaking across the Cage.

Sam's hands don't fumble as he clicks the lighter open and sets the braided string on fire.

Owen's ghost burns, screaming. And he's sent on. He's gone.

Sam pants and looks back at Marin, makes sure she is alright. She is.

She's safe. She's free.

"You got to go." Sam finds his voice. "Go."

He can't have her being caught in here.

Marin runs to the door, then stops. Says, "Thank you."

Looks at Sam like he's a friend.

Then she's rushing away. Gets out.

And Lucifer pulls Sam in close, hugs him tight, and his stubble brushes Sam's chin as he kisses him again.

_You did it, Bunk Buddy. One last good deed to answer for all your other sins. Can't banish me, though. Not like that one. Never will._

And then the nurses rush in and Sam holds up his arms and they grab the lighter from Sam's grip and restrain him and sedate him.

When Sam comes too, there's a bright light shining in his eyes.

"Sam, how you feeling now?" The doctor asks.

Sam comes to awareness and realizes he's restrained against a bed.

Lucifer peers out from behind him, expression rapt. "His soul is broken, Doc." Lucifer answers, voice low, near the doctor's ear but not close to touch, though, because contact with other humans always repulses him unless he's painting the walls with blood. "Can you give him a pill?"

Sam can't look at him any more and blinks away. His chest hurts.

"I can't give you any more medication." The doctor explains. "Potential for overdose is too great."

Sam looks at his hands. His nails are half broken off and bruised.

"We need to talk about surgical solutions." The doctor answers. Lucifer gives Sam his smile-that-isn't-a-smile but more pleased when Sam looks back at him.

"Surgical?" Sam slurs.

"Oooh, lobotomy?" Lucifer trills, too excited.

"It's okay. We're not talking lobotomy here." The doctor reassures.

"Darn." Lucifer says. He could always undo the damage. Might be fun to try once Sam's back in Hell. Who knows.

Sam starts to lose himself.

"Sam? Are you with me?" A voice asks.

And then the light is blinding again and everything blurs and Sam's last thoughts are, **I guess I'm going home sooner rather than later.**

_Yes, Sammy. You are._

Sam only calls Hell home because he's lived there the longest. Because Lucifer made him, when Sam dared say they would be there forever.

 _Might as well get cozy, then_. Lucifer had answered, then dragged Sam down with him.

\--

There's demons crawling all over the locked ward.

Amnesiac Cas and Meg both want to know the grand plan for taking them down.

Dean takes Meg aside. He knows her angle.

Meg knows hers, too.

"Sam's in there." She reminds him.

Dean knows.

Meg keeps talking, "I know you're enjoying the double dip with your old pal, but-"

"You think it's that cut and dry?" Dean hisses. "Really?" Then he bends down lower, more insistent. "You know what he did. And you want to tell him and just hope that he takes it in stride? He could snap, he could disappear... Who knows?"

Only Amnesiac Cas overhears it.

"I gather we know each other." He says.

"Just a dollop." Meg says, all dry.

"You can tell me. I'll be fine." Amnesiac Cas assures, looking down and back up again, blinking.

That's a good one.

"How do you know?" Dean demands. "You just met yourself. I've know you for years." And Dean's eyebrows raise, his tone uncompromising.

"You're an angel." Meg interrupts, not beating 'round the bush any longer. Stares Cas down.

Cas is confused and asks if she's flirting.

"No, it's a species." Meg answers, eyebrows rising and fall, mouth quirking slightly. "A very powerful one."

Dean needs to go for it. They don't have time, and the truth has dropped, whatever it's worth. "She's not lying." He says, brusque but trying to stay calm, "Okay, that's why you heal people. You don't eat. I'm sure there's more." Dean adds as Cas blinks at him.

"Why wouldn't you tell me? Being an angel, it sounds... Pleasant." Cas interrupts.

"It's not, trust me." Dean says too quickly and then he can't stop, "It's bloody, it's corrupt. It's not pleasant."

"He would know." Meg cuts in. "You used to fight together." Then she gives Dean a look. "Bestest friends, actually."

The kind with benefits, Meg thinks, too smug.

"We're friends?" Cas asks, stuttering. Dean looks over his shoulder, at nothing, until he isn't, and Dean looks at him, really looks at him.

Cas inhales too deeply.

"Am I Cas?" Castiel demands, looking back and forth between them. The silence answers the question, and Cas gaze darts and settles back at his feet. "I had no idea. I don't remember you. I'm sorry." He gasps, shoulders hunched.

Dean's mouth twitches as he swallows.

"Look. You got the juice." Meg assures, full of confidence. "You can smite every demon in that lot.

Dean looks down at her, then back, head bowed.

Cas turns his back to them. "But I don't remember how." He says.

Dean steps up behind him. "It's in there." He says, certain, "I'm sure it's just like riding a bike."

Cas looks back at him, expression saying he doesn't know how to ride a bike, and he says so, and it's just like in the beginning all over again.

Dean looks away, rolls his eyes and blinks, then turns back and pats Cas on the same shoulder Cas raised him up and looks at him again.

Dean prays.

"Alright. I'll try." Cas answers aloud. And Cas steps back and away, then turns to the demons.

"This ain't gonna go well." Dean says to Meg.

"I don't know." Meg's voice is higher than usual, still sure, and then her voice lowers, all promise. "I believe in the little tree topper."

He was always stubborn. Even Lucifer noticed. And he tried until the end.

That, and Meg remembers when he threw her into holy fire. She likes to think she knows what makes up Cas on a deeper level, where it matters.

Not the same as Dean. But close.

Cas walks up to the demons, one of which says, "Hey. I know you. You're dead."

"Yes, I'm heard." Cas answers. Then he pulls the demon closer and lays his hand on his forehead. And he burns out, smote with all the holy purpose of Heaven.

And then the next one, and the next one, and the next, on and on.

With each burn, Cas remembers who he is.

What he had with Dean.

All his promises to Sam.

All their time stopping the Apocalypse.

All the times after, until now.

"That's my boy." He hears Meg say.

One demon tries to run. Cas flies in front of him.

"I don't think running with save you." He answers, so serious and somber.

Cas watches the demon burn bright and fade. Lucifer's creation, twisted.

Now all gone.

Castiel almost cries. He doesn't.

Dean and Meg walk at his back, right behind him.

"That was beautiful, Clarence." Meg marvels.

Cas swallows.

"Cas?" Dean asks, uncertain.

Cas doesn't turn to look at him as he speaks, "I remember you."

Then he pauses, but not to breathe, and turns slowly to face Dean, who stares at him, eyes wide, mouth open, expression pleading and scared and not daring to believe, only he does.

"I remember everything." Cas adds, voice a throaty, strangled sound. He still stops himself from crying. From all the emotions he learned and relearned all at once.

Cas stares at Dean, then looks away.

"What I did..." He rasps, so softly, swallows and sighs, "What I became." And then his voice gets unsteady and deep and Dean almost hears the echo of his true one. Sees the real eyes gleam underneath, two coals with blue flames as Cas demands, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because Sam is dying in there." Dean answers, fervent.

"Because of me." Cas answers, voice breaking as he emphasizes each word.

Dean blinks at him, opens his mouth to answer, but Cas keeps going.

"Everything. All these people..." And Cas blinks and looks down again as he shakes his head, "I shouldn't be here." And he strides between Dean and Meg, walking off.

"Cas. Cas!" Dean yells after him, voice a rumble. "You stay here," Dean directs Meg, pointing, as he follows Castiel down the road. "Cas!"

Dean follows him up the hill.

"If you remember, then you know you did the best you could at the time." He assures, arm flinging outwards.

"Don't defend me." Cas answers, every word spit out like bile. "Do you have any idea the death toll in Heaven?" Then he yells, "On earth?"

Cas turns around to face Dean and they both stop.

Dean inhales.

"We didn't part friends, Dean." Cas insists, not letting the pain and grief drag him under because he hurt Dean, hurt Sam, hurt Bobby. Hurt those closest to him.

"So what?" Dean demands.

"I deserved to die." Cas answers, voice shaking.

Dean just looks at him, unable to say anything, his throat closed too tight.

"Now, I can't possibly fix it. So why did I even walk out of that river?" Cas asks, directionless.

"Maybe to fix it." Dean answers.

Cas looks away, throat bobbing.

"Wait." Dean says, keys jingling as he opens Baby's trunk.

He gives Cas his trenchcoat back, along with his old clothes, tie and all. There's still blood on them.

Cas takes them.

\--

Light hits Sam face and then it falls into shadow and then hits Sam's face again as he's wheeled down the hall.

Sam groans. Lucifer lays on top of him, head on his shoulder, humming as he holds Sam's hand.

_Soon, so soon._

Sam pulls his head up as he enters a white room.

"Where are we?" Sam gasps.

The nurse, Marshall, answers, "Electroshock therapy. Let's just get you settled. Don't be freaked. I've seen this help a lot of people."

He tightens Sam's restraints, and Sam flinches. Lucifer keeps stroking Sam's hair.

"My brother." Sam asks, first.

"Bite down." Marshall directs, shoving plastic in Sam's mouth.

Then he's turning the machine on, and keeps talking, "Ordinarily, they keep this thing set on low. But I was thinking we could experiment a little." He says, picking up the headpiece. "What do you say, Sam?" He asks, as he puts it over Sam's head, and Lucifer keeps one shoulder draped over Sam's shoulder, gives it a reassuring squeeze, and Sam whimpers through the plastic. "Let's get that head strapped in."

Sam looks up at him, eyes squinting, confused and tired and hurting.

Marshall smiles, and his eyes go black.

Time to send you on home, Sam. Faster, the better. Sam hears.

Lucifer shushes Sam and keeps stroking the back of his neck, hugging him closer.

The machine gets the dial turned up, and electricity shorts through Sam's system and it hurts so bad, so immediate.

Sam's had worse, but this hurts more, somehow, because he's so close to death but not quite there.

Sam doesn't notice anything except Lucifer whispering in his ear the whole time, and the electricity.

Not until the machine gets turned off.

A hand brushes Sam's forehead, and Sam feels grace, like fire, only the ice drowns it out.

Sam looks up, and Lucifer smiles at him, hand to Sam's forehead, waiting to greet him.

"You're not real." Sam gasps, and closes his eyes, head hitting the gurney again.

 _Not yet_.

A hand brushes Sam's Adam's apple as he hyperventilates, can barely feel anything but pain and exhaustion and fear.

\--

Cas smites the demon. Goes to save Sam. To heal him.

But there's no wall to fix.

And Cas is horrified, because it's not hallucinations.

It's all just Lucifer, the real Lucifer, sending echoes from the Cage because it might keep him in but he got in so deeply inside Sam, his grace so bound up and intertwined with Sam's soul, that Cas will never get it out.

Cas apologizes, anyway.

He never wanted this to happen.

He'd failed to protect Sam, in more ways than one.

\--

The next time Sam comes to, Lucifer is talking to him about the three little pigs.

And Lucifer is a tad pissed Cas tried to lay his hands on Sam. But Sam's all his, and he's fully in there, rooting around, and Sam's still going to see him until he can't stay awake.

And he'll die soon. You can't fight no sleep.

Not after ten days.

\--

Cas doesn't tell Dean what this really is. Sam wouldn't want him to.

But he does know what he can do.

He can interrupt the flow of grace from flooding Sam's neural pathways. Take it on himself.

So he will do it, if it will spare Sam.

He tells Dean he can shift it, if, "It will get Sam back on his feet."

Cas strides forward, determined to fix the one thing he can, to make up for one of his worst transgressions, to spare Sam torment and pay his price for failing everyone so badly.

"It's better this way," Cas assures, looking back at Dean's wide eyes, his uncomprehending and nervous stare. It's goodbye.

Again.

Cas looks at Sam's terrified face, and says, "Now Sam, this may hurt."

Sam only sees Lucifer licking his lips, speaking words Cas says only he doesn't know it's Cas saying them because his mind is broken now, too, the electricity saw to that.

"I'm sorry I ever did this to you."

And there's a hand on Sam's forehead, sucking down the poison of Lucifer grace the only way another angel can.

Castiel couldn't stop this directly, when Lucifer was free. But he can stop the interference now that he's still in the Cage. Can disrupt him. The paths he send to Sam's body.

Disrupt the chords sent over when he strums along Sam's soul through their link. Through everything Lucifer left behind when he burrowed deep inside.

Cas eyes burn red as his grace resonates with Lucifer's, taking over the transmission, disrupting the song singing in Sam's veins and lungs and brain. (Only Dean doesn't know that, he just thinks Cas is taking on whatever it is that made Sam hallucinate.)

Lucifer looks back at Castiel, eyes narrow, voice brewing with pure hatred.

"Hello, brother." He says, as he rises from the bed, hands still clasped.

_How dare you steal him. You think you're protecting him? You won't know how, by the time I'm done with you._

And thwarted in his deepest desires, Lucifer hurts Cas so badly, for taking Sam away, again.

He had been so close, this time.

So Lucifer is going to make Castiel pay with all the intense focus Lucifer can afford to give him from here on out. No breaks. No kindness.

And with Castiel's sacrifice, Sam is restored, sees clearly now, as normal as he can be after everything he's gone through.

Dean rushes to his side, yelling Sam's name.

"Cas?" Sam asks, so softly, "Is that you?"

**You're alive... You're yourself...**

And Dean and Sam watch as Cas doesn't see them, and he backs away. They look at each other, realization breaking over them at the same time.

Cas transferred Sam's torture to himself. Lucifer laughs at every torture he inflicts, full of purpose and fury and more creative than ever, because Sam was his and he was kinder to Sam, and he would not be kind to this one, for taking Sam back.

Sam and Dean leave him in the ward to protect him, even though they would rather do anything else.

Sam focuses on the lowdown Dean gave him, doesn't want more demons hanging over their heads.

Dean assures Sam it isn't a deal, isn't a backstab they need to worry about or anything else.

It's only, "Mutually assured destruction."

And Sam knows how that goes. Has lived it, when he fell, with Lucifer screaming as he holds on for dear life.

Dean gets into the car lamenting that all their friends are dead. The door slams, and Sam follows suit.

Although, he wonders if he'd be better off throwing in the towel, too. If he should just end it and go back to Lucifer because something is seriously wrong with him and he promised and he doesn't want to but he might still have to and he remembers it all...

Only he can't do it.

Because Dean needs him.

And he can't let Castiel's sacrifice go to waste.

But if Meg double-crosses them, hurts Cas as she looks after him in any way or fashion...

Sam's gunning for her next.


	64. Until We Bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S8 redone.
> 
> chapter title a song by kleerup
> 
> there's a good omens reference in here somewhere...

Dean is gone.

So is Cas.

And with them, everything Sam has been trying to keep a lid on comes tumbling down. The line to Lucifer may have been interrupted with Cas's intervention, but it only unwinds so far, and his grace hums under Sam's collar with nothing holding him back.

(That's how Sam knows they're dead or good as, because whatever could take Cas out with a Leviathan means there's no hope for Dean, either, and if there was any chance of getting them back Lucifer wouldn't have sunk his claws back in).

But first Sam tries denial, like always. He can do this. He can fight the good fight alone, even with the echo of Lucifer breathing down the back of his neck again, even with the whispers that there's nothing left for him except Hell when he finally croaks.

_I'll let you take your time, Bunk Buddy. I'll let you live your life topside, slow and empty without dear Ol' Dean to martyr yourself for, or little Cassie to interrupt our long-distance game of telephone. Not only will it serve you right, but it will make you appreciate us again. Don't look at me like that. I'm not yanking your chain, Sammy. It's not like getting you back down here will get me out faster now that Dean and the little angel that could have flown the coop, so there's no point having you as bait to have them crack this place open. But I've always been patient. I waited for you for millennia, after all. I'll even give you time to take a gander at all the things you have to look forward to... Remember all the fun we had, after you threw our dreams away? Hey, how about we make a game out of it? Let's see how long you last out here, with no one else except me. You never were one for going it alone, not really._

Lucifer crouches and steeples his fingers, too solid as he stares Sam's prone form down. Sam freezes, halfway through making another summoning circle and trying any spell he can get his hands on, ( **and he's not real he's not you're not** except it feels real, it's always too real, there's thousands of years Sam is never going to be able to hide from, not when Lucifer can find his way back in when Sam's all alone), and Sam finds he's frozen and voiceless as he's always been in the face of all the truths Lucifer liked to bring to light.

_You should be used to that, Sammy. You know exactly how this goes. But I'll even throw you a bone. I'll help you look for them. No one else knows Leviathans like I do, after all. I'm the only Archangel left who saw them up close. What? They're not dead, baby. And don't you want to know what happened to them? I can tell you._

**You'll lie.**

_I never lie, Sammy. Never. Cross my heart and hope you die. Well, eventually. But if you're good, if you come and let me out again, maybe I'll even help you retrieve the two musketeers from the trouble they've landed themselves in. What do you say?_

Sam pretends to ignore him, swallows and keeps going as he tries to find out if maybe there's a way to bring them back, a way to make a trade without Lucifer telling him how this ends, only there are no leads and no answers and it's exactly like losing Dean to Hell, with no one biting, no one giving any solutions except Lucifer, except this time, Heaven and Hell are empty of the brother and angel Sam's only had a reason to live for ever since his soul was dugout from below the ground. And Lucifer knows that, knows how little Sam has left to send him toppling down the path of ruining everything again, because while Sam won't throw his sacrifice for the world away in vain, Sam knows there's only two ways this goes, otherwise Lucifer wouldn't be so pleased.

Either way, he loses it, or he doesn't, but regardless Sam will die one day, and when he does, Lucifer gets him and nothing else while Cas and Dean have no one left to find them or bring them back from whatever Hell they've found themselves in.

Or Sam caves or snaps and does anything and everything to get them both back, and the Devil finds his winning hand to win Sam and his freedom again.

It might takes years. It might take weeks. It might take a lifetime.

But Lucifer is always present and Sam has nothing to stop him from owning him even now, and Lucifer promises everything, and he means it, and that's always been the problem.

Sam puts off making a decision and tries what else he has left. He can find Kevin, maybe, if he can focus...

Lucifer's laughter sings Sam to sleep, except when Sam doesn't sleep at all.

\--

By day three, Sam is staring up at the dark ceiling, and his hands are shaking, and next thing he knows, sunlight is streaming through a barn and he finds himself pinning a demon by the throat with Lucifer tousling his hair, and it takes all his self-control not to fall off the wagon back into the open hands of an addiction he's been clean and far away from provided his brother was there (except he's not).

_You can break Purgatory wide open if you drink enough, Sammy. You have the power, you always have._

Sam gathers his thoughts, staring at a nameless demon who found itself drawn here without knowing why.

 **It will knit us back together again-** Sam finally answers, not sure if he's begging or crying or arguing as the knife pushes in closer.

_-and pull me closer and closer to you. Don't you miss us, Sammy? Don't you? Shh, shh, I know you do. You could never lie to me, baby._

Sam exorcises the demon with broken Enochian, stuttering, barely able to breathe, too scared that stabbing the damn thing will be one step too close to falling off the edge.

_Aw, Sammy. I know you'll come 'round. Or not. What does it matter? You know who you belong to. And you don't have any other options- not if Dean and Cas want you to pull them back._

By day five, Sam is drawing blanks every few hours. Once, he tries answering his phone, but the language doesn't make sense and he's not sure what is real or not, with Lucifer making the sky and the trees and the metal of the sink bathe in a distinct shade of red, and the sound of chains clinks next to Sam's throat, like he's never left the Devil's open arms.

Lucifer only dares to wear Dean's face once after that, when he grabs the phone from Sam's hand and clicks it shut, but the threatening movement and sharp smile is enough to make Sam leap and hide beside the fridge and beg and beg in a language older than Heaven until Lucifer finally switches back to Nick and closes Sam's fist over the phone, the blinking light of any new messages reading 0 when Sam checks the screen again.

\--

By the two week mark, stone number one has long since been driven completely off the rails. Sam finds himself having wandered to the edge of a bridge with a forty foot drop, and he remembers exactly how he got there.

It's not that he wants to die. He doesn't, well, usually doesn't, but Lucifer always makes it seem like it's never anything but the only empty choice Sam can make to keep the Devil from gaining more purchase. And Sam knows Dean and Cas need him to get them out, but Sam is useless, **he's always useless except when he's being used and..**.

And Lucifer is making too many arguments that make too much sense, and Sam can't fight him, he can't, so the only way to keep the Cage screwed up tight is if Sam casts off his weakness, because even if Dean deserves better than this, and Cas, and they tried to find a way, Sam knows that if it's between accepting Lucifer's help to bring Dean back and the Devil running free again, it's not a choice at all.

Sam's foot slips over the side.

But Lucifer graciously holds him back, Sam's shirt choking tightly against his neck, and Jessica's voice whispers in his ear, too light for all the promise in it, and Sam can't breathe, tries to cover his ears except there's no stopping this, there's never any escape-

_Not yet, Sammy. I know I said that when you take the plunge, it's going to be all on you. And that's true. You'll come back to me. I know you. No matter which way you run, all roads lead back to me._

And Lucifer taps Sam's collar, feather-light, like a gust of wind could blow Sam over.

_But I gotta be sure you mean it. So tell me, Bunk Buddy. You ready to come back down, be together forever, if it means leaving Dean and Cas behind?_

Sam says nothing.

_I want to hear the words, Samuel. Yes or no?_

Sam steps back from the edge, and says nothing at all. 

_\--_

By week three, Sam has tried summoning any demon, reaper, angel, or minor god he can get ahold of to try and find out if there is no way to fix this. There's no way to go back in time, no way to undo what's been done without ripping Purgatory wide open or breaking its defenses further, and Sam finds only one lead that still doesn't end up working. Reapers apparently can get into Purgatory just fine, but getting humans or angels back out isn't possible unless Purgatory is damaged further, which Sam can't chance, because Lucifer is sending feelers out to hellhounds and demons Crowley doesn't control, Sam has found them following his footsteps, and Lucifer is in Sam's head all the time, too close for comfort, and if Purgatory weakens then Hell's connected foundations might, too (and Sam can't chance that, can't chance the Cage breaking from the outside when Lucifer is already drawing Sam closer and closer and closing in for the kill, and Sam can't chance the deeper, older proto-Leviathans from pouring out again either, because Lucifer hadn't hesitated to specify that worse versions of what they fought are deeper inside Purgatory, bound in its very foundations beyond what even Cas could swallow, and Sam will steer clear of that, too).

Sam says no, thousands of times, as Lucifer tries to convince Sam otherwise. That they can both walk out of this unscathed, if Sam undoes the one thing he has ever felt mattered.

\--

The next time Sam wakes up in the back seat of the Impala, there's sulfur and demon blood all over the seats. He doesn't know how it got there, but he knows he hasn't drunk one drop. Sam's throat is too dry and his stomach is in knots as he scrubs it out by hand, covering his face with a sweater to not breath it in, even though the damage is done.

When he's finished, (and when Lucifer's icy hands have stopped admiring Sam's jumping muscles in his neck), Sam finally caves and abandons any pretend pride he ever felt he's had left, and summons Crowley on the gravel, chalk stains bound to the blood he can't fully wash off his hands.

And Sam would demand Kevin's safety first, except the words that burst out of Sam's mouth aren't in English anymore, and Sam asks how he can keep himself from drinking Hell dry on autopilot thanks to Lucifer's newest tricks. Normally, Sam wouldn't be doing this, he hates Crowley, and he'll kill him one day, but Lucifer has always been the one thing they've both been afraid of, and out of all the things out there, Crowley is the only one left on earth that Sam could even consider a neutral party when it comes to Sam's broken mind.

Crowley tells him he has nothing on Cas or Dean and that Kevin is none of Sam's concern and outside of this transaction, unless Sam feels like making a deal.

"But tell you what, Moose. I'll provide some magic on the house, to keep you from icing my subordinates and stealing my throne in your sleep. That tickle your fancy?"

Sam almost threatens to drink Crowley dry right then and there, just to prove a point, but Sam knows that road and they both know it's an empty threat. And while Crowley doesn't cough Kevin up, he does say Kevin is in the wind, and asks if Sam is really willing to risk the entire world again when he has already lost everything and has far worse things to worry about.

It's not a deal, not really. It's just survival.

Sam takes the sigils and runes and words of the long-dead to keep the Devil from guiding his sleepwalking mind, in the name of both their interests, and they promise never to speak of it again, bound in mutual loathing.

And Crowley doesn't try anything funny, not when it comes to this, because Sam has Lucifer's ice cold fire burning inside him and is already setting everything ablaze without recollection of it, too much power for even Crowley to challenge with spells or not, and if there is one thing they can agree on, it's Lucifer not being set free again, however accidentally.

\--

A day later, Sam runs, ditches the phones and every speck of his old life, then drives down the freeway and doesn't look back.

\--

Lucifer says one truth too many. 

Then Sam tries to wrap himself around a tree, but doesn't get far enough because he hits a dog instead.

\--

After a visit to the vet with a new dog as a friend, Sam settles in a town with a motel and makes small talk with the locals and finds a way to make himself useful, even in the small ways, and Sam tries to hold on to this temporary break, to this life that will never truly be his... But he can pretend, for a year, or five years, or forever until the truth comes out again and Sam heads straight back down to Hell, but if it means that every day he breathes Lucifer doesn't get what he wants, then Sam will consider it the only small victory he'll get.

The guilt of knowing Dean and Cas are out there somewhere and Sam is failing them and abandoning them almost makes Sam run from it all and drink every speck of demon blood and listen to every word Lucifer says, he comes close to breaking every few days and nights, except Sam won't let addiction or Lucifer or possession drive him to do the one thing he can't ever let himself do. And he's not strong enough, he knows he isn't, and the guilt eats Sam alive.

But Sam can deal with his failure and this new Hell. His dog needs him. He can stay alive for this dog, and this town, and do what he can.

Otherwise, Sam stays far away from hunting and doesn't get back in, because the moment he does, he'll say yes, he knows he will, and Lucifer will win.

Sam keeps running, keeps treading water in place, and pretends this temporary solution works.

He takes one day at a time, and breathes, and hopes that one day maybe he'll be so desperate he'll actually believe it.

\--

Sometimes, when he's alone, Sam thinks of Brady and Jess and knows that his old life was just like this, just less empty, and full of a love that has grown cold and terrifying inside his heart.

\--

Talking to Amelia is the exact opposite of everything Sam has ever loved or wanted. He didn't even like her, not at first, even if he doesn't dislike her, not exactly. No one should be telling people to take a dog into their home if they can't care for them properly. But she's wrong about a lot of things and doesn't apologize and keeps on talking, and seems to know how much of a hot mess she is, and that's almost enough to drown Lucifer out as he keeps telling Sam truths he doesn't want to hear. Amelia is distracting, and blunt, but kinder than the devil and human in all the ways Sam needs.

That's why he stays with her. She's normal, and not tied to the supernatural in any way, and Sam pretends he can keep this normalcy and move on with his life.

She's bitter and rude and lonely and speaks her mind and the sharpness is like Jess but the lack of love and commitment is entirely the opposite.

It isn't love that binds them together, not entirely.

It's fear, and honesty, and the need for another person to stop them both from wandering and running and facing the things they are running from.

Amelia sees just how out of it Sam is, seeing someone or something that haunts his every step and keeps him from fully focusing on the here and now, and pretends she doesn't see him flinching. Cracks jokes about creeping around and being transient and the dog Sam named after the Dog in a book with angels and demons and an Antichrist where decisions and free will actually mattered and a happy ending reigned, but then Sam caves on calling the dog Riot because thinking about the book only made Sam remember everything he was running from in the first place.*

Amelia's first husband beat her bloody. Her second husband didn't, but then he left for a war and never returned, and Sam knows both these kinds of loss in a different yet altogether too similar way.

When they fuck, Sam doesn't let her touch him, and Amelia doesn't try to, just lets him help her float away as they pretend they aren't lifejackets for the other pretending the storm hasn't already swallowed them up and spit them out, broken.

They do not pity each other. They survive. And when Sam wakes up screaming, or crying, or shaking, Amelia doesn't say anything at all, just holds his hand and nods her head and doesn't try to say it's okay because it isn't and it never will be but she knows she's pretending just like he is.

\--

Neither of them go to therapy. They know they should, but they don't.

Sam tells Amelia the best way to not jump out of her own skin when she backslides and stops her from picking at old bruises and cuts she never lets heal, and Amelia stops Sam from hurting himself when he shakes and says words in a language she doesn't recognize, hiding from a shadow she can't see.

\--

Eventually, Sam can ignore Lucifer often enough with enough stimulus to keep him occupied, and settles in as best he can to a veneer of a life of safety Sam has always coveted. He may not have a true home on earth, his soul has long since been carved into the farthest corners of Hell, but Sam keeps hanging on and feels like even this fleeting happiness- feeling the sun, seeing the sky, living for no other purpose than to just be alive, with no way to fuck anything else up-

Sam isn't at peace. Sam isn't free. But this all he has to hold him back from everything that would otherwise eat him alive, and he refuses to face down the rest of eternity without Dean and without Cas and with only Lucifer to look forward to, even if he never says yes again.

Sam will take the time he has, and help those he can in the only small ways he can manage.

He still can't hunt, and can't stomach meat. The violence and blood and memory of Dean and Cas are too fresh, and too dangerous, because then Lucifer's honeyed words and violent conquests feel all too real again.

\--

When Amelia's life seems like it's coming back together, when a dead man rises from the grave because he never died in the first place, Sam leaves, because he can't keep her happiness from her, not when he's damaged goods and she has a real chance to have what he never really will.

(Except he does, Lucifer is waiting around every corner with a cold love Sam has never escaped, and there's more than one alive-ghost haunting him, and Sam knows Jess isn't real, she isn't, except the Devil always knew how to twist the knife.)

\--

When Sam finds Dean again, he lies and says he thought he was dead.

He knows Dean knows he's lying, and knows that's why the anger doesn't subside, but he can't handle saying the truth, because then Dean will know just how dead Sam already is and already has been ever since Dean brought him back, soul and all.

And Sam gets angry, pretends he wants his life with Amelia back, because otherwise the guilt eats at him, except it's not entirely about that. Sam was able to just exist, and now he's not, now he has to save people in a life that has only ever ruined everything, and Sam is scared the only rock he's had will be ripped away all over again because Dean promised he'd be there, and he wasn't... And Dean might not be safe with him, not really.

Sam doesn't tell Dean Lucifer is the devil on his shoulder ever since Dean got ripped away.

And Dean pretends not to notice how Sam isn't always there. He did, before Purgatory, and Sam knows on some level he knows the truth.

But Dean is angry, too, angry for being abandoned and angry for thinking he's failed everyone and for the way Sam looks at home...

Dean knows Sam thinks he's broken, and he hates himself for that, and Dean has always let his anger out on Sam when he really knows he's angry at himself and the world and everything they've fought.

Sam goes back to hunting, because he can't lose Dean again, or Cas, but he can't watch them die, and being with Dean is the only way to keep Lucifer out except now that isn't even true anymore. (And as for Cas- Sam suspects he is alive, feels the fleeting feeling of grace and Enochian without words sometimes flit by, but doesn't dare to hope and doesn't know what it means until Cas is back with them in a hotel room with no memory of his escape.)

Castiel's influence helps Sam push back on Lucifer (Cas keeps Sam's secret, hears his prayers, and does what he can to shut the grace down in private, with new tricks thanks to Purgatory itself). Castiel's mind is a broken thing, anyway, with Naomi playing her games, and Lucifer allows her to think she's broken Lucifer's hold on him while both of them pretend that Castiel is almost himself.

It's a setback, sure, but Lucifer bides his time. Now that Dean is back, he can go back to plan B. Steal Sam and get the brothers to break the Cage back open, one way or another.

After all, Sam is still playing with fire, and has found a new go-to mission to set his sights on now that Kevin mentioned boarding up Hell, and Crowley doesn't want Hell closed for business, so Lucifer knows it's only a matter of time before someone plays with something they shouldn't and sends the whole thing toppling down.

Disaster follows the Winchesters wherever they go, and Lucifer knows he just has to wait.

\--

When Sam meets Benny, it's not hatred of Benny himself. It's hatred of all the ways Dean never let Sam decide to live a quiet life, or how he didn't let Amy live, but most of all how Sam couldn't get Dean out, whether he tried or not, and the fact that he knows he's so broken and Dean knows it enough that he might abandon him, when Sam never asked to be brought back and how the only normalcy he's ever known was still Jess even after all this time and that hurts more than anything else.

Sam knows he's a failure.

But he thought his brother would be there for him, and now all Dean thinks is that Sam can't be trusted, but Sam can't tell him why he really couldn't go back and save Dean because that would be worse.

Dean still wouldn't trust him, anyway. Not if demon blood became a topic of conversation, and Sam would rather Dean hated him for giving up on the rescue than for losing sobriety and possibly breaking Lucifer out instead if it meant getting his brother back. Dean would view that as a worse betrayal, so Sam stays quiet and angry and wishes that he could just go back to a life where at least he could pretend his expiration date would only mean Hell for him and not everyone else.

\--

Dean finds out how close Sam came to falling off the bandwagon, anyway, thanks to the demon auction for the tablet and the gamble Sam makes to get the tablet. He won't let Mrs. Tran leverage her own soul- not when he's already broken, not when he can trade his broken, patched up mosaic knitted together by an Archangel over and over again, except he won't, he can't, and his soul is owned already and everyone knows it enough that it's not considered viable for trade, and honestly he'll never give his soul up again of his own free will- so instead, Sam bites the nearest demon's throat open the moment he finds an opening.

In the ensuing struggle, Sam slays every monster within reach with the hammer and an open hand, and the tablet breaks, half held in Castiel's hand, the other clutched by Crowley as Castiel's grace floods the room. 

Crowley burns the tattoo and possesses Mrs. Tran to save his soulless life.

When Dean almost kills her, Kevin finds Crowley's parting shot to be a bit too close to home, and Sam holds out his hand to pull Crowley from her lungs.

Then Sam doubles over, forcing himself to ignore the Enochian whispers and claws he can feel, even though the Cage is closed and far, far away as Lucifer uncoils under his skin, closer now, but with Dean back Sam has no reason to descend to Hell, and Sam doesn't hate himself for falling off the bandwagon this once if it means Kevin and Cas and Mrs. Tran and Dean get out of here alive and free.)

Crowley escapes.

\--

Sam gets locked inside a safe room to wear out the aftershocks and doesn't see Dean for three days.

Sometimes, Cas checks in, quiet, watchful, but Sam doesn't always see him.

Thanks to the blood, Lucifer is clear as day, laughing, telling Sam he doesn't need to board up Hell, he can just waltz back home and take his rightful place. Good intentions mean nothing, Sam knows that, but at least Kevin and Mrs. Tran are safe now, with Garth, and far away from him and Dean.

When Sam pukes up all the blood and the shakes and projections subside, Dean finally looks at him and they drive away, not talking about what happened.

Sam stares out the window and traces raindrops and wishes Riot was still driving around with him, except he can't, because this was no life for a dog, and it's better for everyone if they stay far away from him.

Sam isn't safe. He knows he isn't safe. But pretending at normalcy was all he had, until Dean came back, and now he has nothing but the raw, painful truth staring him in the face, and it hurts more and more with every day.

\--

It makes it worse, somehow, when Dean considers another bloodsucker less of a disappointment (a monster, a freak, Sam knows those are the words but Dean doesn't say it), and more of a brother, when all Sam has done is given his life to Dean's vision of the two of them, hunting, after rising from the grave. Wanting to stop hunting isn't a crime, not when it ruins Sam and reminds him of all the ways he is unclean and unfit to save anyone.

\--

When Kevin speaks of the Trials, Sam finds the only solution to a problem he thought there was no solution to, and Sam reads everything he can. And it seems too good to be true, but Sam doesn't care, because when it seems like enough to burn the remnant of all that binds him to Lucifer from under his skin, Sam takes the one answer that might make all this pain stop, and holds on to it in a way he used to hold on to college as a way out.

Sam believes in the Trials like he never thought he would ever believe again.

And when the Trials prove to have a price too steep, Sam knows that at least everyone wins on some level. Dean won't have to babysit him or be weakened by Sam's failures, Lucifer will get what he's been asking for of Sam's own free will, and Sam will stop Hell and Lucifer and everything that's ever owned him or dogged his steps from walking the earth ever again.


	65. Bad Habit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S8E14, S8E21-E23, S9, and S10. S9E1 dialogue
> 
> chapter title a song by the dresden dolls

"I want to slam Hell shut, too, okay? But I want to survive it. I want to live." Sam assures.

**I want to create something, to move on from the things that tried to bind me, tried to mold me.**

"You were right. I see light at the end of this tunnel," Sam adds, deliberate in the word choice, and then hesitates, persists anyway, "And I'm sorry you don't. I am. But it's there. And if you come with me, I can take you to it."

"Sam, be smart." Dean cautions.

"I am smart." Sam answers. "And so are you. You're not a grunt, Dean, you're a genius. When it comes to lore... You're the best damn hunter I've ever seen, better than me, better than Dad. I believe in you, Dean. So please, please believe in me, too."

Dean does.

And Sam takes the paper, swallows as he sees the writing, reads the words he knows too well from lips and a throat and a voice he's known longer than any other, even his own.

A different kind of light fills him with the incantation.

Sam hopes it will finally release him from all the chains still bound inside him.

"I'm good. I'm okay. I can do this." Sam assures. He hasn't felt this kind of purpose in a long, long time.

He tries not to hide from the fear on Dean's face.

\--

Later, Sam wonders aloud, "If the demon tablet can shut the gates of Hell, then what can the angel tablet do?"

And so, the cycle starts again, with the road to Hell being paved with good intentions.

Just like it always is.

Except Sam is only made aware after the fact, because that's all he and Dean and Castiel ever are.

Sam wonders when they'll ever have their good intentions not fall to pieces. Sometimes, it seems tied to every strand of DNA in his system, every tag of cytosine, guanine, adenine, and thymine, making Sam himself, every double-twist of bonds coming to twist him into something else.

Thy mine.

Thy and thee are _mine, as it is written from the beginning of Creation_ , and thus the Lord spake, _thou art hallowed, made eternal, forever belonging to my brightest Angel_.

Forever tied to one whose frozen wings keep Sam from burning up with fever even as he shakes, sickly, pleading, begging for some way to end all this, to make this up to him, to the price for keeping everyone safe everything Sam has ever been and ever will be.

Like Lucifer has always been there to begin with, hiding in his blood and bones and skin.

\--

“You remember that? Knights of the Round Table." Sam explains as he stumbles through the hall, the lights singing at him, bright and wavering but not the same brightness he knows from other places. "Had all of King Arthur’s knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. And I remember looking at this picture of Sir Galahad, and... And he was kneeling, and..." Sam stops to look at Dean, arms moving out around his head before he stops and has to steady himself with the wall, "And light streaming over his face, and... I remember thinking," Sam's eyes go far away as his hand waves, and then he tries to stay focused, "I could never go on a quest like that."

Sam stops and looks back up at Dean, eye to eye. The air tastes like dust, and it smells like ashes to Sam, ashes and cold and skin.

Dean blinks, waiting, not sure where Sam is going.

And Sam's eyes go somewhere again as he looks down and to the side, as Sam finally announces, "Because I’m not clean."

His voice rasps, and his eyes meet Dean's again on the last word, too much time in his gaze, too must of a twist in his lips as a muscle in his face twitches.

Then Sam is grasping again, "I mean, I was just a little kid."

And Sam's in a frozen tundra again, everything quiet although the wind is howling around him and there's blood his hands and his face and the snow, and all the light and endless wings holding him, whispering and humming and ringing and bright. And endless red, red eyes.

So many mouths. So many tongues. So many sharp white teeth.

Dean doesn't know how early Sam actually saw Lucifer's true form, saw it in a dream before he truly knew how old he was. It was beautiful and terrible and haunted Sam's every waking moment since he saw it on some level, even an echo of the Archangel almost an inverted shadow on his eyelids.

But not even possession, not even carrying Lucifer in his skin with Sam right inside and next to and close to him, was when Sam was made to watch in awe and fear.

It was only after the Cage that Lucifer's true face truly made Sam viscerally afraid, more than anything, more than everything...

Sometimes Sam wonders if that's why he always believed in angels, seeing it when he did.

Then Sam's head tilts and his neck twists and he almost leans farther as he blinks, mouth opening and closing and opening again as he reaches, adding, "You think… maybe I knew?" Sam tries not to let his eyes water, tries not to succumb to other things, because every atom of his skin and blood and bones and soul is buzzing with the light of the trials, has been, and the undoing of Sam makes Sam feel like Lucifer is being wrung out of him, one particle and wave at a time. Sam keeps talking, keeps explaining, keeps questioning, keeps searching for something he and Dean have never been able to share. "I mean, deep down," And Sam's voice choke, and his teeth grit into a grin that is all pulled back muscle, all snarl, all residual fear and violence as Sam's eyebrows draw together, the pain between his eyes pulsing harder than he can bear, "That I had demon blood in me, and about the evil of it, and that I..."

Sam stops, can't get the words out, and Dean swallows and keeps blinking but it's for a different reason, there's a tension in his frame and mouth that isn't violence, it's all fear, all discomfort, all trying to follow where Sam is going but he doesn't know what to do except listen, and he can't keep looking in his eyes anymore, not with the things he sees there.

Sam finally finds his voice again, "...Wasn’t pure?”

"Sam, it's not your fault." Dean answers, keeps his voice steady, although it almost goes too gruff, and he closes his eyes longer before looking back into Sam's eyes, forces himself to.

Sam doesn't let him keep going, points a wavering punctuation as he interrupts, "It doesn't matter anymore."

It does.

And Sam lets the tears well up, doesn't let them fall, as he looks down again and says, "Because these trials..." Sam's fingers pinch together and his head tilts and his eyes narrow, face still pale and bruised and exhausted and shining with sweat as he inhales. Then Sam gathers his composure, face almost smiling for real, as he declares, "They're purifying me."

Sam smiles with the fervency of someone going to try experimental treatment or a scam they believe in like a cult, smiles for a cure for something incurable, and his body coils with the same last gasp of energy, like someone going after a cure for something they know is incurable, that deep down, Sam knows, it won't fix anything.

Not really.

Sam laughs a shallow almost-sound and Dean stares at him, not knowing if there is anything to do, because Sam's been going under for a while.

And Dean doesn't know how to fight this crazed intent Sam has now, doesn't know what he can say or do or anything.

\--

They find a door. 366. Stacks of books greet them, like a wall.

The ringing is louder now. It's so different from Lucifer's, higher pitched, not minor key.

It sings a different song.

Sam can hear how it changes with the other harmonies he's heard, how it interweaves. Castiel's. Gabriel's. Michael's.

Lucifer's.

His.

Can hear the notes it sings with the things Sam has heard of God, when Lucifer showed him memories of Before.

It builds and builds and builds and Sam doesn't want to know where it's all going to go.

Then there's a gun pointed at them, and Sam tries not to fall over on the books as he keeps his palms open and hands up.

"Who are you?" Metatron demands. Sam knows because he knows it, knows it from the ringing song in his head, from the angel he can almost see overlaid the flesh it hides in.

Sam can't answer that. Right now, Sam's singing too much, and Sam's wires have been crossed for so long, he's once again drowning with memory, of the time when he and Lucifer were so closely settled in the same skin.

"Metraton." Dean finds his voice, and then it gives way to anger. "This is Metratron?" Then he checks up on Sam, repeating, "This is Metatron?"

Metratron gets them to sit. Probably for the best, since Sam's not sure he can stay upright.

It's so loud.

"Who sent you?" Sam hears Metraton ask.

"We came on our own." Sam manages to speak, not sure if it's English or Enochian. "We're the Winchesters."

Although Dean keeps most of the conversation going from then on, does the introductions. "I'm Dean, this is Sam."

Recognition floods Metraton's face. "You work for Michael?" He demands of Dean, then eyes Sam. "Or Lucifer?"

That name makes Sam almost flinch, but he settles for yelling over the sound, "What, you really haven't heard of us?" Then Sam laughs despite himself, "What kind of angel are you? We're the freakin' Winchesters."

"Michael and Lucifer," Dean explains, not patient, "I mean, those dudes are in the deep fryer." Then Dean mentally kicks himself for the word choice, but Sam got him all messed up earlier, and it just slipped out.

"Yeah, we put them there ourselves." Sam assures, trying hard not to think about it too much.

"What about Gabriel and Raphael?" Metraton queries.

"Dead." Sam answers shakes his head, and keeps blinking and holding his ears, voice too loud in the silence for the others.

Dean is for once, honest with incredulity. "You really don't know this?"

Metatron shakes his head, still brandishing the shotgun. "I've been very careful."

Sam can't take much more of this, his head feels like it's going to split apart, and that and mentioning the Cage is making everything too much. "Hey, can you turn that down?" Sam finally begs.

"Turn what down?" Metatron asks, thrown. The gun lowers in realization. "Oh."

Dean is more than confused.

Then, Metatron is saying Sam is freaking resonating, and that's the straw that breaks the camel's back.

"You get that far along, you start resonating with the Word," Metraton adds, and Sam's immediately thinking back to the Cage, to the symphonies, to the echo of what comes after Light, to the things Michael and Lucifer did before all the rest of Creation unfolded. Hears the song underneath everything, singing from himself, that marked Lucifer as his.

Metatron keeps talking, although Sam is distracted as he tries to focus but can't, "Or with it's source on the material plane. That's me."

**So it's God's song? The song of creation, allowing me to hear angelic feedback?**

_ Yes. You can sing to us and then hear us, too? _

**Side effect of being Lucifer's vessel.**

_ I see. _

Then Sam's trying his best to follow along with Metraton talking about being a regular angel, about secretarial work, but mostly he's just overwhelmed by everything else and the absurdity that is his life.

Secretary angels hiding from Archangels. Sam doesn't blame him, knowing the family.

Then the conversation turns to God and him leaving, and Sam tries not to let 7,500 years of memory consume him, because Lucifer never forget just who Sam was left praying to.

Metraton keeps going, "The Archangels took over. They cried, and they wailed."

And Sam remembers hearing Michael's own mourning, down from the far side of the Cage that Sam had only visited once on his own.

It had ended badly. Very badly.

Sam's hands shake despite himself.

Metratron's voice is a bit expressive, though, and Sam tries to ground himself with that almost-human edge. "They wanted their father back. I mean, we all did... But then they started to scheme. The Archangels decided if they couldn't have Dad, they'd take over the universe themselves. But they couldn't do anything that big without the Word of God."

Sam catches a few phrases in between feverish dissociation, but there's a thread there, something that's off, something he recognizes, except Metraton isn't speaking of Lucifer, Lucifer had been cast out by then, and Metatron say something like, "I thought they might realize... They needed me."

And the song Sam knows starts to swallow him.

_I need you, Sam. It could only ever be you. Because you're mine, and you need me. And I need you. Two halves of the whole. It had to be you._

It's Dean voice that brings him back, "Go stick your head in the sand forever?"

And that reminds Sam of something else, of a dream, of Jess, of Lucifer wearing his first makeshift human skin he'd lured Sam into his arms with.

_Think you can just live forever with your head buried in the sand?_

Sam closes his eyes and tries to breath deeply. He wishes he could have. He knows why Metatron tried, although he still is angry for the lack of action.

Dean gets angry, while Sam tries to not fall over. It takes up most of his concentration, now.

He still feels off about Metraton, though. And almost angry, still. Not there yet.

It doesn't help when Metraton laughs, "And it was something to watch," Metraton answers Dean's accusations, a wild look in his eye as he licks his lips, "What you brought to his earth, all the mayhem, the murder, just the raw, wild invention of God's naked apes... It was mind blowing."

The Metraton rises, and Sam couldn't rise right now if he wanted to, the whole room still spinning, "But really, really it was your storytelling. That is the true flower of free will. At least, as you've mastered it so far."

Every syllable he says feels like a throbbing ache in Sam's head. But still, Sam would disagree.

Free will is one word, and that word is no.

_ Difference of opinion. _

**Didn't realize I prayed that aloud. Force of habit.**

_ No need for apologies. You've tackled the trials, and I can see there's a story here, behind it all. _

If Lucifer was there, he'd stop Sam from being so chatty. But he isn't. He's downstairs.

Sam is safe, he is. Has been.

Sam tries to keep the rage down, but doesn't wholly succeed.

Metraton himself fills Sam with a twinge in his gut he doesn't trust and an earnestness Sam wants to believe in. He seems... mundane. Less angelic in how he handles himself. Angelic in his pride, as they all are. But he also speaks as if they are ants, humanity, and Sam has been fighting this fight for too long to ever not feel used enough for this not to feel like another kick in the teeth.

Metratron keeps making his case. "When you create stories, you become Gods. Of tiny, intricate dimensions unto themselves."

And Sam is thrown back to Hell, because that does remind him of Lucifer more, because the Archangel was always about controlling every microbiome, every square inch of space so nothing Sam did deviated from his plans except for the small rebellions he'd allowed. Was the undisputed God of the Cage, and Sam his everything, supplicant and lover and everything, whose each transgression Lucifer would punish. And there's a similarity there in the way Metraton talks about humans, in the fervency, in the idea of Gods, that is a bit too close to something else Sam knows well, but a difference, too. Lucifer only ever spoke of humanity's vices with indulgent scorn, save for what he prided Sam on, for what he built Sam into with his humanity and their bond. Metratron hungered for humanity in a different way, even if the evaluation was similar.

Maybe Sam is being unfair, jumping at shadows. He's been jumping at the light for longer.

Still, Sam doesn't think so.

"You know what." Sam finally rallies himself to say, voice a dull ache in his throat and the rage finally eating him alive because it took some time for the feelings to settle over the exhaustion and the reality of the Cage to break back over him, for it all to come back at once. "Pull the freakin' trigger."

"What?" Metratron asks.

Sam finally rises.

"Pull the freakin' trigger, you cowardly piece of garbage." He growls, and then his voice raises until it shouts, "All the time you've been hiding here, how much suffering have you read over? Humanity's suffering. And how much of it has been at the hands of your kind?"

And Dean is holding Sam back as all of it breaks over him.

"Hey, hey." Dean whispers, and Sam stumbles back, breathing heavily so he doesn't remember more and rip Metraton apart.

Dean talks about Kevin. "He was a good, straight-A kid, and then he got sucked in to all of this... This angel crap and became a prophet of the Word of God. Your prophet." Sam points, mouth snarling. "And you should have been looking out for him."

Angels should look after those in their care, not... Not let them be torn apart by everything else.

(Not tell them they love you and tear you apart themselves.)

Sam holds himself upright and glares as he holds himself back as Dean keeps going, keeps tearing Metraton a new one.

Some things don't change.

And like Dean... Most angels are the same, with few exceptions. Like Castiel.

Metraton does not seem like one of them.

"He's dead now." Sam scoffs. "Because of you."

Metratron makes his stand, and Kevin is brought back to them.

Sam wonders if maybe he can suffer to hope, this time.

That maybe an angel is interested in fixing the problems the angels have made, just like Cas, even if he comes off as an asshole.

Lucifer might not have changed. That doesn't mean other angels can't. Maybe it was easier, the less they cared.

Maybe that's why it went wrong for Sam. Because he cared just as much as Lucifer.

Kevin comes to, and with that, Sam finds he has true hope again, after all.

They are going somewhere. Somewhere with an end.

\--

Two trials down.

One Hellhound slain. (Sam has not minded Hellhounds compared to Dean, never has, because Lucifer never handed him over to one, always did the dirty work himself, keeping Sam locked in Hell. Sam wonders if the ones he raised don't go after him as much when they do encounter them, because he smells like _him_ , not like himself. Most of the ones they find are Crowley's, though. No hesitation there.)

And there is one soul delivered from Hell to Heaven, and did that one make Sam feel like he finally paid Bobby back for all the care he'd ever given him. Bobby was safe.

One Trial left. 

\--

Only thing is, they need to know how to cure a demon.

They get their leads.

And lo and behold, Abaddon is their test run.

Yeah, Sam should have known that this was going to dredge things up.

_See, Sam, when I made my knights and my princes, I had to pay special attention to their little... idiosyncrasies. Had to see how different people would break. But I also had to see how they work with me, off of the way I wiggled around in their brains, even if I wasn't the one doing the direct twisting. Now, Lilith? She was jealous, ambitious, liked to make people feel small. Harder than the others, because it was my first time, after all. I think the end result was worth it. And she was loyal, grateful. A bit like us, loved too much for her own good, loyal, but that love got twisted into something else in the end, an approximation of the real thing. Still useful. Cain was tame by comparison. Angry, but not wild. Violent, but not exuberant. He knew what had to be done, and he did it, and he did it with all the focus in the world. Now, Asmodeus was tricky. Bit blustering, more than power hungry, less finesse, but more... Hmm, grit, shall we say? Flashy, more about raw power and destruction and siphoning people's strength off of them. Plays dirty, and likes lying and then gloating about it after the fact. If you give him a creature to direct, he knows how to bring out the worst in it and set it loose. But Dagon? Dagon is the opposite, less gaudy. Always likes being sneaky, likes tormenting people and pulling the rug out from under them without rubbing it in. She's also huge fan of efficiency, likes order, likes prediction, and still likes bringing people down with her. Now Ramiel... Ramiel likes shiny things, collecting, quieter pursuits. Gets greedy. Gets bored easy. Likes gambling, unlike Dagon. Give him a hunt, though, and whoo! You're off to the races. Big fan of the chase, that one. He's a marathon runner, following behind until you until your endurance fails and he catches up. But he's also more academic than the rest. Likes to sit back and watch before he acts. He and Dagon were almost twinsies, working off each other's strengths and outsmarting the rest together. Yes, I know it's a strange concept, but Ramiel has loyalty to his siblings, even if he isn't ambitious enough to want to join the politics for the sake of them. He pretends to be solitary, but doesn't like being cut off completely, too social a creature. Otherwise, Ramiel usually follows Abaddon's lead, even though she came after, because they compliment each other so well. That one's a trip. Very... exuberant. Creative, enthusiastic, and decisive. Very focused on the end product. Knows her own mind, likes carving people up for the sheer sport of it and the way it cements her hold over others. A leader. Abaddon might not be good at assessing her own weaknesses or thinking things through, preferring brute force, but when she is sly... She applies herself with same reckless abandon. Where Ramiel hesitates, she pounces. Where she would go in, guns blazing, Ramiel would hold her back to assess the situation, to give them higher ground. Abby, though she wanted a family, too. Wanted to belong to something greater than herself. Craved purpose and lineage, to make a legacy with herself serving something real. Much like Azazel, who took them all under his wing, kind of like an uncle to all of them, except Lilith, who he saw as his equal. Those two either got along like wildfire or fought like no tomorrow. Too similar in some ways, too different than others. Where Azazel would be crass, Lilith would be poised. Where Lilith was childish, Azazel was shrewd and far-sighted. Where Azazel would preach and pray, Lilith would take and throw down the doors to the kingdom if it meant destroying to build something else in it's place. Azazel always had his arrogance, likes to please, likes praise, whereas Lilith didn't need such things. Lilith just wanted the power, to crush people, to strut her stuff without regard for the consequences. Azazel wanted to mold people, wanted to guide them, wanted to see what they would grow into. Lilith broke people down, and he built them up. So it's like a pyramid, Sam. Each one building off of what the others did to create something worthwhile. And they may have been nothing but demons, in the end, but they were my creations, and I was more loyal to them than God ever was to his children. Not as loyal as I am to you, but still._

Sam tries to ignore the litany of things he knows about the demons Lucifer made, the first ones, his champions while he was under lock and key, but he knows too much, and Lucifer's voice plays out in his head anyway.

Abaddon comes to, her head cracking as her black eyes glitter, her voice creaking out a light, "Morning sunshines." 

_Good morning to you, Sammy._

Sam hopes she can't hear the echoes of Lucifer's voice inside his head, and that her staring is just to unsettle him.

"You owe me a beer." Dean says from far away, smacking Sam's chest lightly. Sam almost doesn't register it, thinking too much about other things, all the things he knows and pretends he doesn't.

Abaddon eyes Sam still, and Sam stays frozen, smells the sulfur and hears the thud in his brain and sees the demon overlaid in her skin because there is still enough of Lucifer in him, for that. Sam could probably reach out and interrogate her.

He won't. Doesn't want to open up yet another channel of communication that could give Lucifer a direct line back to Sam from the Cage.

"And I owe you both, so, so much." Abaddon answers, then turns to Dean. "I can't wait to tear out those pretty green eyes." 

"Good luck with that," Sam hisses, and she looks back at him, sees the fake half-smile, but doesn't feel joy.

Looks actually concerned, because she knows to take Sam seriously. Can still feel Lucifer under his skin, too, even if it's muted. Even if they both know Sam refused him and threw him under lock and key all over again.

"We figured Kitty didn't need her claws." Dean specifies, and Abaddon looks down at her stumps for hands, visibly upset.

Sam smiles a realer smile, there.

And predictably, she lashes out, like Sam knew she would.

"Then I'll stump you to death. It'll be swell." She grits out, rearing against her restraints.

Sam lets himself gloat, because it's nice to be having something go right for once, and he can be a little petty, considering all the other things on their plate. "Yeah, that's not going to happen either. The bullet, remember?"

Internally, Sam wonders what she was like before Hell. How she got twisted, if she was so eager and thirsting to prove herself. What kind of human she was, before Lucifer and his other children helped her along into the creature she is.

Sam knows the reason he isn't as twisted up as them is because Lucifer wouldn't suffer Sam to be anything other than what he is, human and angelic and fragile and tainted by Lucifer's lineage, but not one of them, never one of them, because Sam is his, only his, and Lucifer wants to keep Sam perfect as he was made, human and wanting and his other half, because demons were nothing, to Lucifer, and Sam... Sam was everything, because he belonged to Lucifer, and the Devil only valued himself and what he considered rightfully a part of him.

Lucifer wanted Sam's love, and demons can't love, and he wanted to keep Sam's humanity as a weakness, to show Sam just what being a true vessel means. What eternity means. What having an archangel tied to you forever entails.

But it would be over soon. They'd complete the last trial, and then Sam will have Lucifer out of him, and it will be fine and right and good, whatever happens. It will end.

Dean keeps talking, and Sam only hopes Abaddon is too arrogant to be sly, and finds that that hope is left wanting, as well. 

"Oh, I know this tune." Abaddon says, and Sam's left wondering if this will be a dead end, after all.

"I doubt that." Sam challenges, because he doesn't want to show weakness, but they both can see he doesn't believe himself.

"Father Max Thompson, born October 12th, 1910. Died August 5th, 1958." Abaddon's tone is energized and gleeful as she glances between the two of them, then stares Sam back down, "Who do you think ripped him apart? Word got back to home office that Maxie was messing with things, so we made an example. It wasn't my most artful kill, but it was effective. And bonus, before he died, he told me all about Josie Sands. I found her, and I rode into the Men of Letters," And Abaddon laughs, eyebrows raised, "And what I did to them, that was art."

And there it was. The loyalty to the organization. The need for decisive action. The clear bloodlust and need to talk about it.

"So you know what Max was doing?" Sam grills, not backing down.

Abaddon doesn't meet his eyes, this time, not at first, and Sam can see a tell for what it is. "Fella screamed the basics. But it will never work."

And Sam can smell the fear there, too.

Even when Sam's phone rings, Abaddon keeps her eyes on him.

She knows the biggest threat in the room, and knows you never keep your eyes off it.

Lucifer had taught both her and Sam that, albeit Sam learned more directly.

Crowley surprises her, and Sam can tell she's not one for the change in regime.

"Crowley, the salesman?"

Dean's voice is flat. "Try king of Hell."

"This is a joke, right?" Abaddon's tone and expression changes on a dime, not mocking, not gleeful, just... evaluating. Taken aback. Disgusted.

Sam doesn't want to have her thoughts filtering through his head, and jerks his head to get out of there. They don't need to give her more information, anyway.

Truth be told, the brothers don't want to leave her alone to field the call, but they are confident as well, too confident, because Sam knows that she knows they have her cornered and Sam is jumped up on almost being free and in the clear.

Besides, Sam's not thinking too clearly these days, the Trials eating him alive despite his own denial, always starving, with everything all nausea and coughed up blood and hacking lungs and every smell being the same ashen smell of rotted meat.

Dean just doesn't think she has the ability to get out in the interim.

They're wrong.

And after Abaddon escapes, after Crowley's ultimatum, Scott, Jenny, and Sarah (Sarah, someone Sam tried to love to get over Jess and failed, Sarah, someone with a life who has a kid and a husband and now she's gone) are dead, courtesy of Crowley.

That's more than a gut punch. It's the same game Sam's been playing for too long, a knock-off of something Lucifer would make, except this is topside, this is real, and Sam is more than tired of playing.

Crowley even says it all, as Sam scrambles to save a life he can't save, there isn't enough time and they can't find the damn hex bag and no-

**No, no, no, please.**

Sarah dies and Sam is stuck watching, always watching, like every other time he's been forced to watch, helpless.

Crowley's voice still growls over the phone, "Well, I think the people you save, they're how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, the pain you've caused. The one thing that allows you to sleep at night, the one thing, is knowing that these folks are out there, still out there, happy and healthy because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes. They're your life's work and I'm gonna rip it apart piece by piece. Because I can. Because you can't stop me. Because when they're all gone, what will you have left? You want to keep those people alive. I want complete and utter surrender. The tablet and the trials, you'll give them up, or we'll keep doing this dance. Your choice, my darlings."

It always comes down to choices, choices Sam knows never really are choices to begin with.

And Sam doesn't want to not seal off Hell. He has to. He needs this, it's the only way to get away from Lucifer forever-

But he can't make other people pay the price for him.

Too many people have paid already.

Sam still can't get the failure out of his mind, nor Sarah's words, "I don't know, you just seem more focused, confident, like you know what you want. You grew up, Sam."

Maybe she's right about some of it. That's a word for it, growing, when you have no choice but to take charge of the things out to get you.

The things that don't leave you alone.

Sam doesn't think he knows what he wants. He only knows what he wants to escape, everything he's ever wanted, only freedom, for a long time, and every time he thinks he gets close it slips through his fingers.

So Sam almost takes the deal, because he can't take more echoes of what he knows, how this goes down, the way people fall like dominoes because of enemies they've made. Can't take more games of: _Try to save them now, Sam. I promise you won't want to, when I'm done._

But then he thinks about who is the one doing this. Who is the one meting out this pain, this time.

And it's not an Archangel. Not someone Sam had to fight tooth and nail to stay afloat, not someone Sam loves, not someone Sam could consider a friend.

Hell, Sam has taken on Lucifer, and if he could come out the other side, however, damaged, and still save everyone, well...

Crowley's is just an imitation game.

Sam knows who they are going after next.

\-- 

Next, Crowley goes after Jody Mills.

That crosses one line too many, past lines already too far crossed.

\--

They make their deal with Crowley, their meet-up, act their roles to make the crafty, arrogant son-of-bitch let down his guard.

And then, Crowley is theirs, handcuffed and as stuck as he's ever been, thanks to Dean.

It's been a long time coming.

"You're the third trial, Crowley." Sam answers the crossroads demon who named himself king, and played games he shouldn't have.

It won't be long now.

Sam will finally end this. There will finally be an end to it all.

There has to be.

\--

"You're bloods supposed to be purified, isn't it?" Dean asks.

Isn't that a loaded question. Sam tries not to dwell on it, on all the other things threatening to drag him under.

It's almost over, almost.

"You ever do the 'forgive me, Father,' before?" Dean tacks on, leading.

Sam wonders where this is going. Dean's not one for piety. And Sam hasn't told him he's not really in on the church scene, these days. Too much there.

Sam's voice is halting, "Well, once, when we were kids." Sam says, eyes faraway again.

**Forgive me, Father, because I want too much, and nothing ever fills me up. Send help.**

Nothing would ever fill him up, now. That's how Sam needs it to be.

"Which is why I have no clue what to say now." Sam adds, looking back at Dean.

"Well, I mean, I could give you suggestions if you want," Dean talks fast, tripping over his own words, and Sam knows this isn't a lighthearted conversation, but maybe it won't be as bad as he thought.

"Oh... Okay, yeah, sure." Sam stutters, eyeing Dean uneasily, the back of his neck prickling.

"All right. Well, I'm just spit-balling here, but if I were you, uh, Ruby, killing Lilith..." Dean's mouth is a thin line, his eyebrows angry.

And Sam shifts, eyebrows raised, and this is where this is going then, he should have seen this coming-

"Letting Lucifer out, fucking him, giving Lucifer a chance, losing your soul, not looking for me when I went to Purgatory, for starters."

"Thanks." Sam hisses too softly and hides the rage, hides the shame, hides the guilt, as he gets out of there as fast as humanly possible. Dean tries to cover the moment with a joke, but it's not even Sam's problem he brings up, and Sam thinks that fits Dean's MO just fine. Blaming Sam for things he did.

Still. Dean hasn't let any of it fucking go. Just great. Exactly what Sam needs right now.

He knows the tipping point was Purgatory. Dean always uses the most recent hurt to dredge up everything else. He'd been more careful before, kinder, but after Purgatory, he'd snapped again, almost like he was before he went back down to Hell.

What was it? Moving goalposts? Re-traumatization? Sam is pretty sure it's both.

And Sam wishes he doesn't believe Dean. Just like he wished he didn't believe Lucifer, whenever Lucifer laid his litany out. Problem is, he does.

The Cage rears it's ugly head, like always.

_Sam, recite it all back to me. Confess all the things you did wrong, all the things you did to us. And then I'll forgive you and make everything right again, I promise. Prove you love me, Sam. Prove you'd do it all for me, next time._

(And then Sam is stuck sobbing out every betrayal he's ever done, to Lucifer, to himself, from throwing them down there, for saying no, for fighting him. For choosing Dean over him, when Dean wouldn't do the same.)

"Okay, if anybody's listening, here goes." Sam inhales in the present.

The other sins all pour out, just like Lucifer taught him, just like Sam relearned after escaping and failing to escape. Sam adds on his own, because he has more than enough shame to go around the world twice-over.

\--

When Sam comes back out, Dean's word hit harder than usual.

"If anyone needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam."

Cas flinches as he sees Sam before Dean even registers his footsteps.

"You should go." Sam manages to keep his voice level before Dean even turns around. "Seriously."

Dean argues. Sam holds firm.

"I got this. And if you guys can lock the angels up, too..." Sam looks back at Cas, expression clear, then smiles, "That's a good day."

Better that nothing else wreaks havoc on the world.

Sam's had enough of everything. Enough of angels (except Cas).

Enough of his life, of running and failing to get anywhere new.

The end is closing in. And then Sam can start anew, maybe.

He's not so sure, not now.

But maybe he will sleep better at night, even if there is no getting out, when you're alive, he thinks, more often than not, now.

Then the light nearly sends Sam to his knees, and maybe it will kill him, and he won't have to think such things any more.

\--

He doesn't know it, but Kevin is just as pissed as he once was, when Sam thought he was out and dragged back in.

But Cas and Dean are on a mission, relentless, and they don't care who is in the cross-hairs right now. Not if it all ends, damn whatever anyone else thinks.

Some it is fear. Dean doesn't want Cas to go.

But he can't stop him.

"So this is it." He gives Cas what he can give, because he loves him, and Cas has never been one to stop for Dean alone. He's just as stubborn and righteous, and Dean can't really push him around.

They aren't going to get another chance, now, if this goes as it's supposed to.

Dean kisses him, in case he dies. Cas kisses back, hiding in the shadow of the bar.

It is goodbye.

Turns out they didn't have to be discreet, considering the bartender and his patron. And the cupid.

\--

When Crowley starts singing, that's when Sam starts to lose it.

Lucifer liked singing, too much, and Crowley probably knows that.

And then the earth quakes, and the ground shakes, and Sam is glad it's Crowley and not something worse, because this isn't the Cage.

Only it's Abaddon.

Fuck.

She tosses Sam through a window, weakened as he is.

Only mistake- she turned her back when she shouldn't. Got cocky.

"Love the suit." Sam notes.

(The Devil Made Me Do It.)

Doesn't he always.

Then Sam sets her on fire.

It's gratifying, but also brings other things to the surface Sam would rather not remember, too.

Michael was like fire.

Sam and Lucifer tore into him enough to see the flames, too.

Abaddon vacates the building and her burnt vessel.

Then Crowley is half-singing Sam's praises.

Sam doesn't really care. His thanks is barely an echo, sarcastic in the extreme.

He's tired. And he's done.

And then Crowley is rambling other things, things Sam doesn't want to think about, first about TV, then other things. Things Sam has too much history hearing.

"She just needs to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all. You, me, we deserve to be loved. I deserve to be loved!" Crowley is screaming by the end, then whispers, "I just want to be loved."

Sam is too busy thinking of other words, and he doubts Crowley even knew how close to home that all was, because there's no way Crowley heard the whispers Lucifer told Sam. Those were his secrets to take to the grave, to the Cage, to wherever he might end up.

_You deserve my love, Sam. I'm the only one who truly loves you. I am. We deserve this, to be together. You and me, forever. That's why you threw us down there, isn't it? You thought you did it because you loved me, that you were saving me, protecting me from what would happen afterwards. The love you felt- that's what broke my control. But you were wrong, Sam. You didn't do this for us. You did it for yourself, because you were afraid of giving me everything. Not of loving me with all your heart, no, I know you do, but you were afraid of letting yourself feel that love for yourself, for giving yourself what you need. But it's okay, I promise, you didn't know, you didn't understand. You're only human. God made you so frail. But I can take care of you now, Sammy. Just give me everything you are. I know you love me. I know. And I will make this right. Come here._

Being loved was never enough for Lucifer. It was a prerequisite. Sam already loved him, loved him too much.

Lucifer just wanted everything else.

"What?" Sam finally manages to say. But then recognition breaks over the rest, and Sam realizes- the cure. The cure is working.

The end is nigh.

\--

Crowley asks what Sam confessed, and Sam's not sure he wants to answer, but he can see Crowley crawling back to humanity and thinks, maybe, maybe if that is reversible, Lucifer's damage to Sam is reversible, too.

Crowley cries as he keeps talking. "Where do I start to even look for forgiveness? I mean..."

And Sam recognizes that too well. Human Crowley... Human Crowley he could forgive, because demons didn't know any better.

"How about we start with this." Sam proposes, holding up the syringe.

Crowley lets him.

\--

The truth comes out thanks to Naomi, if she isn't lying. Dean rushes back before it all can go to Hell, just like it always does, for them.

Cas flies off after he brings Dean back to Sam, because he can't afford to believe her, because he needs to fix Heaven as much as Sam needs to fix Hell.

"Sammy, stop!" Dean yells, and Sam starts, barely there.

"Look at him. Look at him. Look how close we are," Sam rambles. "Other people will die if I don't finish this." Sam pleads.

"Think about it. Think about what we know, huh?" Dean asks, as Sam loses focus and sways, but Dean keeps going, "Pulling souls from Hell, curing demons, Hell, ganking a Hellhound... We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But I can't do it without you."

No one ever can.

"You can barely do it with me." Sam gasps. "I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?"

"Come on, man. That's not what I meant."

It's not even an apology.

Sam is adamant. "No, it's exactly what you meant. You want to know what I confessed in there?" Sam chokes out, closes his eyes, then opens them and keeps going, his fist still clenched, "What my greatest sin was?"

Dean swallows and looks scared.

Sam answers the unasked question. "It was how many times I let you down."

One sin among many, because letting Dean down usually meant letting the world down.

**I let you down leaving, and I let you down by loving the Devil more than anything else, and I let you down as a brother, and so many other times, I've lost count.**

And how many times Sam let himself down? Never properly getting out, never escaping from people who say they love him but who never give Sam the space to be his own person, not when it comes to escaping his own fears?

Sam has always been a prisoner playing by someone else's rules, and when he thinks he isn't, life comes back to remind him.

"I can't do that again." Sam promises, eyes not wavering.

"Sam-" Dean chokes, but Sam cuts him off.

"What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again?" Sam demands. "I mean, who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel, another vampire?"

Because Sam was a worse monster, apparently.

_My brother cast me away, Sam. He always made me into a monster, when he was worse._

**I can barely trust myself, because I still love the Devil and this is the only thing stopping him from eating me alive. Don't you see?**

Sam gasps, "Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch your brother just-"

**Treat you like you're nothing? Like you're worthless? Like you're a child? Like a monster? Like a stranger who doesn't care what you really want?**

"Hold on, hold on." Dean interrupts, and Sam tries to hold back the tears, sniffling and broken, as Dean answers, "You seriously think that? Because none of it, none of it, is true."

Sam screws up his face and turns his head and tries to hide the snarl of pain he can't keep from showing.

Dean keeps going, "Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels."

Understatement of the year.

"But Sammy, come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you." Dean vows, and now he is crying, almost. "It has never been like that, ever."

It has.

But Sam wants to believe him.

Sam wants to believe this can be fixed.

Dean keeps talking. "I need you to see that. I'm begging you."

Sam listens, because he doesn't know what else there is to do, and his brother forgives him, even if Sam isn't sure what he needs to be forgiven for, other than being himself. He made this happen. He's the one doing this to everyone.

He's the one constantly letting the people he loves down.

"How do I stop?" Sam asks.

**I don't know how.**

"Just let it go." Dean answers.

"I can't, it's in me, Dean." Sam rasps.

**It's always in me, he's always in me.**

"You don't know what this feels like." And Sam's voice breaks.

Dean wraps Sam's hand and answers, "Hey, listen, we will figure it out, okay? Just like we always do. Come on."

And then Dean is hugging Sam, and Sam doesn't let go.

He might be able to stop this.

For Dean. If it would fix anything.

He'd have to live with this after all, but if that's the price you pay...

"Let it go, okay? Just let it go, brother." Dean hugs Sam close, pats him on the back, steady and solid, and Sam can hear him crying from his voice.

The light fades, and maybe it will be okay.

Then Sam collapses, and Dean is rushing him out into the rain. Cas doesn't answer their prayers.

"What's happening?" Sam chokes. Even though he knows, he knows, dear God he wishes he didn't know, even though he doesn't know why...

"The angels." Dean says. "They're falling."

Light starts falling from the sky. Light and song and wings and waves of noise.

Sam can hear them screaming.

Flinches when he feels their song die out and feels impact from the ground, the ringing louder and louder until they aren't anymore.

\--

All the angels fall from Heaven.

Sam almost would find it funny. He's raised the Devil from Hell, by accident, and now while trying to seal Hell up forever, he's paying yet another hidden price, all while Castiel sent himself on a hunt to fix Heaven at the same time. Only Metatron tricked Cas, lied like Ruby did to Sam. There is always another price tag behind the first, Sam and Cas should know by now, but they somehow haven't learned yet.

And Sam should know by now, every time he thinks there's an ending, that he gets to rest, that the end isn't what he thinks it is.

Turns out, Metatron is just like the worst of the angels.

Change doesn't come easy.

Now all the others are tumbling down.

\--

Dean is carrying Sam, he's losing consciousness, although sometimes, Sam thinks he hears Lucifer's voice in his ear. Or his grace. It all keeps singing, all the glory, all the love, all the need.

And it's right then that Sam knows. He is dying. Really dying, even though his Trials of Hell never quite reached completion.

Dean doesn't have to say anything about it, although he does. He knows.

It's like the Fall of the Angels heralds Sam's own descent back down.

Sam only hopes the trials cleansed enough of Lucifer's grace and Azazel's blood from under his skin to break the line carrying Sam back to the Devil, enough so that Sam might have a shot at the Veil or anything else.

If it didn't...

If it didn't, he knows where he's headed back to. Sam wishes he didn't miss him, didn't love him, although the hate and fear and betrayal overwhelms him more than all of that combined.

Sam knows Lucifer misses him, too. Because Castiel has told him what the "hallucinations" really were, ever since Castiel took the brunt of the trauma via the grace injected in Sam's soul and then remembered who he was and properly became an angel again. Cas couldn't extract it, but he could carry most of the poison being sent out and act like a buffer between Sam and Lucifer to interrupt the signal as he sent grace out from the Cage, because part of Lucifer was still inside Sam, could resonate on the same frequency, much like how Lucifer once haunted Sam's dreams. Sam isn't surprised, once he learned the truth. Lucifer would want him dead, would need Sam to do the legwork for him, if it would send Sam back to where he belongs.

And Sam did promise Lucifer he'd never leave.

Nonetheless, Sam was still glad to be a liar, because otherwise Lucifer would have him forever, have Sam right where he wants him, and Sam knows he would be remade all over again, human but more than human because of all the archangel infesting him. And this time, Sam isn't sure there'd be any coming back from that. Lucifer shaped him, touched him, broke him, loved him, tortured him, owned him, and is always too thoroughly invested in his true vessel for Sam to fully crawl his way back to himself.

And if Lucifer couldn't escape, he'd take the next best thing.

Still. On Earth, Lucifer couldn't reach him now, thanks to Castiel, so long as he was an angel.

Not unless Sam's soul was truly on the line, like it was now.

 _Sammy,_ Sam thinks he hears, _Sam, my glorious Sam. My one and only._

By the time Dean gets to a hospital, Sam is almost gone.

\--

Death meeting Sam directly still comes as a surprise.

Yet, when Sam meets with Death, he asks to die permanently.

"Can you promise that this time, it will be final. That if I'm dead..." Sam's words don't falter, and he punctuates each one with movement. "I stay dead. Nobody can reverse it, nobody can deal it away, nobody else can get hurt because of me."

After everything, after it all, he remembers every second.

He remembers Dean and John and his time as a child when nothing filled him, nothing was good enough. He remembers being free and escaping and finding a new family, one he chose, and he remembers Jess and everything they were and everything they had and still wants it all back still, only the things he misses, nothing else. He remembers unlocking the Cage and Lucifer, and everything after, the despair, the death, then all the good times to the contrary, all the times he had hope, all the times he wishes would never end and wanted back more, and then he remembers how it all feel apart, remembers every second of all of it.

Everyone who paid the price for his love for the Devil, and the price the Devil meted out himself. Add on the price of other haughty angels and disappointed brothers who would slay for a different love, just as true, a moment where Sam was only saved by his brother's own love for him, a brother's love evening out the scales for another brothers' need to murder and Sam's love cancelling out Lucifer's broken hatred, as God intended.

Sam remembers the Cage. How there was no going back to the time before, not after that. He remembers fear and pain and love and agony that would never erase itself from under his skin.

It hasn't left him.

Sam remembers coming back incomplete, and the emptiness he felt.

He remembers coming back whole, and all the fallout after, because Sam is not whole, will never be, not after Lucifer left his skin and not after he was inside it and not after everything Lucifer did to him over and over.

Sam remembers failing everyone he ever loved both with his soul and without, feels the weight of other people's certainty and words saying so around his neck, choking him, a chain dragging him deeper below the waves until he's drowning.

Everything Lucifer is hurts more.

And Sam will never get any of it out of him. Will never scrub himself clean. 

Deeper, still, he knows how he doesn't really want to, knows how he only wants the Devil back and loves him more than anything and hates himself for it, because he's still terrified out of his mind and he doesn't know how he can still feel anything like that, not after everything Lucifer did. There must be something wrong with him, if he can love Lucifer after that.

Facing down Death, Sam remembers how he thought he could live. How he thought he could make something of his own.

He was wrong.

He can't live like this. He can't make anything, not for himself or anyone else. He's been poisoned since he was born, by God and Mary and Azazel and John and Dean and Ruby and Michael and Lucifer and himself with his own hands and mouth and soul.

Sam can only destroy, can only be broken.

He wants out.

And Sam doesn't know where he is going to end up. It could be the Cage. It could be anywhere except Heaven, boarded up as it is. Maybe even The Empty, if enough of Lucifer's essence is still inside him but not tied down, abstract enough that Sam is considered angelic enough, despite his humanity. Sam doesn't know, doesn't want to know.

He just wants rest or absolution or to stop fighting, because one way or another, he's gone. Lucifer will either take him apart all over again, or Sam will be done.

"Don't let me come back." Sam begs. He can't fight a fight with no end. Can't fight a fight with no win condition.

Death gives Sam more than the reassurance he craves, because only ending, only nothing, only Death carrying Sam off to nowhere, a not-place where no one can retrieve him, is how Sam can be safe. Can be kept in comatose unawareness forever, no pain and no love and no longing and no betrayal and no loss and no blame.

Nothing except rest and oblivion for all of eternity.

No way for Dean to drag him back, or for Castiel to try and come in and rectify his mistakes.

No Lucifer to come and claim him.

Sam is more than grateful. Sam is tired. Sam can't take the love and hate and pain constantly singing with every heartbeat he takes.

Death looks at Sam and sees it all and tells him it would be an honor to reap him, like Sam isn't one out of billions of trillions of nothings all birthed on the tiniest slice of time from the beginning and end all of creation that Sam knows he is.

No, Sam isn't special. He knows he isn't, no matter Death's and Lucifer's assertions to the contrary.

Only Dean knows Sam. Knows how much he'd want to live, want to make something, wants to stay with his brother.

And Dean says he can fix this.

Sam Winchester, his younger brother, the one who keeps going for another round because his brother is his brother, believes him, and takes his true last gasp.

A leap of faith.

\--

Hindsight is 20/20 too often in Sam's interrupted life.

Thinking back, that day is truly the start of when Sam's faith truly began to fade.

Because, in the end, once it all turned out to be a lie, once Dean's solution was to rent Sam out to another angel without his consent, like office space, like it was fixing something, like it didn't break Sam more, like Sam didn't even deserve an apology, like he hadn't already been ridden and ruined enough already, didn't even get to say no-

And Sam's last chance at escape was cut off forever, now.

The next time, Death wasn't as patient when reading to reap Sam, less than pleased that the one human he made exceptions for decided to break their long-standing appointment, and Sam accepted that, knew Death was going to take him now. Knew Dean would be the one to do it, thanks to the Mark.

Only he didn't.

Because in all cases, turns out Dean needs Sam to live. So Dean remade Death, reaped him into obscurity so he was there but without personality, not a Horseman, just a force, an empty persona replaced by the newest iteration of Reaper, all so Sam would keep breathing, for better or worse.

Thanks to Sam's human mortality, to Dean's selfish needs for his younger brother to live, for Sam's unrealized dreams of making something of his life, it was all over. There's only one final destination for Sam now, and it goes straight on down to the deepest pit God ever scooped out of the ground, like some malformed sandcastle long since absorbed into the deepest trenches of the ocean, only there the hellfire there licks your skin until it weeps and your human soul can't take it, with only the ice of the Devil to keep you from being charred beyond repair.

Sam knows once he bites the dust, Lucifer can do whatever he wants now.

There is only one one-way ticket down, and it just keeps on going and going, until Sam's back with the angel who's only ever kissed and carved him into everything he ever needed Sam to be.


	66. Runs in the Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gadreel stuff i still hate but until i can tackle this kind of gaslighting without hating it it is what it is
> 
> chapter title a song by amanda palmer

When Gadreel first invades Sam, he knows he has to act quickly.

Sam can't know he's there. Can't hear a single whisper of grace.

And he's distracted and dying and drowning in the sound of Lucifer's grace, calling out to him, still left inside him, singing up from Hell and in his veins.

That's the mask Gadreel uses to hide as Dean, to camouflage his own holy song, the unique mark of any angel.

Sam would pick up on the discrepancy if left unattended.

So there's only one thing to do, to keep Sam unaware. Gadreel doesn't like it, but he doesn't have an option if he wants to be safe and free.

Surely Sam would understand that? He knows what it is like, to be a prisoner and trapped.

Gadreel can feel from the start. Empathy. Fear. The need to survive.

Only Sam isn't merciful, when it comes to caged things.

Everyone knows that, even Gadreel. Every angel has whispered and sung of Sam, so that even Gadreel heard word of him.

This was the human that loved the Devil and threw them both down into the Cage.

So, it is more than obvious Gadreel is outmatched, and plans accordingly., because Gadreel knows he doesn't have the strength to trick Sam or overpower him.

Not even Lucifer could trick or subdue Sam forever, and Sam wanted Lucifer to trick him, if it meant their happiness, once.

But Sam's mind can play itself.

And there is enough of Lucifer's grace not burned out from Sam from the Trials that it isn't too hard to nudge Sam towards it, to let it latch on and numb Sam's exhausted, distracted, nearly-dead mind.

Gadreel can't quite feel regret. He wants to.

He doesn't.

\--

He does try to make the corner of Sam's mind comfortable. Both for his own sake, and Sam.

He doesn't want to torment Sam by accident, even if he knows Sam is formidable and can see how much Sam would fight if his possession was made known.

Sam barely suffered Lucifer, and Sam had loved him more than anyone, even with the Cage.

And Sam did not suffer Meg, either, and she only gained an advantage from inexperience.

Sam isn't young or caught off guard now. He's old.

So very old.

Not quite human. Not quite angel.

Uncomfortable, suspicious, or unsettled Sam is dangerous.

So Gadreel either has to make him want to believe the dream, or let Sam's mind latch on to the fabrications Lucifer wrapped him in for so many years.

It's not as hard to do as Gadreel would like.

He wishes it was more difficult, really.

Sam's so strong, and knowing their shared history...

Sam deserves to have someone use his body for good.

\--

Gadreel starts off with Dean and Sam on a case. But when Sam starts to feel off, when Gadreel can't maintain the facade he's close enough to Dean, he cuts corners.

He does say one thing, first. He can't help it.

Sam is something else. Has held on long after anyone, Gadreel included, would quit.

"You stopped him, you know. You stopped him and your sacrifice meant something." Gadreel makes the visage Dean's mouth say inside Sam's bubble. "You did good, Sam. You can rest easy."

Sam looks at him, grateful and quiet and overcome. Except he knows it isn't Dean. Not really.

He knows why Dean is there.

He knows it's a dream.

Then Gadreel has Dean walk away to give way to Lucifer, and Lucifer becomes Jess, except when he isn't.

Only Gadreel doesn't let Sam's subconscious touch Sam's Cage memories, not for a second. That might set something off, or Lucifer's grace, still inside Sam, not quite burnt out from the Trials (the opposite, actually, the Trials burning away parts of Sam and leaving Lucifer's grace behind), might reach out and make contact with the Archangel in Hell it belongs to. Lucifer made his mark for more than one reason, and Gadreel can't let that happen, either.

So he keeps Sam's soul carefully contained. Let's Sam think of the time before the Cage. Every good moment.

Uses every lie Sam once wanted to believe in to make the things Sam remembers a weapon against him.

Those are the only lies Sam would swallow: the ones coming from his own mind.

And he believed them in the Cage. When he had to.

When Lucifer gave him no other choice.

Sam is practically conditioned to accept the fact Lucifer isn't gone.

It's not too hard to change things.

In an ideal world, Gadreel would make Sam think Lucifer chose him, and that the Apocalypse never happened, and Cas and Bobby and Dean are safe.

He can't, not really. Sam wouldn't go for it.

But he would believe Lucifer giving him the illusion of it, when things got bad enough downstairs. When Lucifer was kinder, and not vengeful.

When Lucifer wanted to make Sam feel safe.

And Sam would think Lucifer would want to win him over, because he'd done it, before.

It's not the best option.

But it will work. Lucifer's grace is already there, curled around Sam so that even Gadreel can't quite reach all of him.

And Sam will stop being afraid that Lucifer will come after him once the illusion sets in. He has been afraid of that ever since he got out.

Unlike Gadreel, he chose prison. He wants to believe his brother never got him out, if it means everything is fine. That everyone is safe and Lucifer is contained and Sam doesn't have to choose.

Sam hated choosing between them. Hated Lucifer for everything he did, but he hated feeling like a hunted animal on a countdown.

This way, he was a captive animal where time doesn't matter. There was certainty. A choice Sam would believe in, because he's never had the freedom to leverage. A choice Sam sacrificed himself for.

Gadreel thinks it's a kinder fate, really, letting Sam think the Devil won't hurt him for leaving.

Sam loved so deeply. All it did was get him hurt.

Gadreel doesn't even have to make Lucifer say anything.

All the words are already there.

Sam has them memorized after so many years of Lucifer's grace humming against his soul.

\--

Nick's body huddles next to Sam in the sleeping bag, hair splayed and frizzy from slight static.

Sam leans against his collarbone, breathing him in.

He knows it's a dream.

But Lucifer always haunts Sam's dreams, even in Hell.

He hates being alone.

"We could go camping tomorrow. Hunt some wendigos. Break off from Cas and your brother's unfortunate face while we decide on our next campground." Lucifer propositions. He holds Sam's hand.

"We could." Sam answers. Then he huddles closer. "Or we just just stay here. You and me."

Sam knows it's a lie. Camping. Dean and Cas.

But Lucifer wants him to believe it.

So he does.

Because the alternative is worse.

The alternative is Lucifer deciding that he'd rather hurt Sam again, instead of both of them pretending everything is fine like they have been for a decade. Instead of this, where Lucifer mostly watches Sam sleep, to calm himself down. Watching Sam sleep always calmed him down, before. Because Sam couldn't fight when he's asleep. Not effectively.

Or at least, his body can't.

And Sam's mind isn't too good at fighting, when things get like this.

Not after the first 4,000 years.

_I miss you, Sam. I miss being inside you._

**I know.**

Lucifer doesn't do anything about it, surprisingly. He's letting Sam choose to get closer.

Because he misses it. Misses Sam choosing him.

And Sam doesn't know if Lucifer is being kinder because he knows he's losing Sam from his cruelty and to the Cage one day at a time, or if there's some other reason. Lucifer always has other reasons.

He thinks Lucifer must have seen he was getting close to Sam's breaking point, though.

That explains it.

Lucifer always hurt Sam, then made it better. He never wanted to keep Sam broken. Not permanently.

Sam couldn't love him if he was broken.

Maybe he thinks if he is kind, Sam will let him out if they ever get the chance. Maybe he thinks if he can change, even in Hell, that he won't have to make Sam choose him. That Sam will choose him on his own, like he used to.

And Sam might just go for it.

There are no choices in Hell. And it's been a long time.

Too long.

Sam barely remembers being topside, some days.

"Do you miss the stars or the sun more?" Lucifer asks, very softly. His hands cradle Sam's stomach.

"I miss real air the most." Sam admits. He isn't afraid to say it, not today. Lucifer just wants honesty.

"If we had another chance... If I didn't do what I did..." Lucifer whispers. "Would you love me and give me another chance?"

"We can't go back." Sam stutters very softly.

"No. But if we could-" Lucifer says, even and gentle and not full of the violence Sam has memorized.

"Yes." Sam answers, and he doesn't know if it's a lie, anymore. Not knowing if it's a lie doesn't count as a lie, in Lucifer's book, so it's safe enough to say.

Maybe being imprisoned a second time would make Lucifer change his mind for real.

Not that it matters.

They're here forever.

Maybe Lucifer would change down here, too, like Sam is changing.

And Sam knows he is tired. They both are.

The question is how they'll keep their sanity for the rest of forever.

Still. If Lucifer only wants to make Sam feel and remember good things, now...

Sam won't stop him. 

And Sam can pretend he is home, because this is the only home he'll have from here on out.

\--

Even in Hell, Lucifer hears Sam praying to him, and knows Sam when he is dreaming, and knows something is wrong. He recognizes the words Sam whispers from memories, from conversations he's had with Sam already.

He can't quite do anything about it from here. But he'll keep trying. Particularly since Abaddon's been keeping him posted. Not like there's much to do in Hell, otherwise. Lucifer might not be able to send a line out, but he could always hear his creations. Prayers from demons are still prayers, after all.

More importantly, the Cage has to give out sometime. There are already cracks forming from Heaven's door slamming shut, thanks to Castiel, and from Sam trying to close Hell and failing.

Because of course Sam would do that. Lucifer has to hand it to him, when Sam tries to rip himself away from everyone, he does try his best. It's infuriating, but still. The fact Sam thought he'd have to choose the Trials to even attempt to get away from Lucifer meant he knew how screwed he was for not coming back, but also that he knew he was never getting away.

It's ironic, though. The Trials didn't tear Lucifer out of Sam, and Sam almost screwed over his own humanity without even realizing it.

The Trials prepare the subject for wiping the slate clean. For using all the souls with nowhere to go as a battery. An emergency wipeout plan in case something imprisoned, older things, worse things from before creation, tried to get out.

And once you eat from the Tree of Life, after the Trials have been initiated, well...

Then the subject becomes an angel. And with Lucifer's grace riding around in Sam's hide, Lucifer wouldn't be surprised if Sam grew wings of a different sort.

Lucifer could work with that, if he did.

But it won't happen now, so there's no use worrying about it. Eden is shut up tight.

And more importantly, if he could send feelers out before...

He can do so again. Might get his hooks in Sam to send out some messages, if he can, although Castiel did his best to ruin that.

At least, until Castiel found a way to cut off the signal with the tablet, and then became human, and had no grace for Lucifer to torment him with, and Sam's line to Lucifer is still intercepted by whatever wards Cas used on the both of them. Wouldn't work if Lucifer was free, or close enough. But it works while he's still in the Cage.

Lucifer wonders, though.

Who made Sam think he was back with him?

It's gratifying, sure.

But it doesn't change the fact he'd rip them apart.

Just because Sam misses him and doesn't know the depths of his betrayal doesn't mean anyone else gets to mess with his True Vessel.

That's his job.

\--

Gadreel still thinks it is a mercy long after he's used Sam's hands to kill Kevin.

He didn't want to.

He knows the fact he didn't want to doesn't change anything.

He still did it.

But he has no options. Except, deep down, Sam's subconscious memories hiss, brushing up against his invader, unwanted and implacable:

**You always have choices. You chose this. You chose to do this. You chose to hurt me.**

The words were not not meant for Gadreel, but it still hits him hard.

Later, when things have gone south, and Gadreel faces his old tormenter, Gadreel wonders how Sam survived.

Gadreel hates Thaddeus and everyone who hurt and doubted him and kicked him down so deeply.

Sam never hated Lucifer with the same intensity. And he hated him more than anyone, proportionate to the love in his heart. Sam just let himself float away, detached from everything else.

Maybe that's how he stopped it from hurting.

"Why be an angel when you can be a God?" Thaddeus asks.

Loaded question. A bit too close.

It's funny, how easily other angels are corrupted. Like a pale imitation of the first Great Enemy Gadreel had first found himself a victim of.

Still. Gadreel might be Lucifer's first victim, Lilith his second.

But Sam was his focus. Always had been. Always will be. And the idea of that timeless eternity even terrifies Gadreel, ancient and immortal as he is, because it is a Fate he would wish on no one.

He doesn't know how Sam withstood the Serpent, human as he is. Not even from being inside him.

He doesn't think Lucifer understands Sam's defiance, either.

Lucifer's grace hisses, a memory, Sam's memory, always close, always there, claustrophobic and constant and endless. Gadreel gets all the feedback from them, seeing as he's constantly keeping the worst ones away from Sam.

_I'm the only God here, baby. You like praying to me, remember?_

Otherwise, Gadreel's been avoiding Sam's mind and all the memories there as best he's able. He doesn't like thinking about captivity. About how they are similar. About how Sam would consider this another type of prison.

About the Cage, and how different that was from Heaven's justice, even when both hurt.

And from what Gadreel has glimpsed of Lucifer...

Imprisonment. Quality time. Pretend camaraderie.

There are so many differences between Sam's situation and his...

But there are enough similarities.

Honestly, Gadreel won't sugarcoat it.

Sam had it worse, in the short time he was imprisoned. The Cage and Lucifer are the worst of the worst, prisons and cellmates alike.

There was history there Gadreel didn't even want to think about.

And sure, Thaddeus might call him 'old friend.'

But in comparison to Sam's situation with Lucifer... Thaddeus is a vague acquaintance to Gadreel, even after millennia.

In other ways...

Rules in Heaven didn't differ much from how Lucifer ran Hell, when all was said and done.

Gadreel uses some of Sam's coping mechanisms to ground himself.

They are surprisingly effective.

And in real time, Thaddeus, Gadreel's angelic adversary, dies for the torture he inflicted long ago. For the crime committed, there are scales weighed.

Payback feels beautiful.

_Isn't it beautiful, Sam? Go on. Look. Look at how he just ignites and whoosh! Michael has nothing on you. Not now. Just look at you. You did that. Look at how beautiful you are. This is what you can do when you listen, Sammy. Doesn't it feel good? Don't you feel good?_

And Gadreel might not think himself an executioner...

But in the pretend kindness he tries to exert for his unknowing vessel, Gadreel pretends he is killing both of their enemies.

Sam deserves to feel like he's ended something definitively.

He never has. Not since the Trials...

Not since the Cage.

It won't make up for anything when Sam catches on, though.

That's why Gadreel has to make certain he doesn't.

\--

Gadreel thinks it's safe enough to make Sam think he got out of the Cage by now.

Transitions the dream carefully so that Sam thinks the Cage bleedthrough is all memory, nothing more. That what he's seen with Dean was just a psychic projection of the future while he was under.

That he's been in a coma after the Trials this whole time.

That Dean has been taking care of him and found a way to help using what they learned from the Angel tablet, despite everything.

Cas stays with them.

Sam asks if he's okay. Says he heard the angels screaming and falling and it was so loud-

Cas tells Sam Heaven got locked up. That everyone was exiled. But he promises they'll fix it.

And Cas promises that despite everything, he's not leaving them again.

Sam is grateful.

And if he still sees Lucifer in his dreams...

That it's all just Sam and the residue Lucifer left in him.

He knows the Trials burnt Lucifer out of him even if it failed, because Crowley is dead. And Sam knows Hell is closed.

Cas has proven it.

Sam is safe.

And Dean doesn't have the Mark now, thanks to the Angel tablet.

He's just happy Sam is alive. That they are together.

And they'll fix this together, like they always do.

Sam is free.

So they hunt. And they research. And they fight.

But Sam is free.

Whatever the Trials did...

They took all the painful memories away, and left only the ones Sam isn't afraid of.

Sam wonders if God had a hand in that.

If God is finally watching out for him.

\--

The illusion only works because Sam wants to be free so badly, and Gadreel wants Sam to feel safe, and Lucifer's grace has latched on to Sam so tightly that Sam sometimes feels safe from it, anyway. He wouldn't, if he had a choice. But he can't help what he is, what Lucifer is, what his grace does, even against Sam's will.

Nonetheless, Sam fought Lucifer with all his being.

Gadreel respects him for it, even if he's afraid.

\--

"Hi." Cas enters the room, and Dean looks up, but only momentarily. "I came as soon as you called. I-"

Then he sees the wreckage. Broken lamp. Thrown table. Bloody knuckles.

Knows the signs.

Dean loads his gun in silence, always aimless in his desperation.

"Dean? What happened?" Cas asks, eyes narrowing, tone unsure. "What's wrong?"

Then Dean leans over, and gives Castiel a look he knows well.

Cas can smell the guilt and fear on him as he meets his gaze.

Sam is gone.

They sit down across from one another.

Dean gives his explanations.

Cas is quiet for a moment. Then he very much isn't.

"You let an angel possess him?" Cas asks. His tone betrays just what level of stupid that entails, but also fear and pain and memory. He knows what that would do to Sam. He knows how Sam would take the knowledge of what has been done to him.

And Cas knows...

Sam would rather die than let any angel inside him. Only Lucifer had ever gained the dubious permission, although that was always forced, and Sam hated being his True Vessel for other reasons. The same reason Sam would never let another angel inside him.

Sam had loved Lucifer more than himself. More than anything. And possession had felt so good, so perfect-

And Sam hated that more than anything in the world. Add in everything else Lucifer has ever done, every trespass the Devil committed against Sam using his skin, every way Sam had been unmade by the possession and violation of himself from the very thing he couldn't fight...

Sam could never let himself be possessed again. Ever. Would never allow it unless something worse than the Devil would end them all, and even that was stretching it.

Compared to that, any angel gaining access to Sam would be the absolute worst thing Sam would ever consider to happen to him.

All of his humiliation and pain, laid bare, combined with the pain of possession, and loss, and the reeling emptiness of Lucifer not being there, and the warring grace between Lucifer's remaining grace lighting Sam up like the Fourth of July with whatever invader has nestled there, and Sam's hatred of possession and angels and the possibility of being known by anything that he did not give permission.

Of something stealing the body he prayed for, the body stolen from him, the body he gained while both friend and lover to the Devil, and Cas only knows this from the Cage, and wishes he didn't.

No. There was too much history inside and outside Sam's skin for possession to be anything but a personal Hell for him. Worse than his personal Hell.

Worse than the Cage. Worse than Lucifer.

Sam doesn't want to be seen. Not by Lucifer, not by anyone.

Doesn't want people using his hands, because they are his, and everyone uses them to hurt others when all Sam wants is peace and quiet and kindness and life and freedom.

There is no freedom with an unwilling vessel. And Sam is as unwilling as they come.

"Sammy was dying. What else was I supposed to do?" Dean asks. His voice is hoarse. He still keeps himself propped up, like he's pretending the guilt doesn't eat him alive.

"You let an angel possess him." Cas repeats. Louder, more incredulous this time.

Dean is as adamant as he is desperate for Cas to give him absolution they both know isn't going to arrive. "He said it was the only way and I believed him."

In some ways, Cas envies Dean's cluelessness. If Dean knew what Cas knew, if he knew just how much this would break his brother...

He would have let Sam die.

Cas wants Dean to understand. But he stops himself.

He can try to help Sam when he's back with them. When he's safe.

When Dean has the space to actually reflect on his actions. Right now, Dean needs Cas to...

To...

"And now Sam's gone, Kevin's...." Dean's hand twitches as he trails off.

Right now, Dean needs Cas to get them into gear. And if Dean needs assurances, if that's what gets Sam home safe, and the invading angel out of him the fastest...

Then that is what Cas will do.

"Dean. I'm sorry." Cas starts in. Dean is not expecting kindness. Dean needs something to fight.

"Yeah, well, sorry doesn't pay the bills." Dean growls as he rises. Then he's yelling, voice set with the tightness in his jaw and in his throat, "Sure as Hell isn't going to bring Kevin back."

Isn't going to bring Sam back, either, although Cas can tell he can't say it.

Cas lets him fight him every ounce of self-hatred Dean holds for himself that Cas doesn't know how to even begin to fix. He never has.

If Sam were here, he'd tell Cas he needs to make Dean get help. Would say that the way Dean treats him isn't right.

Because Sam knows that. Has known that for a while. Has lived with someone worse, had his heart broken by someone equally lacking in self-reflection.

Dean had gotten better for a while. Then he backslid. Has been doing so for a while, particularly with the Mark. Cas pretends it is just the Mark doing this, and Sam knows Cas has been pretending, but even with all the memories and understanding between him...

They don't really have anyone else. After Hell, Sam's been isolated.

After Heaven, and the Angels falling, and even the Apocalypse... Cas has been isolated, too.

So they both hold on to Dean hoping he doesn't get worse. Because they believe he'll do better, when he's safe. They know he has the capability. 

And if Sam were here, he'd say something. Especially after Lucifer...

Sam isn't really scared of much. Losing his family. Having his brother look at him like he's different, like he's damaged, like he's a stranger...

Having his brother lie to him.

This was going to end badly once they get Sam back. Cas knows it. Knows he'll side with Sam, too, because Dean is wrong.

But for right now...

Cas will bite his tongue. Particularly since Cas hasn't had faith in himself for a long time. And deep down, Cas knows he deserves how Dean treats him. He doesn't know how to fight that.

Sam would tell Cas he is wrong, has done so. But Cas is scared, and a scared Cas...

Cas knows he can be angry if he has to. He's tired of being angry. Cas just wants to keep the Winchesters safe and to make something good happen in the world.

"We got to find this son of a bitch." Dean adds, not able to turn back and look at Cas in the eyes. Can read Cas just fine, even if he's pretending otherwise.

Cas cuts to the case.

"Dean. If the angel possessing Sam isn't Ezekiel... Then who is it?" He is clinical and dry and detached, because anything else isn't needed. It won't help Sam, being distracted.

Dean furrows his brow and looks back at Cas, voice a growl again.

"Dead man walking." Dean vows.

"Are you going to destroy him?" Cas specifies.

"Damn right." Dean answers.

"You kill an angel, it's vessel dies too." Cas reminds.

They are not killing Sam. Cas won't let him.

"Think I don't know that?" Dean answers, walking closer.

It's right then and there Cas knows the man in front of him is not the Dean he's grown to love. Not completely. Or it is...

But one who has grown so hard from his own self-righteousness...

He'd be more fitting as Michael's vessel now than he ever had been before.

Cas has been away too long. He should have seen the signs.

"If I don't end Sam, and that halo burns him out, I..." Dean says as he stares Cas down and shakes his head. He chokes on whatever he hasn't said, mouth twitching and his eyes darting away.

It's not about saving Sam, for Dean. It's about making sure he's in control of what happens to Sam.

Sam would run if he knew.

Strike two for Dean going out of control.

Knowing all this, Cas hates remembering everything Lucifer said to Sam. Particularly since whoever is riding shotgun in Sam's body might be making Sam relive those very memories right now to keep him down.

He knows how Lucifer always tried to paint himself better than Dean.

_Big brother has less respect and consideration for your feelings than me. You know it. I know it. C'mon, Sammy, I might take the wheel, but at least you're well acquainted with my methods and my endgame and what I'll do to you. I don't keep you guessing. Never have. Why are you so loyal to someone who doesn't know you like I do? Why give him the benefit of the doubt when you know you can trust me?_

Remembers Sam's answers, too. Too honest as he's coughing up blood or on his knees or hiding before the Devil is on top of him.

**He's my brother. He's not you. I knew what he was the moment I left. I know how to leave him. I mean... I knew.**

_But you don't know how to leave me, is that it? Real romantic, Sammy._

If Dean tried to kill Sam, his brother might even let Lucifer have him again. Isn't that worse to think about?

Then Dean finds his voice, adding as he meets Castiel's stony, concerned face again, "God, I was so damn stupid."

**_Yes. You were._ **

Cas suffers himself to hope that maybe Dean isn't too far gone, after all. He rises and makes his play. Phrases things in a way that might bring Dean back to himself, will give sympathy, will give support, without betraying the depth of what was done to his best friend.

"You were stupid for the right reasons." Cas assures. So very careful.

_What have we learned today, Sammy?_

**That the right reasons don't matter. They never matter.**

_And why is that?_

**Because it doesn't change the consequences.**

_Exactly, Bunk Buddy. Exactly._

"Yeah. Like that matters." Dean says aloud.

"It does." Cas voice booms with the truth he wishes he could sing out to the world as he walks around the table towards the man he loves however foolishly.

He would tell Sam that, if he were here.

He released Lucifer for the right reasons and destroyed himself for it. But intent measures who we are.

Everyone makes mistakes. All they have to do to fix them is own them for what they are, and try to do better.

Not bury the mistakes and pretend they aren't mistakes at all.

Intentions dictate change.

"Sometimes that's all that matters." Cas continues, hand on Dean's shoulder.

Castiel knows this is true. Otherwise, he would be beyond redemption.

Sam has told him that he's a good person. A good friend.

Cas knows he isn't.

But Sam has always kept faith. And if Sam told Cas that he could be better...

Dean could be better, too.

"Listen to me," Cas starts in again. "Sam is strong."

Understatement of the last five eons, honestly.

"If he knew an angel was inside him, he could fight." Castiel continues, certain and implacable as the angel he is again. "He could cast the angel out."

Hell, Cas knows he could do much worse, with Lucifer's grace still inside him, and on his own. It's probably depleted after the trials, or it might be the only thing holding him together aside from the spaces the other angel possessing Sam is currently holding on to.

Still. Stolen grace or not, Castiel is a being built on values...

And ever since Cas has fallen in with the Winchesters, Cas has been flawed, been human, for the right reasons. To protect. To love. To fight for the safety of the earth.

But he never loses what makes him the celestial being he is.

"Maybe..." Dean doubts. Cas will hold enough faith for Sam for the both of them, as long as the Dean he's engaging is a stranger to him. Then Dean's rumbling voice adds, "But as far as I know, he's in the dark. I don't know how we clue him in."

Cas crosses him arms looks to the side, thinking, trying not be distracted. He still is. Sam would take refuge in darkness if Lucifer didn't make it have worse consequences than his own light. Cas remembers that, too.

There is one surefire way to get Sam to realize. But it involves True Voices, and endangerment, and Lucifer, and Cas doesn't want to go down that road. Won't even voice it, because that might be a worse betrayal of Sam, if he did.

There are other options. Less certain ones.

Safer, less traumatic ones.

Cas states his idea. Bypassing the middle man.

Reverse-engineering the flow of grace, redirection of a different sort so Sam hears them directly. Almost a reverse of what Cas did when he took Sam's memories, took on the communication from Lucifer when trying to bring Sam back to him...

Only they'd have to do it more crudely, seeing as they don't know what angel is inside Sam to sneak past.

They'll need Crowley to activate factory settings. And he is there. In the basement.

Cas doesn't like it. Still. Better Crowley than Lucifer.

Cas doesn't have to like it, though. Or trust Crowley. He's not doing that one bit.

And Crowley doesn't want to cooperate, to put it mildly.

Dean and Cas don't give him much of a choice, although he milks the opportunity for what it is worth.

Crowley still gives them parting barbs, though, ones that stick to Dean too easily.

"People in your general vicinity don't have much in a way of a lifespan." Crowley says. Then he turns business. "Now, I can't teach you how to crack open an angel. It's more... art than science."

Demons love their art projects. Can you hear them, Sammy?

"But I can do it for you. All I ask in return is a little field trip. Dying for some fresh air. Chains on, naturally."

"No." Dean answers easily.

Crowley can still read him, though. "No? Of course not. Because if I'm plan A, I'm sure you have a totally viable, much better plan B."

Cas knows this is the only idea they have. Knows he came up with it.

He still needs to be cautious. And if he argues, Dean will stop wasting time.

"You can't be considering this." He says, barely trying, although he puts up enough of a front.

"With the chains on, he can't do anything." Dean rationalizes.

"It's Crowley. He can always do something." Cas answers. That has always been true, even if they don't have options. And maybe thinking of Lucifer has made Cas mirror Sam, a bit, seeing as that is something he would say.

"Looks like we need a tiebreaker. Go get Moose, squirrel." Crowley starts in.

With that, Dean cracks. Crowley sees it in every microexpression on his face.

"Unless... Unless, of course, you can't. That's why you're here, isn't it?" Crowley relishes every word. "The poor giant baby's in trouble again, isn't he?" 

Not because of things he did. Because of things done to him.

There have been so many things done to Sam after he entered Hell, and after he left.

Castiel still feels guilty for all of it, seeing as his intervention to get Sam out...

It makes him responsible, in some way. Not for every decision made, but for not doing enough to help.

For failing to be a good person, himself. Falling prey to worse things.

Like the Leviathans. Like Crowley.

\--

While they are in the car, Crowley gets more details on the situation.

That changes his tune, even if he knows not to show it.

Crowley isn't stupid. He and Cas know more than Dean about Sam's history, even if Cas is the only one with front row seats.

They both know enough about all the ways this could go south just from the angel waking parts of Sam up.

The parts Lucifer nourished.

When push comes to shove, Crowley gets their damn information and tracks down the Impala.

It takes too long, and Cas and Dean are more than on edge.

They're terrified. The kind of fear that comes from different places for each of them.

Dean, for losing Sam, again...

And Cas, for fearing what might happen if Sam stays under...

Or if he doesn't.

There are worse things that can happen, if the wrong memories come to light.

\--

Gadreel finds Abner. Doesn't want to be an executioner.

Has second thoughts about Metraton. About who he is trying to be, and what he has done to get there.

But he has already slain with Sam's hands.

Once you do it once, it is easier to do again.

Particularly when you have your friend's blessing, even if he doesn't know it.

\--

Payment for prayers defeats the purpose, Gadreel thinks to himself. Abner is happy. That is good.

Gadreel tries not to be bitter, seeing as so much has changed. 

He hates change.

And he hates how Abner makes him feel without realizing it.

Gadreel knew he was imprisoned wrongfully. And here is Abner, justifying his own imprisonment.

Opposite the way Sam does, even if Sam thinks he deserves it.

**I did this to us. I did this. It hurts but I saved them and that's all that matters. Even if you hate me-**

_I don't hate you, Sammy. I could never hate you. Here. Let me prove it._

Sam's subconscious memories rise to the surface with Gadreel's latent emotions like always, and they don't stop. Irksome, even as Gadreel tries to keep them out.

Gadreel is old. Not as old as Lucifer, of course, and Sam's subconscious knows all of Lucifer, as old as he is from the Archangel having ridden inside him. The grace is always there, a barrier between Gadreel and Sam. Otherwise, Gadreel's memories are like Lucifer's. A lot of the same thing. Both blank walls. 

Lucifer's were more solitary, until they weren't. Gadreel can access those easily, considering he is an angel. Sam's not wired to feel all of those at once.

Even so...

Sam's memories are colorful and loud and sharp and creative in comparison.

Gadreel squashes them so only wisps of prayer and grace seep through, but it's still so insistent.

_You going to make up for what you did, aren't you?_

**No. I deserve this. I deserve it because I chose it and you can't take that away from me.**

_Sammy. I can't take anything from you, because I am your everything. Don't you know that by now?_

Gadreel hates how much he can hear Lucifer's voice even when Sam isn't aware. The shared skin rubs off on them both, soul and grace still mixing, and Gadreel hates how old Sam feels, how scarred he is, how perceptive. It's like walking in eggshells inside your own skin.

Lucifer has always been there, with Sam. Gadreel didn't realize he'd be signing up for that, when he tricked his way inside. It was a safe option, since no one would think to look, and the Winchesters are powerful, and desperate, and blind...

But Gadreel doesn't fit Sam. He does, enough to remain, but not in any way that matters.

Sam is too big and spacious for him, having so much space to house archangel grace, not a minor angel. Too loving. Too forgiving.

He endures.

Gadreel has survived, yes. But he is not good at enduring.

He does not forgive, either, and that similarity rankles, too, because of all the thoughts, buried memories Sam has thinking of Lucifer and his brand of... forgiveness.

Sam can't call it anything else without hurting, so Gadreel does the same. No use setting a chain of those memories off.

Sam doesn't really crave vengeance. He's angry, sure, and has buried the anger under a calm sort of resignation without acceptance of the fact that his life hasn't been his own, of all the things Lucifer and John and Dean have done.

He's been aware enough to know that he's just along for the ride ever since Cas brought him back. Choosing otherwise hurt too much, so Sam grew distant, until that distance and attempt to be above it all turned once Lucifer weaseled his way back in.

It's what made Gadreel's trick to possessing Sam work in the first place. The fact that Sam was weakened, by the angels screaming and falling, from the Trials burning him up, from everything that happened before, with his brother's doubts and Sam's fragile hopes and Death knocking at the door.

Even then, Sam was still called down to the depths where the Archangel was waiting. Like Lucifer knew Sam was slipping through his fingers, trapped in the Cage as he was.

Sam had been distracted. Otherwise he would have heard Gadreel's grace, singing tenor so different from angels he knows. Distinctive.

Not as distinctive as Lucifer's off-minor-key-bass, though. And Lucifer's grace had sung so loud, when Sam was dying. Loud enough to mask Gadreel coming in.

Abner gets under Gadreel's skin when he says, "Yeah, well, I was a crappy angel. I was petulant. I deserted my post. I spent 700 years in heaven's lockup. I... No. Doesn't matter. We're a long way from Thaddeus now."

Still. In that way, Gadreel and his new host are similar.

Doesn't he understand there is no long way out? No distance? The things done to you don't get erased...

They cannot be unwritten.

"I killed him, Abner. I got our revenge." Gadreel states. Certain and proud but also trying to ignore all the speeches of revenge Lucifer sung inside Sam's head when he instructed him, deep in the earth.

Lucifer talked too much.

_You gave up what was rightfully ours._

**Sure did.**

_We were made to determine who lives and dies._

**And I let them live. I let them all live. And if I have to die for them... I'll die. Again and again.**

_Sammy._

**I'd do it for you, if it makes you feel better.** And Sam's using all the self-sacrifice he can as a shroud with all the love he can throw at the Devil as a weapon, **I made my choice and you can't take it away.**

Abner's voice sounds so distant, with Sam's screams under Gadreel's skin.

Gadreel might have second thoughts, even. Sam might not be worth it.

"I wish you hadn't done that." Abner stutters.

The halting words betray too much, and Gadreel hates Abner's weakness.

So does every atom of Sam without Sam realizing it.

You don't back down from a fight when you are fighting for your life. Backing down leads to worse things.

Gadreel asks. "But why? He tortured us. You, most of all." And Gadreel sings with Sam's ingrained habits from Hell, and his own inability to understand.

Sam was tortured for so long. Gadreel has seen it, felt it. Still feels his own torture, in Heaven. Remembers it like the back of his hand.

In that, they are similar. One of the things that stops Sam from being unfit.

"I remember." Abner answers. "And I remember you were always there to put me back together."

_Shh. Shh. I'll put you back together, Sammy. I always put you back together. And I still love you, I promise. You're always beautiful to me._

Gadreel's voice is stilted, but he tries to remember happier things.

Things that aren't Sam.

"We were friends." Gadreel answers.

Past tense. Distancing, because he knows what must be done, if he's to have a future.

"We are friends. And the fall, it's our second chance." Abner answers. Then he says the words to end it all, "We can forget our old hates, who we were."

"It's not that easy." Gadreel responds so quickly.

_Look at me, Sam. I want you to remember every moment. But you want to, don't you? You don't want to forget._

**If I forget, it isn't real. I wouldn't be myself.**

_See, Sammy. That's how you should be utilizing your resolve. Not swan-diving into nosebleed seats to all of eternity. Still. We'll get out of here. I know it. And when we do, you'll remember every second. I know you will. You'll make me proud._

"Yes, it is. Look at me. I'm happy." Abner says.

Turns out, triggers from the vessel affect the host. Who knew?

_Let me make you happy, Sam._

Sam dared to challenge that the first time he said it. Just the once.

**Lucifer, we were happy before. We... We might be in Hell forever, but we could be happy if you would accept it. We don't have to keep fighting. We have each other. I can forgive you.**

_You can forgive me? I'm not the one who ruined this, Sam._

**Please...**

_You saying you'd do this again? After everything?_

The danger there is real.

**You know the truth.**

_You'll change your mind. I know you will. You like being persuaded, kiddo. Always have._

Sam gets quiet and makes himself so very small as Lucifer crouches down, but he's found his courage and he's going to use it before it's banished forever.

**Why would you do this to me? To us?**

_I did this? Sam. No. Sammy. You did this. This is your fault. I'm just making sure you never do this to us again._

**We won't come back from this.**

_Oh. We will. I promise._

**Stop. Stop. I won't forgive you, it won't ever be the same, I won't be able to look you in the fucking eye-**

_Yes. You will. Look at me, Sam. Look at me._

Gadreel tries to make up for lost time.

Asks, "And your vessel – is he happy?"

Gadreel doesn't know if he remembers happiness.

He's not sure if Sam does, or if coerced happiness counts.

Abner grimaces, tone growing sharp. Each word digs in, loaded with meaning Gadreel doesn't want to ponder as Abner says, "He was an abusive ass."

**You abusive son of a fuck, let go of me, let me GO-**

_You belong to me, Sam. Me._

"But I love my family, and they love me."

_I'm your family, don't you understand? Me. I've always been your family. Stop fighting me, Sam. Stop it. There's no point. Not down here. No one is watching. There's no one to hide it from._

**You. There's you.**

_You don't get to hide anything from me._

**I can try.**

_I'm sure you will. But you know it won't last._

**Sure. But you know what? You might be mine and I might have nowhere to go and I might love you, but that has never stopped me. Remember? I loved my family, but I've always run from them-**

_Smack dab into me._

**And I've always gotten away-** (And Sam's prayer break off into a scream that almost makes Gadreel grit his teeth.)

_All thanks to me. Otherwise, your little stunts are temporary. Never forget that. Without me, you'd have nothing._

**I had Dean. He might have been an ass and he might have been wrong but I'll always have Dean, and you'll never lay a hand on him again-**

Lucifer had punished that, too. Yet Sam had fought Lucifer so often, in the beginning.

"I'm not a wise man, Gadreel."

_That was a special kind of human stupid, Sam. Wise up. You can do better. And you will. What do you say?_

"But I know this. The key to happiness? It's getting the one thing you want most and never letting it go."

_I'm never letting you go, Sam. Never. You make me happy, even when you drive me crazy. You're the one 'til the end of the line._

Sam's memories might just drive Gadreel mad, at this rate.

"And what if there's a price?" Gadreel tries to remember how to use Sam's voice. Tries not to feel like Lucifer, seeing how Sam knows how he felt from being inside him, too. 

_There's no price too high for love or perfection, Sammy. Happiness finds a way. You just have to let me give it to you._

Abner's voice cuts in, immediate, and Gadreel's head pounds trying to keep Sam's unconscious from more interruptions.

"There's always a price. But it's worth paying."

**I'd do it again. If we were back in that cemetery I would jump in and do it all over again-**

When the deed is done, Gadreel wonders if he killed Abner just to reorient himself in the real world. He knows he didn't. He had good reasons. But there is so much violence in his head that it muddies things a bit.

He could pretend he was stabbing Lucifer, if he tried hard enough.

Sam liked to pretend, but only on his terms. 

Before the Cage. Inside the Cage. Once he got out.

He's long since stopped pretending where it matters.

And Gadreel doesn't want to think about what happens when Sam realizes Gadreel is playing pretend with him.

\--

The next step with any murder is washing it away.

The water almost makes Gadreel's borrowed hands clean.

Only it doesn't.

Sam never felt clean except when Lucifer made him. The Cage broke that, too, drowning the good with the bad and the bitter and the violent.

That's not the reason Gadreel feels off, though.

Sam's hands make him unclean, because they were Lucifer's hands, too.

\--

And then Dean shows up. Always following his brother. Sam had faith in that, even in Hell. Feared it, secretly. Because if Dean came for him then Lucifer would find a way out, if Sam wasn't careful.

Then he actually got out without Lucifer calling the shots. And it didn't matter any more. Because Sam with distance was a Sam who could break his conditioning. At least, that's what he told himself.

And Gadreel tries not to think of the betrayal Sam has felt by proxy when Lucifer realized Sam's brother wouldn't give up on him, being too different from Michael.

Tries not to feel like Lucifer when he says, stiff and distant and full of warning, "You should not have come here, Dean."

And he turns to look Sam's brother in the eye.

"You killed my friend, then you take my brother, and you think I'm gonna let that stand?"

"I allowed you to live." Gadreel keeps his tone level.

Inside... Sam's memories are a flood, the Cage not yet a yawning tempest at his back until it is.

_I'll let Dean live. Sam. Don't throw us away. I'll let them live. But don't leave me. Please. You can't leave me I won't let you-_

**I said no. Look where it got us.**

Gadreel doesn't want to feel like Lucifer like this.

He does anyway.

And he can see it in his eyes: Dean doesn't like looking at slit throats when he knows it's his possessed brother doing the killing.

There's a weird habitual normalcy to the violence by now.

Dean should have learned.

And he goes to stab Sam, because Sam only dies on his terms.

That's what he thinks, as far gone as he is.

He doesn't know the claim Lucifer has staked on Sam, even now. Or he tells himself it doesn't matter.

Gadreel doesn't let him, and he justifies himself, finds a way to keep back the storm of Sam's personal Hell because he has to, and because Gadreel knows: whether Dean or Lucifer, Sam's being trapped in a situation he's too close to, one that will eat him alive.

It is an act of mercy, keeping Sam from the both of them.

He's suffered enough.

They both have.

\--

Castiel punches Gadreel out and knocks him flat.

He can heal Sam's bruises later.

Right now, all that matters is stopping Gadreel and giving Sam his body back.

Stopping Dean, too.

Cas owes Sam that much.

He shouldn't have left Sam alone. Not even as a human...

Sam has always welcomed him with open arms.

Always been there for him when Dean...

Sam needed him.

Castiel loves Dean.

But like Sam, he loves someone who can be so hard to love, sometimes.

He had promised to protect Sam Winchester.

And he had failed too many times.

He would not fail now.

Not when everyone else had already.

Except in all likelihood, they're handing Sam over to Crowley...

And Cas can't forgive himself for that, either.

\--

Gadreel doesn't let his grace reach out and talk to Cas. Keeps it walled off.

Sam is strong enough, that way, and Lucifer's grace helps, embedded as it is.

If he did...

Cas would know him.

Or he would have an idea, from the song his grace sings.

Gadreel can't let them know.

He can't be imprisoned again.

And can't let Sam know he's here, because he knows what's in store if he finds out.

But when he speaks, he pretends he can rip Sam apart, and says so.

He could, in a way.

Not on his own. The grace inside Sam, from the Devil, is always latent, humming, straining to give him back to Lucifer.

And if Gadreel pulls hard enough, there are fissures and scars and seams from all of Lucifer's wounds, places where Sam's soul still shudders, and inside Sam's body there are threads that he could unravel that would tear Sam's skin and muscle and bone into strips and send Sam back to the Cage.

He won't.

But the threat might stop them from trying anything...

"Tell them, Castiel." Gadreel adds, because he knows out of all of them, Castiel is the only one truly invested in what Sam would want.

And that threat is one he knows. Castiel knows what happens when Sam dies. Dean still doesn't.

But Gadreel knows when goaded, Dean won't stab Sam.

Not when it's his suggestion.

Cas looks at Dean, intent and careful and nervous.

Like he's not sure that's true, now.

It would be interesting, if Gadreel wasn't so afraid, of dying, and other things, and Sam.

He just can't let them see.

Gadreel thinks he might be able to appeal to their better natures, perhaps. Not likely, but it's possible.

"If it makes you feel better, I have Sam locked away in a dream. As far as he knows, the two of you are working a case right now. Something with," And Gadreel's voice changes so it is more like Sam's skeptical one when he's ribbing his brother, eyebrows raised, "ghouls and cheerleaders." 

It's not entirely a lie.

Not the whole truth, either.

But Dean sees how Cas stiffens with those words. Because Cas knows the threat there.

Knows all the other dreams Gadreel could keep Sam locked up in. Ones Lucifer made.

Ones Sam would believe, because reality has been hazy ever since he's risen from the Cage.

And then Dean hits Gadreel where it hurts.

"Why are you doing this? I trusted you." Dean accuses. "I thought you were one of the good guys."

Like trust has ever mattered when you let someone else beneath your brother's skin without his permission.

The accusation still hits too hard, though. Too similar to Gadreel's past, where God and the other angels labelled him a traitor, called him evil, and a failure, and unclean...

Perhaps he and Sam were not so different, if he thinks about it enough.

"I am doing what I have to do." Gadreel answers.

 **You gave me no choice.** Sam's voice, Sam's memory, hums in the back of his head, agonized and terrified and so full of love and determination Gadreel doesn't know how he didn't die from the intensity of it.

And with Gadreel's words, Sam's mouth twitches with a desperate rage even Sam would recognize on his face from when Lucifer would push too far and Sam had nothing else to hold on to.

Dean sees it. Stares Gadreel down, and taps one foot.

"So am I." Dean answers. Voice low and promising.

Crowley echoes his words. Too serious.

Too aware of what might happen if Sam comes back... wrong.

Sam's voice screams when the first pin goes in.

It's not easier to watch, Dean finds, not when he's not the one pushing the pins in. He scratches his arm, absent and distracted.

Cas notes that even as the angel flinches from Sam's pain, pain he doesn't feel yet, because he's locked up inside his mind, in a dream, and worries at Dean, because this isn't who he is.

Cas wonders how he's going to fix Dean, when this is over.

Sam has tried. Sam is failing.

Cas can't let anyone else hurt either of them.

\--

Gadreel takes a while to crack.

He's used to pain.

And Sam is used to more pain than him.

That kind of thing has bleedthrough properties.

\--

Dean walks away eventually.

Cas follows.

"I can't watch that any more." Dean rasps, unsure of where to put his hands.

"I understand." Cas says, and he does, more than Dean lets on. But he gives his reasons, more charitable, because he wants to pretend Dean isn't being corrupted, day by day, "It's not Sam... But it's still Sam."

That, and Cas still feels sidelined. Dean hasn't been close, lately.

Cas wonders if he still loves him, but is scared to ask. They have more important things to worry about.

"Pretty much. Yeah." Dean grunts, nodding, then flinching as another muffled scream rings out from the other room. "How are you doing?"

"You want to talk about me now?" Cas asks, thrown, and his eyes narrow. His tone is fairly hoarse, too.

"I want to talk about anything that's not a demon sticking needles into my brother's brain." Dean answers. His voice shakes and his eyes are wet.

Normally, that would be a cause for Dean to be scared and angry and defeated.

With Hell on their minds, too...

Yeah. Even without the Mark...

Cas can see what that would do to him.

Dean doesn't like thinking about how he used to like to torture people, how seeing Sam tortured gives him whiplash. Both from wanting to protect him and the niggling reminders inside his head, from the time before Cas raised him. The Mark would only make it worse.

Cas can see why Dean specified, though. Cas usually knows how to snap him out of it.

He's not sure, now, though. Cas has been failing the one he loves a lot lately, and Dean hasn't been all there.

And he's still so angry about Sam, about what happened, even if he can't express it right now. Sam deserves to make his feelings known without Cas intruding on whatever he needs, once he gets free.

Because he will. One way, or another. He will.

Dean can't look at Cas. Walks loudly on the grills below their feet as he pinches the bridge of his nose and clicks his jaw.

"Yeah, humor me, man. How are you doing?" Dean adds, blinking, and clenching his jaw, and Cas can see that in the twist of his head and the tensing of his neck, Dean all hidden, coiled up feeling.

"I'm okay." Cas settles on. He's been better. They all have. But it's enough.

"Good, good. That's, uh..." Dean sniffs and looks back at Cas, trying to keep his voice level. He almost gives up, then gestures at Cas, trying to distract himself, "So, what, you just change the batteries out, power back up? It's that easy?"

"It wasn't easy," Cas admits, staring at the ground, and then he gives the answer he's been tired of giving for so long, and looks up at Dean in understanding, if nothing else, "but I didn't have a choice."

"Yeah. Well, that's usually how it goes." Dean growls, head bowed, and then he's walking closer to stop in front of Cas, looking him head on as he says, "Cas... I'm sorry."

Cas blinks at him.

**_You should not be apologizing to me._ **

"About what?" Cas asks, voice flat.

"Kickin' you out of the bunker. That's, uh... You know, not telling you about Sam." Dean's voice breaks again as he looks back the way they came.

"You thought his life was at stake." Cas rationalizes. If he doesn't rationalize, he'll get angry. And maybe Dean will realize how wrong he was if Cas doesn't push. Dean hates being pushed at times like this.

"Yeah, I got played." Dean answers.

Cas can empathize there. And he does miss talking to Dean. Dean is trying, at least.

He hasn't been for a while.

But he's trying.

"I thought I was saving Heaven.' Cas tilts his head, adding, "I got played, too."

"So you're sayin' we're both a couple of dumbasses?" Dean asks too quickly.

Cas purses him lips, then decides, "I prefer the word trusting." Cas settles on. "Less dumb." Then his lip twitches, and his eyes burn with the attempt at humanity. "Less ass."

Dean nods, brow furrowing, like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry or nothing, because Dean has always preferred neither.

"Laverne! Shirley! Get in here!" Crowley interrupts. "Pinhead's out cold, but watch this." He moves a few parallel pins in Sam's forehead. Dean clenches his fists at his sides, with Castiel's wings wrapping around him.

Then the Enochian rings out.

And cold, cold fear and anger lights in Castiel's breast. If he were human, his breath would stop cold.

Dean notes the sudden stiffness, the intent drawn look in Castiel's eyes.

"What's he saying?" Dean asks.

"His name. Gadreel." A muscle in Castiel's jaw twitches as he says it, thinking so hard Dean can see it in his face.

"Does that mean something to you?" Dean presses.

"Well, it's why I've never seen him." Castiel's voice breaks, the flatness giving way to another emotion Dean hasn't seen him exhibit before. "He's been imprisoned since the dawn of time."

And then Castiel's voice gets low and deep and rumbles, all thunderclaps and holy judgement as he turns to look Dean in the eyes, "Gadreel was the sentry who allowed Lucifer into the garden."

That sets Dean on edge immediately.

Anything associated with Lucifer and related to Sam immediately goes into berserker mode, for him.

"My, my. A celebrity." Crowley cuts in, a bit too chill.

"Wait, the garden? Like eden? Adam and Eve? Fig-leaves garden?" Dean tries to use the subject to keep himself from flying off the handle.

Of course the thing that had to possess Sam had to be connected to Lucifer. Of course it fucking did.

Dean is going to rip the fucker apart.

Cas isn't even humoring Dean. Isn't thinking about Dean's feelings at all right now.

He's so angry and he feels Sam's anger, too, can hear Lucifer instructing Sam on the real reason why everything went wrong (even though it was Lucifer, it was always Lucifer, but Sam would pretend it wasn't if it meant he'd be safe, if only for a moment), and Cas is filled with hate.

"It's his fault." And Castiel's burning blue eyes zone in on Gadreel's stolen face as he growls, "All of it. The corruption of man, demons, hell." Castiel's face almost snarls as the words grit out, clipped and worn and broken, "God left because of him. The archangels..." And Cas breaks off, blinking. Too many memories there. Of Lucifer, punishing him for taking Sam away. Of Sam, remembering Lucifer. Of everything.

And Sam's thoughts, once, filter in his head: **If Lucifer never got inside the Garden, he'd never do what he did. He'd still be himself. But things wouldn't be like this? Why did things have to be like this?**

And Cas sees Sam, sees Sam bloody and pale and beaten, as Lucifer looms over him, clutching his face, the raw red light of the flames far away, so that they are only bathed in cool darkness. Lucifer's eyes glow.

_It's not my fault everyone has failed me, Sam. It's not my fault I was made what I am. But you, of all people, Sammy. You hurt me, betrayed me, but of all my grievances, you at least had the decency to love me back and never leave. I think that's due for a reward, don't you?_

And the stillness in Castiel's throat breaks as he swallows, eyes going from the floor back to Sam as Cas finds his voice again, "The apocalypse. If he hadn't been so weak, none of it would have happened."

And Cas knows if Sam were awake, he'd want to end the angel inside him.

Cas wants him to wake up. He has to.

He has to.

Castiel strides forward and shakes Sam's body, begging Sam to be stronger than he should ever have to be.

Castiel's voice turns woolly and half-inarticulate as he snarls, "You ruined the universe, you damn son of a bitch!"

Like that would draw Gadreel out. Distract him, so Sam can hear the truth.

"Cas! Cas! Hey!" Dean yells, pulling Cas off him.

He could hurt Sam like this. He knows all too well, just how the pins have to set so you don't send the victim into braindead nothingness.

He's seen it before. Alastair made sure he knew all the details.

"Dean, he..." Cas says, all guttural, baring his teeth, but Dean holds his face close and hugs Cas in his arms.

"I get it." Dean answers, flat and adamant and low. "But you got to chill."

And the fear lights up in his eyes and Cas sees parts of the man he's been losing and all the fight drains out of him.

They need to fix this.

They need to.

And the rage Cas has been holding back rears its ugly head, all the anger on Sam's behalf for what Dean has done, and Cas shakes Dean's hands from his arms with such ferocity Dean holds up his hands.

Crowley keeps trying to bring Sam to the surface.

"What's taking so long?" Dean rasps, hands crossed in front of his chest. It's been hours.

"Other than the fact that I'm trying to unravel a living, multidimensional knot of pure energy, not much." Crowley responds, still flippantly, but by now his deadpan has grown tired and they can hear the wary concentration bleed through.

There's a jerk of a pin, and Sam's mouth gasps.

Dean looks at Cas and back to Sam, daring to hope-

"It won't work." Gadreel hisses, not looking at any of them, until he is, he's staring Dean down like he's seeing him properly for the first time. "You will never find your brother."

Gadreel will be stronger than Lucifer. He will defeat Dean where he could not, so Sam is safe. So he is safe.

Gadreel turns to Crowley, voice haughty and halting and exact, "Go ahead. Poke and prod. I can sit in this chair for years and watch you fail over and over again."

And then he looks back at Dean, hoping he gets the message, "I've endured much worse than this, Dean. So...much...worse."

Thanks to Sam. Thanks to all the things he's got running wild in his head and pretends isn't a problem. Thanks to all the things I've lived through, and all the things Lucifer did to him.

And then Gadreel says something he knows will rankle, because Lucifer said it to Dean, once, after Lucifer bailed but before Sam was rescued from Hell, before the Cage, before Ellen and Jo died again. "And I have all the time in the world."

"Shut up!" Dean shouts, overcome.

_I have all the time in the world, Dean. You won't ever get him away from me. He's mine to keep. It's better this way. He'll never have to be afraid of anything. Not while he's with me. Why can't you let him be safe and happy?_

Gadreel watches Dean and raises his head high, unlike Dean, who can't quite raise his eyes from the floor.

"All right. Plan B." Dean whispers, and then he looks at the angel he loves. "Cas. You got to possess him."

The words don't entirely compute at first.

"What?" Cas asks.

**_No._ **

"Do it now!" Dean demands. "Get in there, tell Sam what's going on, and help him kick that lying son of a bitch out!"

Gadreel smiles at Cas, who sees it despite himself, because he knows Cas won't do it even if he could. Not even for this.

His grace mocks: _Sam trusts you._

 ** _Sam will rip you apart._** Cas returns.

"It might work." Cas says through gritted teeth, brow furrowed, because he knows when there is no telling the truth to Dean or reasoning with him. Both Sam and Cas know that well. Cas adds, "But I can't possess a vessel," And Cas glances at Sam, in an apology, like it's a betrayal for even thinking it, or saying it as he keeps talking, "Without permission."

 ** _And I couldn't do that to Sam._** Cas thinks. **_I could, if there was no choice, but... I can't. Sam would never feel safe around me again._**

Dean starts taking in too shallow breaths, and Crowley clears his throat, volunteering a bit too easily.

Dean's eyes dart to Crowley and his raised hand.

"No. Not happening." Dean snarls, showing teeth.

"Don't be daft." Crowley growls back, all monster, no pretend human affections to be found. "Demons can take what they want." And then Crowley is looking at Sam head on, half power hungry and half like it's a minefield he'd rather run from. "I can burrow into that rat's nest of a head. I can wake Sam up. Just call me plan C."

This is a horrible idea. Cas knows it's a horrible idea.

"You can't –" Cas says, disbelieving and too quiet, at the same time Dean says his piece.

"...you got a better idea?" Dean asks, voice rough.

Cas stares him down and sees the totality of all of Dean's fears come to claim him.

But Cas remains blank and angry and wishes Sam wasn't right. Because Sam knows everyone was calling the shots for him ever since Purgatory. Before then, too.

And Sam will never forgive any of them for this.

"What about the angel?" Dean asks, looking back at Crowley, chin raised.

"I'll work fast." Crowley assures, mouth smiling, eyes blinking, every bit the creature he is.

"And if he finds you?" Dean asks.

"I'll run." Crowley hisses. "I'm not dying for you lot. Of course, if I do this," And Crowley's voice softens, spins faster, closing like a car salesman, "You're gonna have to..." And he gestures to himself.

"Take off the leash." Dean grits out, not looking at him. "Yeah, I know."

"And it stays off." Crowley specifies, and Dean swallows as he continues. "I save Sam, I leave here a free man. Do we have a deal?"

Dean looks back up at him.

Cas keeps his eyes on Sam, and Dean doesn't even look him head on when he asks, "Cas, burn off Sam's tattoo."

Cas stares Dean down, gaze unblinking, all the tired bags under his eyes thrown into sharp relief as he says one word, and one word only. "Dean."

Crowley licks his lips.

Dean keeps his eyes to the floor. "Do it."

Cas complies, burning the tattoo off and hating himself for every second. Gadreel stares him down in a wordless 'I told you so.'

_ Sam was wrong to trust you. _

**_You have no right to say anything to me._ **

He'll make it up to Sam later.

He has to.

Dean looks pained, but Cas doesn't care. His hands feel tainted with the breach of friendship, the one thing he thought he held close ever since he was given another chance.

Dean stares Crowley down, every word promising hurt.

"If you mess with Sam," He vows, and then he's shouting, pointing, "If you try anything –" He vows.

"I keep my bargains." Crowley answers, holding up a pointing finger of his own, every word pointed and stilted as he drills the point home. "Besides, I don't want to be inside your brother any longer than I have to." And that's the truth. Anyone with self-preservation skills would stay far away. But Crowley wants his freedom, and this is his ticket there, but it won't stop him from needling one more thing at Dean, another reminder of how often Sam's been used up, "I'm not one for sloppy seconds." He says.

And they all know he doesn't mean Gadreel.

It takes all of Dean's willpower not to stab him for that. But he doesn't. He just meets Castiel's ironclad stare, and then turns away, unlocking the shackles around Crowley's neck.

Gadreel inhales, nervous.

Sam's state is fragile.

Another passenger might set the equilibrium entirely askew.

And if Sam wakes up wrong...

They are all totally fucked.

Gadreel especially.

Crowley looks unbothered, even though he's thinking the same thing. There's a reason he's willing to help.

Sam's only safe when there isn't an angel inside him. Or safer, seeing as the Moose is a menace on his own. A well-meaning, moral menace, though.

"When you find him, say 'Poughkeepsie.'" Dean says, and that breaks Crowley's nonplussed expression for confusion. Dean clarifies, "It's our go word. It means 'drop everything and run.'" Dean specifies.

"Fine." Crowley hisses, and then he winks, quipping, "While I'm gone, hands off the suit."

"I will destroy you." Gadreel vows, as he keeps staring him down.

Castiel pushes him against the back of the chair, but doesn't do so crushingly. He doesn't want to hurt Sam, after all, and steadying Gadreel means Sam might get less whiplash.

"Eat me." Crowley replies. Red smoke pours out from his meatsuit down Sam's throat.

Dean paces for a few minutes, then breaks the silence, saying, "A demon and an angel walk into my brother. Sounds like a bad joke."

Cas doesn't look at him. Keeps his eyes on Sam.

"Dean, if this doesn't work..." Cas trails off. He can't give another option that's worse. But he will, if it means he has to. Sam needs his freedom.

"It'll work." Dean answers.

It has to.

The guilt eats him alive.

\--

Sam knows when something is off.

Things have been off for a while.

"I mean, it just doesn't make any sense. Why is this ghoul only chomping on dead cheerleaders?" He muses to himself.

Dean yells, faraway, from the kitchen. "You want a beer?"

"No, I'm fine." Sam answers, heart not really in it.

He knows this Dean isn't real.

The hand trick hasn't been the same.

And Sam is pretty sure whatever dream he's stuck in has gone wrong.

Still. If he's in a dream coma forever because of the Trials...

At least he isn't in the Cage. At least Lucifer isn't here.

At least he can find a way out of his own brain. Maybe by solving the case, he can make his way out. Like when he had to find his way back when he got his soul back, only far less traumatizing. Sam's brain had a tendency to compartmentalize like that.

It's not like this is a dream Lucifer made. Lucifer's dreams felt more real, and Lucifer was always in them. He preferred being the center of attention. Couldn't really stop himself even when trying to trick him.

It's not a Djinn, either.

Sam's run into more than one Djinn after the Cage. He knows what kind of illusions they try to trap him in, except Lucifer is too much for them, usually. Sam still couldn't sleep for weeks after those.

Maybe it's African Dreamroot? A witch? Something keeping him under dream anesthesia?

“Not bad.” Crowley interrupts off to the side, looking around.

Sam can feel how real he is. The grace inside him sings, recognizes the demon for who he is.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam yells, turning to the kitchen. Dean might be a figment of his imagination, but he's been non-hostile, if distant and generic compared to the real Dean. Probably just a subconscious part of him inside the dream. Like white blood cells.

“Poughkeepsie.” Crowley answers.

That stops Sam in his tracks.

“How do you know that word?” Sam asks, turning back to look at the crossroads demon, drawing to his full height.

“Because Dean's sent me, Bullwinkle, the real Dean." Crowley says in the familiar way he does, like Sam's an idiot, except then he's talking fast and nervous, and Sam can tell he's sweaty and unsure, almost human in his reactions. "I'll make this quick – you've been possessed by an angel. He's got you packed away in some dusty corner of your own mind, and I'm here to break you out.”

Crowley obviously doesn't want to get caught, which makes sense.

But Sam doesn't want to believe any of it. He knows possession. He's had Lucifer, of all things, inside him. Vast and bright and terrible.

He would have felt it.

Except... except maybe being used to larger-than-life violations made Sam overlook smaller feelings. Things that don't add up.

Subtle invasions.

And the lost time... Sam knows how lost time goes, even if Lucifer kept him awake. He's lived that with Meg.

Sam can only pray there isn't blood on his hands, this time.

When isn't there ever blood on his hands, when his body is made into something that is not his own?

Sam shuts that train of thought down. Crowley lies. He's not his friend. Why should he believe him?

“Seriously?” Sam asks. He has to be skeptical, because the truth hurts, and denial comes easy. Except he knows Crowley isn't lying, deep down.

He's felt Lucifer's leftover grace struggling against something this entire time.

It's just...

If Sam was possessed...

Sam didn't say yes. Not knowingly.

And he has suffered enough. Why does he have to suffer more?

“Fine. We'll do this the fun way.” Crowley answers. He picks up Sam's dream gun, and shoots him with it.

Sam doesn't even flinch, really. He's used to rapid violence. He looks down at his chest and pokes at it anyway, because if he didn't, he would stop pretending to be normal, and he's been trying to pretend to be normal, and also, because it's been so hard to differentiate reality before, so Sam has to check on principle.

“See? Not real." Crowley specifies. "Like I said. I know how possession works, Sam."

Crowley's words wash over Sam while white hot rage blooms inside his mouth and panic swallows, slippery down his throat, and frozen, frozen fear keep him silent and struck dumb and reeling, every tooth and nerve on edge.

"You've seen everything that he's seen, even if you can't remember." He explains, like Sam doesn't know that already, like the opposite isn't true, except having it broken down centers Sam, gives him something to latch on to. "That's what I need you to do. I need you to remember.”

Sam remembers, remembers more than just this new invasion.

He can never stop remembering ever since he got his soul back.

And all he can think is that he didn't say yes. Not really.

_You know you can say yes in casual conversation, Sammy. I won't possess you unless I specifically ask to go inside. I promise. The word itself isn't what I'm looking for. You have to want me inside you. And I know you do, I can feel it._

And then other memories, more recent ones, come to the surface.

Sam looks away, eyes screwed shut, until they aren't.

“Did I kill Kevin?” Sam rasps. He stares at his hands.

They're always bloody. Always killing. Always burning with holy light that burns Sam's retinas, with grace singing inside his jawbone.

Or his hands are dripping, wet and sticky, from all the close-quarter violence Lucifer favored, all the careful ripping apart of people and things, limb for limb, and other things Lucifer would do, unclean things he used to make Sam glad he wasn't hurting anyone else. Just Sam. Until red was the only thing under Sam's fingernails, until it dried, rusting over and camouflaged to brown.

Like dirt.

“No, you didn't." Crowley yells, indignant mostly because he knows an unstable Sam wastes time and is also more dangerous, considering all the things inside Sam that could explode any minute. Crowley keeps talking, softer now, not condemning, "He did. You need to take control, Sam." Crowley adds, more insistent as Sam swallows and his mouth twitches, and then Crowley is preaching, loud and clear, "Blow it up and cast that punk-ass holy roller out!”

Sam looks up at him. Hears footsteps.

“What?" Crowley asks when he sees Sam's gaze settle behind him and his gaze straighten. Then he knows. "Oh, bollocks.”

Gadreel is behind him.

Crowley turns around, but Gadreel isn't looking at him.

Sam stares the angel inside him down, mouth twitching, eyes narrow. Waiting. Holding back on tearing him apart right then and there, because he isn't a mindless thing, he isn't Lucifer's, he got out-

“Hello, Sam.”

“Who are you?” Sam asks. But he knows. He can hear the singing of his grace, Lucifer's residual tackiness sliding against the sides of his soul in recognition now that Sam's lit up and awake.

Know thy enemy.

_Know the name of the angels you were meant to slay, Sammy. Know them all by name. Don't worry. I'll teach you. I'll teach you every. single. one. of the names of the pathetic things you should have let me hurt in your place. This violence wasn't meant for you, Sammy. Never was. It was meant for them. You were meant to have peace, and power, and vindication. But you wouldn't let me give it to you. And you wanted to take their place. So here I am. Giving you what you thought you wanted._

“His name is Gadreel, the original chump.” Crowley supplies. Nervous talker, and because he wants to taunt the angel in person when it's not wearing Sam's face.

Sam knows him.

Lucifer laughed about him in the Pit.

And Gadreel knows the Cage. Knows everything Lucifer did to Sam, and everything Sam did, thanks to this new bastard hitching a ride inside Sam's noggin'.

Sam's thoughts always sounded more like Lucifer when he got scared and stressed and cornered. Something Lucifer taught him, that Sam defaulted to. Defense mechanism.

_Don't worry, Bunk Buddy. I know it hurts. I know. But I'll make it better. You just need to understand. You don't know what you want or what you need, Sam. You do, deep, deep down, but you never let yourself take it. So I'm taking it for you. I'll give it you. I promise. But you need to learn, first. Only then can we move on._

Do what the Devil wants, and he'll be pleased. Mirror him like he wants you to, and he might let you off the hook early today, if he feels like it.

Might trade one torture for another, one you'd be grateful for.

“Was a chump." Gadreel corrects, voice a hiss as he shifts on his feet. He stares Crowley down, but his grace is focused on Sam, explaining, like he can reason with him. Like he will find understanding.

Sam lets him, because he's analyzing every weak spot he can suss out on autopilot, Lucifer's grace hissing in his ears, urging Sam to take him out. And Sam ignores it, because he will end this on his terms and no one else's. That, and it's taking all his willpower for his mind not to throw them into the Cage.

To keep the floodgate of whatever link he has to Lucifer still dormant, because it's trying so hard not to be, now that Sam is awake.

And Sam can feel how weak his body is. Even with Gadreel inside...

Sam is transient. Still nursing burns from the Trials.

"And now? I'm going to be the one that leads my kind back to Heaven." Gadreel says, focusing on Crowley because he knows he can't take Sam in an honest fight. "I'm going to be a hero. But you, demon, for all your chatter, you will always be a coward. You should be running.”

Crowley punches him.

Gadreel hits back.

Sam lets them have their slap fight in his head as he decides on what he's going to do to punish the angel that dared trick its way inside him.

The angel that killed Kevin.

And Gadreel is as arrogant as everyone assumed Sam to be when he killed Lilith and let Lucifer out, as pretend-regal as the demons once thought Sam would be, if he took up the mantle of the crown.

If only they knew what Sam really thought. What he had really lived as, back then.

Sam hadn't been arrogant. He'd been cornered and scared and suicidal and wanting to fix things he didn't know how to fix.

And he just wanted rest. He wanted home.

He wanted Jess.

Sam would be happy for the barest pretend kindness and simple life Lucifer would give him, if Sam had let him.

Only Sam couldn't let him, because the price had been giving Lucifer everything. Giving him the world.

Compared to that... What was this nothing that thought to make itself a home inside Sam's body?

Sam knows Gadreel is afraid. He can taste it.

He has a right to be.

Sam attacks him, draws him off Crowley. Gadreel fights back, but he knows he's going to lose. Only Sam won't let him bail.

Not without hurting him irreparably.

Sam isn't kind. Sam can be kind, but he won't be. Not with this. And Sam has seen the depths of kindness from someone who claimed they loved him, and all the violence it entailed when the Devil held himself back. Has seen the depths of hate and violence when Lucifer let himself loose on other targets before Sam threw himself in the line of fire and ended it all.

Gadreel has seen what Lucifer made Sam into. What Sam became in Hell.

And he knows if Sam takes hold of it, if he rallies the rage he's felt and the pain and the love for everyone, but particularly for Dean, for Cas, for Lucifer, even, with betrayal under his ribcage-

Gadreel will be swept away in a heartbeat.

But if he does...

If he does, he's not sure what will happen. Not just to Sam, but to the grace hyper=charged against his soul, now that so many things are competing for a foothold to keep from being thrown out.

“Give up, boy. You're not strong enough.” Gadreel tries as he tries to throw Sam to the floor. Sam takes the punch and doesn't flinch. Lucifer hit harder.

**That's what they all say. It's a lie.**

_ I don't mean strength of will. _

Sam considers. He knows he can cast Gadreel out right now. Wants to. Trembles with disgust and revulsion and _HATE_.

There is only one angel Sam would suffer inside him, only one angel Sam ever loved, and that part of him aches, used and hurt and so bruised Sam doesn't remember what it's like not to hurt.

And even that angel, Sam still said no.

Sam traps Gadreel, considering. His mind flips to the Cage, it surrounds them, and Lucifer's grace whispers around them in the red light, in the shadows, in the lightning dusk of prison.

Sam could make Gadreel nothing. Could grind the angel into dust.

Maybe Sam will burn them both out and boil them from inside his skin.

Sam could do that. He has enough juice, enough of Lucifer, inside him to do that, even now.

It'll kill him, but still. It would end the waiting for the inevitable.

He doesn't. 

He told himself he'd escape Lucifer. Just because he hasn't yet doesn't mean he won't.

“Take control, Sam! Cast him out!” Crowley yells.

Only now Jess is there, in the corner of the room, by the doorway. Crowley sees her and looks terrified.

So does Gadreel.

"Make him pay, Sam. Make it slow." She says. Her eyes are red.

It's not real, though. Just an echo.

If Lucifer really could get his hooks in and fight, he'd have torn Gadreel apart without a word already.

**You killed Kevin.**

_ I was afraid. _

**You should be.**

_ We both know there is more on the line here. More than Kevin. Metatron. Dean. You know I'm not lying. You know my fear. You know what he is. Lucifer trumps everything else. He damaged both of us.  _

That ends Sam's patience.

“Get out-" He says

“You sure you want me to go? Maybe I'm the only thing holding you together. I leave, you might die."

_You are duct tape and safety pins. Weak and starving from your endless war. And _ _ I can make it so you never have to see him again.  I can give you nothing. Oblivion. I can make the pain stop. You don't have to remember your love for Dean, or Lucifer, or Jess. You don't have to worry about the Pit. You don't have to think about what you are. What you let him make you into. You can forget it all. You can become a memory. No betrayal. No more pain._

**Did you think I would suffer at the hands of the one I love most just to have it mean nothing?**

_ You can't die, Sam. If you die, he'll get out. _

Sam doesn't care. Sam has fought him before and won.

If he has to do it again...

At least he won't have anyone else inside him.

Sam rises to his full height, crushing Gadreel's throat with the heel of his foot.

Like he did with Michael, before he broke him apart.

“I said get…The Hell. Out!” Sam shouts.

His soul sings with every particle of rejection he's ever felt.

But Sam doesn't burn Gadreel from the inside out. Sam could damage himself that way, and Sam intends to live.

He can kill Gadreel when he's gone.

When Sam is as free as he'll ever get.

\--

Gadreel is ejected.

Sam slumps, gasping, when he does.

\--

When Sam is fully conscious, the first thing he does is go outside and get air.

He doesn't look at Dean.

Cas reapplies his tattoo and heals Sam with his grace, apologetic. Sam barely flinches but accepts it, because he's already suffered so much today. What's one more thing to dredge it all back up.

“You feel better?” Cas asks.

“A little, yeah.” Sam says, listing slightly.

“It'll take time to fully heal you." Cas replies. "We'll have to do it in stages.”

Dean walks into Sam's space, unable to take the consequences of what he knows will follow.

“All right. Let me hear it.” Dean asks.

“What you do want me to say – that I'm pissed?" Sam asks. Flat. Dead.

Dean nods.

"Okay. I am. I'm pissed." And then Sam's voice lowers, and he glances to the side, beyond Dean, and back again. "You lied to me." And then Sam bares his teeth. "Again.”

“I didn't have a choice.” Dean rallies his immediate excuse.

Sam scoffs.

_I’ve always given you choices, Sam. You might think me cruel, and I am. But I have always given you options. Because I love you._

“I was ready to die, Dean!” Sam answers, shaking his head until he's staring Dean down.

**Death... Dying was my only way out.**

“I know." Dean answers.

Sam swallows.

"But I wouldn't let you, because that's not in me.” Dean adds, gesturing to himself.

Like it's his fucking call to make.

_I’ll just bring you back, Sammy._

Sam's mouth curls and his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare, too many emotions hitting him at once as he answers, “So, what? You decide to trick me into being possessed by some..." And Sam trails off, unable to articulate the depth of how much he hates the thing that was inside him, until his voice breaks, too high pitched and steeped in poison, "Some **psycho** angel?”

“He saved your life.” Dean responds. Flat and sure. Because Sam is no stranger to psycho angels, and if it was between a dead Sam, or not...

**Some life.**

“So what? I was willing to die." And Sam's voice grows soft and trembles, because he can't hold back, now, everything is fucked, and Kevin... Kevin is...

Sam can feel Cas staring at him, can feel his grace nervous and tired and grieving for Sam.

And Dean swallows.

Sam keeps staring Dean down, and then he finds his voice again, adding. "And now... Kevin…”

Dean's voice grows muffled. “No. That is not on you."

Sam scoffs, eyes brimming with tears, and Dean's voice grows louder and harder as he snarls, "Kevin's blood is on my hands."

And Sam shakes his head and can't stop shaking it.

Dean continues, "And that ain't ever getting clean. I'll burn for that."

And Sam smiles, only it isn't a happy smile. It's one holding back a choking sob and a snarl of animal violence and all Sam can think of is the bite of hellfire, and Lucifer, and how he's going to go back eventually when he dies, and how the longer he puts it off the angrier Lucifer will be... And he raises his eyebrows, consumed by how Dean is turning this into a pity party for him and keeps ignoring all the consequences of making this choice for Sam and how it affected everyone around them.

Dean keeps going, "I will. But I'll find Gadreel. And I will end that son of a bitch."

And Sam goes still. Too still. Because Dean is once again making this all about what he wants, and if anyone is going to end Gadreel.

Sam is going to tear Gadreel apart first. Limb from limb. Until his shredded, rotted wings can't adhere to the rest of him...

"But I'll do it alone.” Dean says. And he's done it now. The full trifecta. Ignoring Sam's choices, check. Self-righteous deflection, check. Abandonment, too, all in one go. Like he's trying to set Sam off, only he's clueless.

Sam looks at him, then looks away, then back.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sam asks, mouth twitching.

“Come on, man. Can't you see? I'm... I'm poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed...or worse. You know, I tell myself that I-I – I help more people than I hurt. And I tell myself that I'm – I'm doing it all for the right reasons, and I – I believe that. But I can't – I won't... Drag anybody through the muck with me. Not anymore.”

So that's what this is then. Guilt for bringing Sam back into the life again. Guilt because Dean knows he'd make the same decisions under the same circumstances. No apology. No acknowledgement of what he did.

That's it, Sammy. End of the line. I've nabbed you from the only meaningful sacrifice you ever made and stuffed your soul back inside you and held Purgatory against you and treated you like a child and stole your rightful peaceful death away and resigned you to a life with only Lucifer to look forward to, but sure. I'm just going to leave you, now. Discard you. Ignore every single time you said we'd do this together, because I'm going to keep treating you like you're fragile and unable to be trusted with your own life and decisions.

Sam normally wouldn't hold grudges. He can't stop the bitterness, right now.

But Sam will let Dean go, if he must. Because Sam can't stand to be near him, right now. Because Dean won't respect what Sam thinks, and because Sam left him once. He'll make Dean leave again, however long until Sam can stomach to look at him after what Dean did.

“Go. I'm not gonna stop you.” Sam says. Certain.

Dean's composure crumples. He wanted Sam to ask him to stay. Wanted Sam to give the faith and reassurances he used to.

But Sam doesn't have faith in anything, now.

Well, one thing. One monster he doesn't want to have faith in.

Dean looks at Cas, who looks back, and Dean suddenly realizes...

Cas is going to stay with Sam, to look after him. Because Cas hasn't forgiven him, either. And Dean should've known, and he licks his lips, realizes he can't take this back...

Sam's voice breaks, shaky and high as he stares into the water, at nothing, at the light dancing in the darkness in the waves, “But don't go thinking that's the problem," And he chokes, "'Cause it's not.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dean asks, looking out from the pier like he's scared of the answer. Unable to face either of them.

“Just go.” Sam answers. He's not going to take this.

Not not.

There need to be consequences for this. Any kind of consequences, so Sam doesn't feel like he's being jerked on a lease all over again.

\--

Cas and Sam go back to the Bunker together.

Cas tries to apologize as he drives.

Sam doesn't let him.

"He doesn't get to treat us like this." Sam chokes, staring out the window. "He doesn't."

_I know you'll miss me, when you see exactly what they are, Sam. You know the truth. You've always known._

Sam keeps watching the rain hit the windshield.

His hair is still cold and wet.

Sam can still feel the phantom handprint of Castiel's grace as he clutched Sam's shoulder, warm.

Stolen, apparently, according to everything Cas is filling Sam in on.

Sam has missed a lot, lately.

He appreciates the gesture.

\--

When Sam and Cas get back to the Bunker, Sam pukes his guts out, downs an entire bottle of beer in one go, pukes again, and curls up on the floor in a sleeping bag by the fireplace, hastily drawn sigils of protection all around him.

Cas helped draw them.

He watches over Sam while he sleeps, and makes sure Sam stays hydrated with water.

\--

Possession and losing time and Gadreel's words and Kevin's death bring all of Sam's long-suffering and ignored wounds to the surface.

Sam does what he does best to cope: he thinks about all the things tying him down to one angel.

Even if he gets stuck on loop on other memories, of things, good and bad and worse, that remind him of Jess...

Of Lucifer...

Sam knows there is no way out, not now, but even knowing that, Sam knows that, if nothing else, he fought the thing no one thought he could ever beat and won.

Sam didn't think he could beat Lucifer. But he did.

He loved him and said yes, but that yes meant no, anyway. In the end, Sam still bound him in the pit.

And half of Sam hates the fact he misses him. Hates the fact he has always loved an angel so full of hate and violence and pain and retribution and the certainty that Sam was perfect, the only perfect thing in the world aside from him, and that Lucifer would make Sam break to know it, from an artificial and calculated kindness, too gentle and soft and honest until it wasn't anymore.

Sam wishes he felt perfect. That he didn't feel wrong, all the time, that he only felt right with Lucifer inside him, and once Sam thought he could eradicate that feeling and break out, but he couldn't.

Everything kept dragging him back. But just because Sam knows his heart doesn't mean he has to lie down and accept this.

He doesn't. He keeps going.

Even when Sam doesn't think he can anymore.

And Sam hates that he misses the times he would believe him, when Sam knew Lucifer really did want to make him feel trusted and safe and loved again, when Sam let him.

It didn't last, because Lucifer was always focused on punishment, on his own ego, on owning Sam more than loving him, but Sam still knew those moments were real.

It might not help anything, or save Sam from pain. But deep down, Sam knew he would hate it if Lucifer didn't love him any more, just like Lucifer had hated Sam for pretending he didn't love him, and always lashed out at Sam for pulling away.

It was the only way Sam could ever really hurt Lucifer back. Pretending. Pretending Sam felt nothing at all.

And Sam wanted to hurt him, because Lucifer hurt Sam worse than anything else.

Because he knew Sam couldn't stop him.

Because he knew Sam loved him.

Lucifer gave himself permission, so Sam gave himself permission right back.

All because Lucifer thought that love was unbreakable, and preordained, and owed to him.

It wasn't.

But Sam still felt it, anyway.

Sam has always had that love. It was a sacrifice. A promise, met by Lucifer's own feelings.

The Devil's own violent, possessive love, more control than love, really.

It was staggering. Vast. Invasive. But Sam couldn't keep it out. Never could.

There's a reason being possessed scares Sam so badly. Lucifer knows when Sam's lying to his face and can make Sam fall, then, fall right back into the feelings he's tried to make Sam feel forever. Now Gadreel knows it, too, all the torrid details of the way Lucifer ruined Sam and Sam let him.

Still.

Sam had fought back.

He always fought back.

Because in the end, Sam had always loved Lucifer freely, of his own will, and Lucifer couldn't twist that, couldn't take it away, couldn't pretend that love excused anything he did, and Sam wouldn't forgive or forget but he would love on his own terms, even if he'd fight Lucifer for all the things he ever pretended Sam wanted or asked for, when he didn't.

Sam had only wanted three things: freedom, love, and safety.

Lucifer only ever gave him two, and then even safety had been ripped away, to prove a point, just so Sam couldn't forget and make himself stop loving the Devil.

Because Sam had tried. He had failed. But he had tried.

That's the price you pay for doing business, after Sam ripped the Devil to pieces by not letting him win, by not rolling over.

By not giving up what made Sam himself.

It's funny, really.

Lucifer wanted three things, too. Freedom. Love. Retribution.

They had never been that different; that's what made it so hard to let go, even if Lucifer's idea of freedom meant depriving everyone else of their's.

So... Sam didn't.

Sam chose the option where he didn't give what mattered up, where he didn't betray his own heart or compassion or empathy or need not to be complicit in the end of all true freedom of everything else, but could still keep Lucifer.

Sam locked Lucifer away because that was the only way Lucifer could still be himself without sacrificing who and what the Archangel has always been.

And deep down, Sam knows he shouldn't have had to sacrifice himself for that, to offer himself up to the monster that took every part of him and tried to claim it for himself, the monster that tried to isolate Sam and keep him with him so Sam had no one else and couldn't let go and couldn't make himself want to let go, and Lucifer almost succeeded.

But Sam did that, anyway. Perhaps selfishly, if it meant keeping Lucifer for himself, only it's not, it's not at all, because Lucifer kept Sam, too. And in the Cage, it was Sam being forced to break and bend over for the Devil, Sam being forced to let Lucifer mold him into what he wanted Sam to be.

Once Sam said yes...

There was no way to say no.

Sam did, of course.

But it didn't mean anything. Not to an Archangel. Not to someone Sam let love him. Lucifer could get under Sam's skin and make Sam want him and want to say yes, even when Sam knew he was being controlled and manipulated and violated through every word and touch the Devil chose, but Sam never lost sight of what that is, and what this was.

Sam was Lucifer's jailer as much as Lucifer was his.

And even with all of that...

Sam misses feeling like he was home.

Lucifer shouldn't still feel like home. He forfeited the right to that when he hurt Dean and Cas and Bobby and Sam, then only Sam, always driving a new nail in the coffin for every other time after.

But Sam is scared to try and change what home has always been. Lucifer would hurt him for Sam not feeling the same, hurt Sam in ways he could hardly imagine...

Sam can hardly imagine how Lucifer would ever hurt him if he didn't love him anymore. Sam could hardly imagine the ways Lucifer hurt him when he loved him now. When the Devil was holding back.

When the Devil was being kind, because if this is how he treated Sam when he was patient, when he said he would forgive him, that he didn't blame him, Sam doesn't want to know what he'd do to everyone else... To things he doesn't care about.

Maybe this was Sam's punishment for getting out when he wasn't supposed to.

Sam misses home. Misses the times in between the agony and rage, when Lucifer made him feel safe and good and right, leftovers from before Sam knew to be afraid of him, and there on after.

Still did, downstairs, even after Sam was choking on pain and fear more than anything else, because Lucifer always knew how to make Sam come crawling back.

Only Sam didn't need pride downstairs. Sam only needed to give up.

It didn't matter if Sam gave up, in Hell. Not really. Sam made sure that was the case, when he agreed to let Lucifer be the beginning and the end, when he saved the world at the price of his self and soul and freedom and dreams of real, pure love, not the twisted thing now offered up to him.

There is a twisted kind of acceptance, of truth, when you know someone so well and you know you can't get away from them. You learn to read between the lines.

And sure, Sam would fight, for his own sanity, but the truth remains...

Surrender had been a type of victory.

Sam could live with suffering if it was his choice and it meant something.

And throwing his life away... Giving everything to Lucifer except the freedom to destroy humanity...

Sam won. Sam gave up himself, but he won. Protected what he meant to protect. His brother. The world.

Lucifer's life. Sam's heart.

And Sam safeguarded the very thing he hated himself for but couldn't give up, the love nestled so close to his chest that Sam pretended he didn't breathe it in.

This is Sam's life.

Sam left home to be free and happy and safe.

He found all of those things.

Then Sam let himself get dragged back into the life he had before, because he couldn't turn his back on his family.

Sam thought he lost the greatest love in the world because he went back.

Only he didn't. Failure was all in the cards. Because Azazel and Brady and Ruby and the angels and Heaven and Hell and Lucifer all set it up that way.

But Sam survived.

Sam salvaged what he could and said his goodbyes to the things he'd never get back.

And Sam was ready to damn himself for the sake of the world.

He did.

Then he got fished out from the violence he had consigned himself to.

And after that, Sam was ready to move on for the sake of himself.

Only he found he couldn't move on. Nothing and no one would give him an out, and the one thing that did, Death... Well...

Now True Death and oblivion is gone. And Lucifer would never let Sam have that, if he ever got out.

But Sam was ready to die to stop feeling any of it, that pain and that love and that emptiness and the feeling like he's missing what's supposed to be there, a hole in his heart, so empty, missing that vile love he told himself he didn't need but kept shoving itself between his gasping mouth anyway.

Sam hated that Lucifer knew him, knew every part of him. Hated that Lucifer tried to kill everyone. Hated that Lucifer tortured and raped and ruined and crushed every part of Sam for fighting, hated that Lucifer knew how to make Sam feel like he undid all the damage, and Sam hated that he let Lucifer do that to him, let him play him, let him pretend this was good.

And Sam hates that Lucifer is gone, that Sam lost what was once everything he had ever wanted.

But Sam hates Lucifer for everything he did to him even more.

That is his pain, his rage, his honesty.

No one and nothing would ever rip the truth out of him.

And if Lucifer couldn't manage that, when he held the home field advantage and knew Sam more intimately than anyone else...

Nothing else could, either.

\--

Topside, Sam is the kind of invincible that comes from having nothing left to give and nothing left to lose.

Only he didn't realize he still had something left that could break.

Like trust.

Like family.

Like thinking the people who loved him wouldn't tear him apart like everything else did.

Shows what Sam knows, really.

Sam hates he misses the Devil. Not because Lucifer deserves it, but because he knew what he was in for, with Lucifer. There's was a twisted, vain honestly between them, naked and left out to dry, always there, a rancid wound both of them could never heal but knew how to manage.

Sam knew how to make Lucifer hurt back and win, even when Sam lost everything. And Sam didn't feel guilty for that, because the Devil hurt him worse.

Sam can't use those same tactics on Dean.

Not because Dean didn't know what he was doing. He did.

But Dean was human. Able to change. Able to learn.

More importantly, he was someone Sam could leave and walk away from and shut out of his life if he needed to, when it counted.

He had done it before.

He could do it again, if he had to.

There's a safety and a mercy in being able to make that call, one that allows Sam mercy. Understanding without acceptance of the excuses Dean has made.

It's different, because Sam could never do that with Lucifer.

Lucifer never gave ground. He pretended to try to change and stayed the same.

Lucifer made it impossible for Sam to get out, even when Sam thought he was free.

That difference matters.

It has shaped everything.

\--

Sam thinks back to before he met Metraton, of all things.

\--

"Hmm. There it is again, every time." Sam wonders, eyeing the symbol on the page.

"Hmm?" Dean had asked, but Sam had barely heard him, thinking of Stanford and other things and racking his brain for an answer.

"This symbol. I know it." Sam replies, insistent because if he insists he can use the past without it overwhelming him. He's gotten fairly good at that after Amelia, and what they had. "Now, Kevin has it down as sort of like a signature for the scribe of God," Sam explains, "It appears every time Metatron makes one of his, uh, like, editor's notes." Sam adds, voice lowering.

"Okay." Dean answers, not really engaged but more than he would otherwise be since it means he doesn't have to do more research.

Sam tries for lightness in his tone, a lightness he doesn't really feel, only he tries to focus on the positive. Familiarity is useful when it comes to finding solutions to magical or angelic or demon problems...At least when it's the tools and spells and ingredients being put together and not angels or demons themselves.

Knowing thy enemy is a double-edged sword.

"But I think I've seen it before. I mean, it was a long time ago..." Sam falters anyway, as he adds, "It was one of my, uh, humanities courses at Stanford."

Dean throws up his hands a bit as Sam goes back to cross-reference his findings and pointedly not think about Stanford or libraries or the exhausted dizziness that never leaves him...

At least 'Jess' wasn't in his class for that. And Sam won't think about that now, he's getting past this, he is, he's getting clean, one way or another...

"They taught Word of God at Stanford?" Dean asks, cynical but also joking as he stands and stretches, too.

"No, uh... It was an overview of Native American Art." Sam answers, and then he points, focusing on to things he cares more about. "I think it's a petroglyph."

Sam had seen his share of them before, too. Sedona had been one trip he'd half-liked with 'Jess,' and fuck it, Lucifer may have invaded most of Sam's life but Sam still won't let him ruin the good memories he had because that was letting Lucifer win.

And Sam would keep bleeding him out of him and keeping what he wanted. Only fair, after the life Sam pretends to hold on to.

Then Sam finds what he is looking for in the words on the page and the Messenger of God might just be a solution and Sam latches on to this for dear life and he won't let go because maybe he's dying, and there's no prophets right now, but if God made him Lucifer's then maybe God's chosen writer can alter the script or do something to move this along because he needs to get clean and he needs this to end...

But Sam even almost corrects Dean for a moment, because it's either the tribe name or The People or Native People, not Indians, and anything that distracts from his own problems and makes the world better for others with other mountains to climb... Only Sam can't really commit because he has to go and get his answers, he needs to fix this...

\--

Sam doesn't know why he's thinking back to this now, after Gadreel.

Except he does, because Metatron was a lie and Gadreel was an invasion he didn't know he had to fight off and Lucifer was just always there, in some form or another.

Lucifer had been there at Stanford, even when Sam pretended he was free, and he wasn't.

And it all came back to Sam trying his best and being set upon by other things, other people (like angels, like Dean) tricking Sam into signing up for things he didn't ask for.

Then there was always Lucifer's voice in the back of his head, not his grace, just a voice Sam knows as well as his own because when you've been stuck dealing with him for so long, it tends to hang there, in the back of your mind, faux-unamused and unwanted commentary on loop...

Sam knows he's internalized it like he's internalized other things ( _internalized me,_ Sam hears Lucifer's voice for the intrusive thought it is), and Sam tries not to cry that night because even at his worst...

At least Sam knew what to expect from Lucifer. Knew how to play the game.

(And at least, Sam's traitorous mind things, it always felt like Lucifer loved him, for an angel, that there was an illusion of choice, even if that love and that not-freedom was the most horrifying monster Sam's ever had to face.)

Sam might hate that he let him in without knowing what Lucifer was, but at least he knew he was letting Lucifer in when it happened. Even if he didn't know it was the Devil, not exactly, but Lucifer didn't pretend to be anything other than himself, even as Jess.

Lucifer hid things, sure. So did Jess. So did Nick. And none of the vessels Lucifer inhabited had ever exhibited lasting kindness, only a vague, selfish want and endless hunger hidden by a front of kindness and ill-gotten sympathy.

Sam knew to look out for it, because Lucifer didn't hide it well, not where it mattered.

But from Dean... After Dean told him he would get through this, after he promised to keep him safe...

It's a whole new level of betrayal.

And Sam tries not to cry when he remembers how Lucifer told him this would be the way Sam crawls back to him, and he tries not to think about the other times Dean almost rented Sam out again except he didn't but he felt like it...

The memory crashes over, an oil spill on a lit match.

\--

Sam is cold and it's too cold and it's everywhere and Sam's in the bathtub and Lucifer has him and he is going to do something horrible, Sam knows it, except Sam's allowed to gasp for air and Sam freezes because maybe if he doesn't move Lucifer won't try anything but then there's hands on him and tries to shove him off...

"Get off." Sam gasps. There's grace ringing in his ears, too high, not Lucifer's usual tunes, and Sam doesn't know what that means.

"Take it easy, man." Dean's voice answers, and Sam jerks back.

"What the hell-" Sam starts in, because Lucifer doesn't like to pretend to play Dean, he only plays him when he wants to make Sam feel sharp objects or memories Sam doesn't want to know, but never in the bath, he liked doing other things as himself, and Sam is so scared something changed and there's a new game now-

Only it's really Dean helping Sam out of the ice. He steps back, hands off, and Sam struggles out on his own as fast as he can manage, which isn't very fast.

"God." Sam chokes out, because if he can pray to God then Lucifer really isn't there.

Dean just keeps saying, "Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy. Take it-"

_Stop struggling so much, Sam._

Only Sam isn't there and Dean is real and Sam shivers and wipes the water from his face and backs into the wall.

He wipes his matted hair out of his face to see clearly.

Sam's teeth clench together, chattering, as he hugs himself and looks to Dean for an explanation.

He knows Dean knows he can't stand the cold more times than not.

"Found you on the floor, passed out," Dean says in a not-apology, because he was doing what he had to, because that's always what happens, "Your temperature was 107. I had to force it down or you were toast."

And Sam forces himself to forgive him because otherwise then Lucifer really would have him because the Trials weren't done and then he'd be back with the real cold and Hell and him, Sam doesn't know what he's going to do-

So Sam doesn't waste time, answers with conviction, still gasping and heaving under the towel Dean hands over and Sam wraps it around, so cold, too cold, only he's still burning up on the inside and he doesn't want to remember that, either, because it's not cold enough, it never is, and Sam doesn't want to miss any of it.

"He's here, Dean. Metatron is here. I know it. I can hear him." Sam insists, vehement, full of the same rage Lucifer branded into him inside the Cage.

The ringing hasn't stopped, not once. The song of the angels Sam knows by a different name.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asks, and **why does he have to be so slow on the uptake?**

"All I know," Sam chokes out, "Is that I'm connected to him somehow." And his eyes dart, not seeing Dean, side to side, too frantic.

**Like I'm connected to the angels. Like I am, through Lucifer. Not the same way Lucifer is connected to me, but still, I feel it...**

"What, like you got a link to him, like a prophet?" Dean's quick to suggest, because they aren't suggesting the other things.

"I don't know," Sam inhales sharply, voice too high-pitched and quavering and loud from the cold. And then he keeps shivering and looks away and back. And there's still nausea and dead things rotting in Sam's mouth and under his tongue and inside his guts and under his skin and Sam knows they don't have time to waste, but he gathers his composure and softer voice anyway because he has to.

"I just know he's here. That Metatron is here." Sam insists again, because Dean has to listen.

He has to.

Only it seems like he never does.

So when he did... Sam thought things had changed by now.

Shows how wrong he was.

\--

Thinking back, it was easy to see why Dean would rent him out, and Sam tries not to compare that time to this. But it feels the same and that doesn't make any of this easier.

And Sam doesn't want to think about Lucifer at all, now that Gadreel was inside him, and he hopes he never sees Lucifer again because what if he found out, except **he's going to find out** , Sam knows he will, because Sam himself only has one final destination-

Except he wouldn't blame Sam. He would just use it against him and blame Dean and try to convince Sam to love him again and Sam doesn't know what he's going to do and he's more than stuck going back to the Cage when he dies now and Lucifer is going to be so angry with Sam now that he didn't follow him back and kill himself again, Cas told Sam, he said so, said the hallucinations were real and Sam has no mercy to look forward to-

But even if Lucifer might try to make Sam tear Dean down and Sam doesn't want to, not even after this, but it's not a kindness.

Sam wants to rip Dean apart except he doesn't. Because then Dean would be like Michael and Lucifer would be so happy and Sam tries not to think of all the times Lucifer compared Dean to Michael and Sam nurses his anger differently because if he gives in...

If he gives in he's just like Lucifer. 

Like Dean. Making decisions for Sam and not apologizing and Sam hates him for it.

And Sam isn't like Dean. He would never do half the things Dean has ever done, and Sam always forgives him, but he won't right now, not when Dean won't apologize and no one ever apologizes and when the sheer weight of it all almost makes Sam miss Lucifer and he hates Dean for that, too.

Hates him for stopping the Trials and stuffing an angel in him.

Sam has earned that anger, if nothing else.

But he won't act on it, not like the Devil did, not like his father did, not like his brother did again and again and again.

Sam might not have his freedom but he's always had his standards and he's given in too many times to let this one go.

\--

Sam shudders at night, wracked with cold sweat and constant laughter ringing in his ears and whispers, too gentle whispers, not new ones, just old ones Sam has known, for years and years. Before the Cage, even, when the Apocalypse was running wild.

_You always come back, Sam. You never stay away. Not when it counts._

Cas wakes him. Comforts Sam in English, then Enochian, when Sam asks him to.

Sam needs to find angelic things that don't fill him with hate or fear right now.

And Cas is looking out for him. The only one, right now.

Sam can't trust anyone else.


	67. A Thousand Bees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam dealing with Demon Dean plus Cas! S9 stuff like S9E11
> 
> this was supposed to start an offshoot subplot where I explored Cas and Sam's friendship more with Dean gone and Dean's very not cool behavior but it's just canon with some extra unfortunately
> 
> it was supposed to be this big thing because Cas and Sam splitting off from Dean because of his behavior was a huge deal for me and then the season... did what it did. and I just don't have the energy to write better fix it.
> 
> chapter title a song by Sara Lov

The bar is dimly lit and grimy, but it has beer, and forgetting everything in the bottle, and waitresses with nice asses, so all in all Dean would say it's the best he's going to get right now, considering Gadreel is not showing up to get stabbed repeatedly yet.

"So. Is that boudoir smile for me?" Crowley cuts in from the side.

Dean starts and draws his knife, ignoring Crowley's grin. Crowley's voice is about the third most unwelcome thing on Dean Winchester's list today.

"At least buy me a drink first." Crowley mopes, insinuating. Like he knows he can come on to Dean now that Castiel isn't on speaking terms with him.

Lover's spats. Gotta love 'em.

Specially when it's your significant other siding with your brother after you let him get possessed. Prime time television, that.

Dean's voice is gruff, but he's lonely, and Crowley can smell it, and Dean's heart isn't in it with how distracted he's been.

"I said the next time I see you-" Dean threatens.

"Dead. Yes, rings a bell, but let's not dwell on the past, shall we? This bar is a bust." Crowley opens his hands, faux-sympathetic. "That waitress is trouble with a capital VD, and your prey, Gadreel, has left the building. So, it's time to move on to more pressing matters, like destroying Abaddon."

"Yeah, good luck with that. The Knights of Hell aren't exactly the dying kind." Dean replies

Then Crowley dangles his bait.

He answers, voice a bit too sure, "But there is _something_ that can kill a knight. The weapon that the archangels used to execute them -- The First Blade."

Dean knows a demon trying to close a deal and a trap, and knows Crowley has some angle he doesn't want to be part of.

"Never heard of it. Can I kill you now?" Dean begs.

Like that's even on the table. If Dean wanted Crowley dead, he would've stabbed him already, and in all honestly Crowley wouldn't have showed. He knows how to sniff out when he can reason with the Winchesters and when he can't. And Dean's fairly friendly with the King of Hell when Cas leaves him hanging.

Crowley continues with his explanation, knowing that he's got Dean where he wants him, because Dean just wants his brother back and thinks ending Gadreel and Abbadon is the way to assuage the things he otherwise can't quite fix, and tunes him out until he hears, "A hunter by the name of John Winchester nabbed the protégé. I'm here to see if there's anything in the John Winchester memorial library that might lead us to the first blade. To killing Abaddon."

Dean is interested, more than that, now, but feigns he isn't.

More incredulous Crowley's hitting on him, really. Not because he hasn't done it before- he does it all the time- but because there's a bit more weight behind what he's selling.

Like he's actually trying to be agreeable, now that Hell is slipping away. Or like he's trying to get back into the Winchester's good graces after everything that happened with the tablets and Kevin and the Trial and even Purgatory. Like he wants to end the target on his back prematurely, and thinks working together is the way to do it.

Still. Dean and Crowley would never admit this is what it is. So Crowley sets his trap and waits, and Dean stumbles into it like he doesn't see some catch coming, because there is always a catch and a score to settle.

"You want to hunt? With me? Dean scoffs, taking another swig from the bottle.

He's hunted alone before.

He hated it.

He's always hated it.

Always dredges up Sam leaving...

And Dean won't think about what will happen if Sam never speaks to him again.

Crowley wisecracks, pretend in his friendship, because distractions are Dean's bread-and-butter for glossing over how much he knows he's always trying to keep his brother out of the line of fire for cannons Dean sets off.

"I do love a good buddy comedy." Crowley says. Always too smug. That's his factory setting. Smarmy suit from downstairs, campaigning for the hearts and minds of the legion of unholy jackass battalions.

Dean rolls his eyes. Safeguards John's journal like it's precious and old and fragile.

Like Crowley sneaking a peek is a dishonor to his memory, because it is.

Dean might agree with Sam that John was fucked up in a lot of ways.

But other habits are hard to break, and there are some things, some habits, Dean won't shed, because his Dad did leave him his legacy, and someone had to take care of it.

Dean pinpoints the page Crowley's little anecdote mentions. His voice is a bit too even as he says, "Oh, yeah. Here it is. Yeah, he picked up a protégé who had bones with Abaddon, but that's about all it says in here."

Dean won't give more ground. He can find this damn blade himself, Crowley be damned, as usual.

Crowley waggles a finger at the book, and Dean pulls the book farther out of his reach.

"What do those numbers in the margins mean?" Crowley asks.

Dean's voice is curt as he bites down and grinds at each syllable. "None of your business."

"You're gonna play hard to get? We have time for a montage?" Crowley jokes.

"It's a code," Dean begurdingly admits. "One of my dad's storage lockers. He may have put something about the case there." 

Dean's honest about Crowley's next question, though. He has no clue what the T next to the number means.

And Crowley, sensing honesty, doesn't wait for an invitation.

"Fine. Let's go find daddy's man cave, then, shall we?" Like Dean's along for the ride and will let him join in the fun. Like they weren't enemies at each other's throats a week ago.

Dean is tired of trusting things and coming up short.

But Corlwey wants Abaddon and Gadreel dead as he does, so in this case, he knows they have a common goal.

And Crowley did save Sam. After ripping up his body to get to Gadreel. Purely out for his own self-interest.

But he didn't go back on the deal.

Doesn't mean Dean trusts as far as he can throw him. Might be able to outplay him, though. Better the enemy you know.

That, and Crowley has always been weirdly permissive with Dean. It's not like Dean doesn't know Crowley would be interested, or that he isn't purely carnally interested just because he's always wanted to bring Cas and Dean down a peg. Has propositioned them both, with Cas turning it down without even hesitating or blinking, a holy being of scandalized light, and Dean follows suit.

And Crowley does want friends. He pretends he doesn't, but he does. And it's not like he's friendly with too many people who know him for what he is, particularly after he had to get acquainted with his human side again. That upset the balance he'd been keeping himself with, as a demon. Dean knew him well enough to read that, even now.

In a way, Crowley's pathetic nature is endearing in a stupid, annoying way. Predictable, like his omnipresent self-interest.

And there's a contemptible familiarity to the whole setup. Crowley might screw them and they might screw his plans right back, but there is an understanding where they know where they stand with each other.

As for Crowley: the Winchester duo is predictable in a way that makes him sleep better at night, because predictable you can plan around. Predictable lends well to deals. Predictable leads to contempt and arrogant ease when one shouldn't be so cocky. That's always how it's best to play Dean Winchester's tune.

Let him think he's outgunned you, that he's doing the right thing, choosing the lesser of two evils and making up for his own earlier poor judgement, then pull the rug out from under him because he so desperately wants to trusts the enemies of his enemies that he knows have goals he can understand and circumvent.

Dean craves hope, and routine evils he can stab. Not things nameless and nebulous and unexacting. Things under his control.

Basically anything that isn't like Lucifer and how he was back when Sam had the Archangel on their doorstep. Lucifer was an unfightable enemy, both in the Cage and out. He just took and took and twisted and wrapped Sam around his finger, and there were no weapons to keep him from tearing Sam away from him.

Anything else... Anything else Dean could fight, particularly when he couldn't bear to have his brother a stranger again, and he'd give and make questionable decisions provided anything else was their problem. Just not the Devil, and everything haunting Sam's footsteps since Azazel dogged his steps.

"And how do I know this isn’t a trap?" Dean asks, cautious. He's been burned recently.

But Crowley knows Dean makes more rash, headstrong decisions in times such as these, provided he feels in control and thinks he's picking the least of the evils presented to him.

Crowley licks his lips and nods his head, flirting with abandon, "You don't. That's what makes it fun."

And Crowley and Dean go on their little trip.

After they've made it to the storage locker, Crowley can't help but press his luck when he asks, "Is all this really necessary? I mean, I've been inside your brother." And there's an unsaid: Better than Sam's other headmates, for sure, that Crowley contends, because Dean is still reeling from the implications of his own actions and Crowley wants to make him unsteady on his feet, the opportunity too great to pass up, "We're practically family."

Dean pins Crowley to a shelf. The barb hits too close, particularly since he knows what Crowley means, and Lucifer's always been a hot-button issue, always said he was Sam's family, always got in the middle of things, and there's another message there, too, the idea of generosity, of the fact that Crowley's been helping them on and off and that as far as evils go, he's the least of their worries they got to handle, that they might just need his help again...

"Listen to me." Dean growls, all burning gaze and harsh angles and tense. "We are the furthest thing from family. You got that, dickbag?"

Crowley knows he pushed too hard, and steps back from the dangerous waters he always dived into prematurely.

\-- 

At the Bunker, Castiel keeps trying to take a bite of a peanut butter sandwich, but it doesn't give him the satisfaction it used to.

"Mm." He grunts. Pretending that maybe if he thinks he likes it, he can trick the molecules into cooperating.

Sam enters the room from the top of the stairs, groceries in hand.

"Hey." He calls. Puzzled, but still relieved. Cas has been with him for a while, now. And Sam needs the company, even if Cas is also here to heal him.

He's glad he's stayed. They've got a lot of catching up and healing to do, with their emotional and other wounds still festering from Dean's selfishness.

It's not like Dean twisting consent doesn't hurt Cas, too. Not like it hurt Sam, not directly.

But it's an insult to what he is. To the thing he was made as from the beginning of Creation, from the way God intended possession to function, all ignored on the dotted line by the very human Cas fell for.

Cas scrunches up his face and sighs, ditching the sandwich in the process.

"Tastes like...molecules." Cas bemoans.

Sam's interested, the distraction both appreciated and curious.

"What? What are you talking about?" Sam asks, not looking up as he makes it down the stairs.

"When I was human, you know, I had to eat constantly." Cas explains as Sam sets the groceries down and walks to stand next to him.

Cas tilts his head, then admits, all feeling, "It was kind of annoying."

"Yeah, a lot of human things are pretty annoying." Sam answers, wondering where this is going. Cas wouldn't complain for the sake of complaining. And Sam is grateful Cas has been so casual and cavalier about everything. Purposefully lightly treading around what they aren't talking about with Dean, and not pushing Sam, or saying things that might make Sam think of things that might set him off. He does bring up angel and human things, though, because Sam wants that understanding.

Wants to think about the ways he can let go of all the things that have come back to haunt him, thanks to Gadreel.

"But...I enjoyed the taste of food. Particularly peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam I found unsettling." Cas adds on as an afterthought.

Sam appreciates the specificity and the pointed opinionated way Cas says it. Other angels were specific, yes, but weren't so clinical when they spoke about their opinions.

And Lucifer always used Sam's humanity to make Sam notice just how much he had Sam in the palm of his hand. The Archangel only ever cooked to keep busy, or to make something for Sam in a show of wagered generosity, or as a show of intimacy, or to mimic Sam and pretend to be like him. Otherwise, he ate with Sam's mouth to make Sam feel like he was being tended to, and to make Sam taste, to relish Sam's hunger, and never did for his own gain as far as eating went. He gained victories through the principles around it. Through the control of making Sam eat what he made, and having Sam become used to the routine around it, and through the fact that Sam loved his old habits with Jess and the foods they'd make, before everything went wrong. It's hard to erase the good things, even now, even when they became corrupted into something worse down the line.

That's always been true about Lucifer.

Moving on.

Cas eating for the sake of eating with a kind of scientific interest is a nice change of pace and sentimentality. Safe, in it's own way.

"So, what? Now you can't taste PB and J?" Sam asks, sitting on the table next to where Cas is. Lucifer always just flooded Sam's senses so that he could taste what Sam tasted, to feel the same thing with a pointed determination, because taste was a weapon, and he liked infiltrating Sam's likes. Gadreel only ate to keep Sam sated and functional and nothing more...

Sam isn't sure he should go down this road. But trying not to think about any of it isn't helping right now, and Cas is keeping him from too many distractions that are worse.

Sam can focus on the things he needs to move past that aren't the worst. He can hold it together. He's held it together before.

"No, I taste every molecule." Cas corrects, like that is the worse option.

Sam's voice is wry in it's sympathy. "Not the sum of its parts, huh?"

"It's overwhelming. It's disgusting." Castiel's voice gets an edge of longing morose hunger as he stares back at the sandwich, "I miss you, PB and J."

And that right there made Castiel more human, kinder in his emotions, endearing in a way Sam would hold on to, because that set Cas apart from all the other angels.

Sam had missed food, proper food, down in the Pit. Not the nasty things Lucifer fed him as a punishment. Not the completely normal homemade recipes Lucifer would make Sam's brain imagine to lure him into complacency. Sam still missed bacon and other foods Lucifer ruined, the smell and feel of burning still too much even if Sam wishes he could stomach cooked meat.

Sam thinks about PB and J instead. About the taste of peanut butter. Wonders if he can find something for Cas to remedy the setback, the nostalgia.

They could cook together, maybe, re-appropriate the rituals and safe routines stolen from Sam and re-purposed by the Devil (and then Gadreel) again, if it gave Cas a way to experiment and eat new foods and for Sam to face his fears.

Then Cas stands, turning all businesslike in his concern, voice distant and like Jimmy's in a way Sam needs, because too-intimate feelings in the grace and tone of an angels voice when it comes to healing... Let's just say it makes Sam backslide.

"We need to continue your healing. We're almost done." Cas encourages, still apologetic. Always apologetic about the grace and the healing, because Sam's always so jumpy around both.

Sam doesn't flinch when Cas lays his hand on his forehead, suppresses it, and Cas doesn't comment.

There are no secrets between them when it comes to this.

But Sam doesn't miss the way Cas stops and hesitates and gets that look in his eye like something is wrong halfway through the process, Castiel's warm grace pulling back in concern.

"What?" Sam presses.

"Nothing." Cas lies, covering badly on purpose because he can't quite be the bearer of more bad news, and because he doesn't know if he should talk about Sam, about this, with everything that might be in the forefront of his mind right now.

Sam slaps his hand away from him, more annoyed at the lie, but not angry, because he knows Cas failed at subtlety on purpose out of discomfort, not actually believing Sam would believe the lie.

"You're a terrible liar." Sam critiques.

"That is not true. I once deceived and betrayed both you and your brother." Cas says, voice all flat.

Sam remembers. Dick move, but he knows what Cas means by the bullshit deadpan. Cas has seen everything Sam's been struggling with. If he's trying to hide something... He's trying to keep Sam from having an episode. Doesn't mean Sam won't call him out on the coddling that masquerades as contrary disregard.

"Okay, that's not the point." Sam answers, adamant as he asks, "Cas, what's wrong?"

**Tell me. Give me whatever horrible news you can't admit to yourself.**

"I noticed something. It's, uh..." Cas stumbles, then bites the bullet. "It's resonating inside you.:"

Resonating. Singing. Angelic. Alive.

"What?" Sam asks, clarifying, hoping his worst fears aren't reality. Cas explained how Lucifer got through before, how Lucifer got his claws deep in Sam as he got dragged from the Cage, just as Cas explained how he rerouted the signal from Lucifer to Sam until it waned and Lucifer wasn't tormenting the both of them.

"Something angelic." Cas states the obvious, discomfort clear.

"Okay, uh, what the hell does that mean?" Sam asks.

And Cas is deflecting again, hesitant.

"Maybe we should call Dean...?" He suggests, all halting.

Sam moves out of his vicinity and sits down. 

Hard pass.

Still. That's why Cas asked. So Sam could make his feelings known.

"No." Sam answers. "He wanted to go, and he's gone."

**And I need him gone.**

Sam adds, determined, "We'll handle this."

**You and I are the only ones we can trust right now.**


	68. All The Rage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by allie x
> 
> inspired by gifsets pointing out dean's abusive rhetoric when dealing with cas and while it might make some things chronologically confused, I feel like sam and cas deserve some time to process their own joint issues and relationships on their own terms

"Cas, we need to talk about Dean." Sam insists, finally sitting down for a conversation long overdue.

They have a chance to now that they're alone. Sam's been keeping this discussion on backburner for a while now, because he's been soulless or plagued by hallucinations or Cas hasn't been there or the Trials kept them both occupied, but once things have settled, every time he's tried, Cas has resolutely shut him down. Sam won't let that keep happening. And after Gadreel, well... Now's as good a time as any.

"What about it?"

"Cas, you can't let him treat you like trash."

"It's fine, I'm fine-"

"Cas. Just because you are an angel doesn't mean Dean is allowed to say whatever the fuck he wants."

"Sam-"

"He called you an infant and insulted you. He's beaten you before, Cas. You think I didn't know?"

"Sam, I'm fine..."

"Like I was fine, back when he hit me? Cas, it isn't okay!" Sam forces himself to calm down. "Look, Cas. I know Dean. And I get it, I do. But let's not dance around this anymore. We're both here for each other, right now. It's okay to talk about it. Really."

"We should be focused on healing you, not-"

"Cas. Talk to me. Please."

Cas sighs.

"I don't know where you are going with this-"

"Don't you? Cas. Dean lied to both of us. He doesn't get a free pass. I mean, why do you think I stuck around?"

"Sam?"

"I don't have anywhere else to go, Cas. But if I had to leave... I could, if I tried. But there isn't a reason for me to. I've got you. I'm looking out for you, like you've done for me. And I... I know how Dean is, I've seen it all before. And after Hell... He's nothing compared to other stuff I've tackled. I know how to leave, if I have to. I can handle it-"

"You shouldn't have to-"

"Exactly. And neither should you. Cas, I know what he's done. Just because he can't get a grip doesn't mean he gets to treat you like this. He doesn't get to be like John because he never learned how to cope. That's on him." Sam sighs and holds his head. "And Cas... You keep acting like just because you are an angel and he's human that it hasn't been eating you alive. And it has. I... I would know. I can tell."

"Sam... Dean, he doesn't mean-"

"Doesn't mean it? Cas, he expects you accept him lying to both of us. That's not... It's wrong, Cas. He doesn't get a free pass."

"Yes. He... He's wrong. But he'll learn. He's just overwhelmed. I should've kept a closer eye-"

"Cas, this is not on you."

"Yes, it is. I should be around more."

"Why, because he expects you to drop everything for us?"

"Because you're my family." Cas corrects, but Sam can see the things he hasn't said there.

"Cas, my entire life, my family expected me just to fall into line. Your family in Heaven like that, too. They make us think that's the only choice. And then, the moment we get an out, we latch on to the people who gave us other choices. I latched on to, well... And you went for Dean, because you love him. But that doesn't mean they get the only say. We don't have to live that way. We never have to."

"I don't want to be alone." Cas says quietly. "After... After Heaven, and the Apocalypse, and the Leviathans, and what I did to you... How can I trust that things will be okay? How can I trust myself? Where else am I supposed to go? I don't want to leave-"

"I know. Trust me. I don't want to leave, either. But that doesn't mean you have to get Dean's approval."

"Sam. Why is this so important to you, right now? We shouldn't be talking about me, we should-"

"Cas. You're my friend. And if anyone knows what you're going through, it's me."

"Dean... He feels bad afterwards. He'll get better." Cas says, quieter and more hesitant, "He isn't like Lucifer, Sam, he-"

Sam glares Cas down.

"Why, because his not-apologies have more tears and alcohol involved? Just because Lucifer said he was doing it all for my own good, Cas, doesn't mean Dean's justifications are any better. Just because they aren't exactly the same doesn't mean they both aren't completely wrong in their own way. And they... Cas, you have to understand. When I was with him... With Lucifer. In the beginning, he made me feel... Good. Really good, more than good, fantastic, and it wasn't the grace, or the link, or anything. I just... It felt like I could finally breath around him. It felt like he saw me for who I was and accepted me and loved me unconditionally and even though it all went wrong... That never went away. I mean, once... Once the Cage happened, I couldn't really feel like I could breath again, everything was... Well, you know. But... He'd always remind me of what it's supposed to feel like, in between, and that's how he kept me on my toes. Don't let Dean do that. Don't let the good times blind you to what this is. And after Purgatory... Dean isn't in control, Cas. He hasn't been for a while. I can see that, now, even if I was too out of it to do anything before. He's lost part of himself. And it's not your job to fill that hole. It's not mine, either. So don't let him kick you down."

"He can't... He wouldn't hurt me." Cas answers. "Not really. He can't."

"I always thought that, too." Sam says quietly. "But he's hurt me before. You know that. It's not like he can't kill angels, Cas. And I've found that the people we love can always hurt us. And don't think that, Cas. That's how you get trapped into thinking it's your fault, when it escalates. And I'm not gonna stand here and watch you get hurt the way I did without doing something. So please. Trust me. And when things get bad, you leave. I'll help you rebuild, I'll keep in touch, I won't leave you hanging. But if he gets worse... You need to get out, Cas. For your own safety and your own sake."

"What about you?"

Sam smiles sadly. He looks old even to the angel, even if he's still so young, by their standards. "I'll live."

"Just because Lucifer... Did what he did, doesn't mean you have to settle for this, too." Cas answers, more sure. "Just because you've lived worse... You deserve to be free, Sam. I mean that."

"I know, Cas. I know."

But they also know Sam's so broken up from trying to move on and failing that he doesn't have too many places to go.

"Sam. How about this? When things get bad, we both leave. And when we're safe, we'll try and see how we can get Dean the help he needs before it gets worse." Cas claps Sam on the shoulder. "We'll get through this together. Agreed?"

"Agreed."


	69. You Don't Own Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s9e12
> 
> also i will forever be sad i never got to my Kevin/Garth sideshipping in this fic, it was the next thing I was psyched about after the Jody/Donna stuff

“All right, guys, look- about six months ago, I was outside Portland, Maine, hunting this big bad wolf. I took him down, but... He bit me in the process.” Garth is more than nervous.

With good reason. Dean’s got a hair-trigger temper on a good day. These days, it's backed up by an overprotective streak a mile wide and counting. Not that it’s always applied in one’s best interest.

Sam buries that thought down. He’s still bothered Garth said nothing, too. But he understands hiding.

“And you didn't call one of us?” Dean demands.

“And tell you what? That I messed up? No, I-I knew the deal. There's no cure, so I accepted my fate. Ate my favorite dish of Egg Fu Yung, watched the world's greatest movie, 'Rocky III,' and then... was ready to eat a bullet,”

-And Sam thinks of Dean, when Dean went to Hell, but more than that he thinks of every time he took a bullet to the brain and no one knew.

“-when Bess here found me.”

Sam adamantly doesn’t think about Jess, or Ruby finding him after Dean, or Lucifer.

He stops short and forgets how to breathe but then life goes on.

Sam forces his mouth to work.

“And how'd she do that?” Sam asks.

“Smelled him. How else?" Bess answers.

Smelling him out, like prey, like _I will find you, Sam, you know I will, I can hear that beautiful heartbeat... And your hair, and your skin, smells so good-_

Sam shuts that down, too.

He has a handle on this, Gadreel will not fuck this up, he can’t think of Lucifer, of all the times...

“Yeah. She talked the gun out of my mouth, and, as they say, the rest is history. We've been married for four months now.” Garth continues, oblivious and grateful.

_Sometimes I wish you had a chance to put the ring on my finger. Maybe you’d say yes faster, if we had more time back in the day. Thoughts?_

Dean’s mood doesn’t improve, either.

He’s the one stuck telling Garth Kevin is dead, even if it’s an absence of words that Garth picks up on immediately.

Sam can’t say anything.

A sharp pain rings from his throat to his forehead when he tries, tongue heavier than lead. His hands shake, and he hides them in his pockets.

They have never felt clean for years now. But they feel filthy, contaminated, all the time now.

\--

Later, while Dean scopes everything out, he says, abrupt over the phone, “Nothing too sketchy yet.”

Fake casual.

But Sam knows that tone.

“That's a good thing, right?” He asks.

But even on his best days, Dean has never been an optimist. That was Sam’s job, keeping the faith.

Now, after everything before, after being gone…

There is little faith left to give.

“Not betting on it.” Dean grits out.

Sam knows a vendetta when he hears it. Wishes he didn’t have that twinge of “I always told you so,” the accusation of **_why-can’t-you-accept-what I did was meant to save you, why don’t you trust me, again_** -

Except Dean is still at fault for what they haven’t talked about, and werewolves and monsters aren’t angels, aren’t demons, and Sam wants Garth to be safe. And happy. And if he isn’t they’ll fix it.

For once, he wants Dean to eat all the self-righteous words crammed in his thoughts that almost make it out his throat.

The very same throat that said Yes for Sam when Sam would never say it.

“Or are we just that jaded? I mean, maybe Garth's right.” Sam counters, keeping his voice level.

Dean’s answer is immediate kindling, crackling with age-old hurt. “Well, ain't you a glass half full.” Dean stews, and hears Sam go still, even over the line, and remembers saying the same thing, once, back in their little bubble of the Apocalypse when _he_ was there, at Bobby’s, then regrets the words he said, and backtracks, “Any luck with the cops?”

Except Dean can’t suffer to hope.

He knows what shacking up with monsters accomplishes.

Sam’s always been optimistic when he never should’ve. If he had been, he might have been **_safe_** -

Dean keeps shoving his guilt to the back of his mind, where it can’t hurt him.

Where he can feel hurt, instead.

\--

Dean doesn’t shake hands with the werewolves, even after Sam convinces him to give this a shot. For Garth’s sake.

Dean ignores the accusation there that Sam pretends doesn’t matter. That he’d call the shots for everyone else and look what happens.

“Oh. Uh, my bad. Dean's got this crazy fear of germs.” Garth covers for Dean, trying, but everyone can see the nervous energy there.

Reverend Jim, for his sake, is not condemning.

“I understand your apprehension, Dean. Hunters and our kind don't have the best history together.” He says, hopeful.

“But I think you'll find we're not much different from you.” Joy adds, too saccharine.

What sets Dean off isn’t the two of them, or the werewolves themselves, really…

It’s the blue eyes, blond hair, everything-is-peachy attitude, too much like _him_ , because Dean knows what's on Sam's mind, these days, Gadreel just unpended that fucking lid-

That, and the idea that humans are anything like monsters, as if-

They can’t be like monsters.

Dean remembers Purgatory and reminds himself that, again and again. Humans can be fucked up, sure. But they aren't teeth and claws and-

All the rules Dean knows are trickling out from under him, quick as quicksand, making everything unstable, and Sam’s so distant and angry and everything all wrong, again-

Dean does what he always does. Buries uncertainty in quiet, contained rage.

“Oh, sister, I highly doubt it.” Dean answers.

“Why don't we break bread and see?” Reverend Jim suggests.

Bread.

Dean sees red.

Hears _, "Sam wanted me to do something nice, and I figured if we are going to put the past behind us then I needed to give you all some kind of peace offering, like those human rituals where you break bread and promise not to murder each other.”_

Dean growls, all low in his throat, “Why would I do that?”

It’s a miracle this all hasn’t fallen apart sooner. But Sam and Garth pick up the pieces.

Dean is holding it together by a thread.

Sam’s even angrier, inside. If anyone has the right to be barely holding it together and angry, it sure as Hell isn’t Dean.

But Sam always subsumed his rage into calm.

Too many other things (Lilith, Brady, Azazel, Ruby…) and Lucifer, always Lucifer, turned that rage into their own home field advantage.

Lucifer fucking got off on it, and damn it, Sam isn’t thinking about this, again.

\--

Sam takes comfort in listening. In drowning out his thoughts by attentive attention to anything that isn’t Dean, or himself.

Reverend Jim waxes on, “My daughter, Bess, was born a lycanthrope. It was one of the proudest days of my life.” He inhales.

Sam counts his own breaths.

The reverend continues, “Which soon turned tragic... When a hunter killed my wife. Believe me when I tell you, I wanted to make someone pay. Then I looked at Bess, and I realized the road to revenge is a dark and lonely one, which you never get off. And that hole in the pit of your stomach, you never fill it -- ever.”

Sam doesn’t agree. Even after everything, with Dean, and John, all of it…

He knows revenge isn’t the answer for everything.

But it is, when you’ve suffered enough. When you have had enough.

When things, lurching and clutching and laughing closer and wider and sharper than you, try to find their way in.

Sometimes, revenge is the only thing that keeps them away.

That’s how Sam’s held on to hunting, really. He hasn’t ever wanted to be a Hunter.

But he has always wanted to help people. To comfort them.

To protect them.

_Even if you weren’t filled to the brim with me inside you, Sammy, that’s why you’ll never be a demon. No matter what I do. All you want to do is protect all the littler creatures, lesser than you and me, preserve their stupid, insignificant choices. It’s a losing battle, but you fight it. And you are beautiful for it, even if I’ll skin you alive for following through. That’s what got us here, Sam. You’re innate selflessness. Ruined. Everything._

Except Lucifer could never break that inside Sam.

Never will.

Because every day Sam is breathing, every day he protects someone else…

His revenge is the fire of love, to burn up the dish served up by the Devil.

\--

Dean is taken aside by Garth and Sam again, when he mouths off about chew toys and picks one fight too many, even if the other side hasn’t escalated.

“Why are you being so hard on everyone?” Garth demands.

“Because there's no way that all of this is what it looks like. No way.” Dean remains adamant.

Garth is both hurt and offended.

“Why not?” He demands, mouth almost clamped shut.

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Come on, man. I know you drank the kool-aid, okay? But come on.”

Dean knows a ploy. Knows a con.

Knows when a monster tries to sneak inside through someone’s bed and pretend it’s safe.

Dean saw it happen to Sam too many times to let it happen to anyone else.

“Look, amigo... I know this is all looks nuts, but I found it. Love and a family? Who cares where that comes from?” Garth begs.

Dean is an unmovable mountain.

“I do.” Dean answers.

Garth softens.

“I get it. When I first got here, I couldn't let go, either. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But when it didn't, I had to accept the truth.” Garth tries.

And Dean latches on to abandonment, on fear, on what if we lost someone else, because people always leave and die, in this life-

“Well, I got another truth for you -- we were all left in the dark when you went AWOL. I didn't know whether you were dead or worse. You should have reached out and sent someone a message.” Dean answers.

Sam treads carefully, only because he can guess where Dean’s mind is at, because Sam is right there with him, wishing he was anywhere else.

But this isn’t about the monsters. The people. Like Benny, they know monsters can be good, like Amy-

Except Dean had straight up murdered her, too, and Sam will never forgive that.

Forgiveness isn’t a blanket you can throw over everything. It’s a shield. Goodwill you hand out because no one else is going to move on, and you do what you have to, when you’re old, and everyone is young, and blind, and Sam isn’t better than them he isn’t he won’t let anything Lucifer’s said get under his skin, or feel like he’s above it all-

Inside, you don’t have to feel it.

But Sam lets himself forgive humans and monsters when he can. He won’t forgive the worst things. But he’s lived through too much to not forgive some. Lucifer always used forgiveness as a weapon.

And Sam will admit, he probably learned that from Sam, first.

“Look, I'm just saying, this wouldn't be the first time we came across a friendly monster. Or a-a family of friendly monsters -- whatever this is.” Sam says.

That’s not the reason Dean’s so on edge about this. Well, it is.

But it’s more than that.

They get him to come around, but not enough.

\--

Everything gets a dizzy edge when Dean’s suspicions are proven right.

Sam’s tired of Dean being proven right when he needs to be.

Dean is still wrong about what matters. He always is, more often than, when Sam hopes something will turn around.

But Sam keeps paying the price for caring.

Shows what he is. What he’ll always be.

“A cult of werewolves?” Sam laughs, but it’s drained, and the bitterness seeps in. “What do they want?”

“Well, Ragnarok is not just a Bible story to these nutjobs. It's an action plan -- human extinction, total and complete werewolf domination.”

Sam hears the pause in Dean’s voice when Sam inhales. It’s always the arms race to be the one wiping humanity out. Demons. Vampires. Shapeshifters.

Lucifer.

“And...what? This is the… The ground-zero for their movement?” Sam asks. It’s not like they can’t fight this. That’s not the issue.

_Just you and me, Sam, and everyone we tolerate. No one else._

Sam is tired of all the words constantly taking his head for a spin.

Lucifer isn’t even here.

But he always is. He’s always inside him.

Sam prays so loud he hopes Lucifer hears everything he’ll do to him if he ever gets out.

Then he prays, even louder, for Gadreel to go straight to Hell.

\--

The other shoes drops, like always, when Sam tries to save people he loves.

Garth and Bess are tied up. So is he.

He’s surprised he can still get tied up so much. It’s like a pattern, by now. And Sam would fight harder, but he’s looking for an opening, and slightly concussed, and it’s not really the ropes holding him back. It’s the hand stroking his face and the wings tickling his shoulder and other hands, touching him, and the icy whisper, constant, right there-

_You look good with your arms pinned back. Hey. Hey, you can squirm all you like. I know it feels good, with me so close to you, like this-_

Sam closes his eyes and opens them again, and when he does, his face is blank with a face ready for murder. A face Lucifer liked to tease out, when he had Sam tear things to shreds for him.

A face that says: you’re next.

Sam doesn’t listen to a word Joy says, except for the last parts, because hearing her is easier than listening to the grace that used to sing in his eardrums without reprieve.

Sam pictures how she’ll die with every word she speaks.

“Last winter, my little brother, Charlie, was killed by a hunter.” Joy says, then she inhales, holding herself, stiff, above it all, before the animal bleeds through. “My husband counseled patience, restraint. Just as when he took over our beloved church, he preached a new direction -- lycanthropes and man would co-exist.”

And Sam remembers before, so poignant, so painful, a squeezing in his chest even after thousands of years years-

**You don’t have to do this. We can change the script. Stay. Stay with me. Please.**

And Sam hates himself for wishing Lucifer changed and took him up on it.

But Lucifer was selfish, and violent, and bloodthirsty. Just like this one.

Sam can’t get revenge on him, but he can on Joy, and every word she speaks just dredges more and more until Sam’s throat is bloody with the need to make her and Lucifer shut up.

Joy keeps talking. “Peace was more important than dominance.”

_I’ll give them peace, Sam. They’ll have peace forever. No need to remember their imperfect little lives._

And in the Cage, in the darkness, the Devil the only light in the place-

_We can have peace, Sammy. All you have to do is give yourself over, give yourself what you need-_

**Submission isn’t love.**

_No. But you’ve always been so compliant. And that love is right there, in every dimple on your face._

And then Lucifer would touch him and Sam would snarl and Sam won’t snarl, not now, he’s not an cruel animal like them-

**Liar.**

_Sam, I never-_

**You once said we were two halves of a whole. But you know what? All you ever wanted is control. To dominant everything, even me.**

_But I do own you. I own you and you were made to love it. And it doesn’t change you’re my other half, Sammy. We’ll always have half of each other’s heart. You made sure, after you broke mine._

**You don’t have one.**

Then I guess I’ve have to break yours again, just to even the scales. That sound fair?

“I tried so hard to make his way work... to be a preacher's wife.”

_I tried so hard for you, Sam. I tried so hard… And it didn’t matter one bit to you, is that it? Because you THREW US DOWN HERE-_

And then there’s pain and fire and chains and Sam, Sam choking on his own blood, screaming, begging for mercy until he can’t take it and Lucifer cradles him in his arms and hisses, _“Or maybe not, Sammy. Maybe it did matter. All that proves is you tried your best too, and you should’ve listened to me, like you were made to._

“But then... Charlie was murdered. And I couldn't help remembering my daddy's sermons.” Joy’s voice is like a gnat on the wall by now, every spec of the cage unrolled in Sam’s head like an unwanted montage, inverse to flood of memories that let Sam throw himself and the Devil down there in the first place-

 _God doesn’t forgive, Sam. Why do you think he made this prison? Why do you think he rained down fire and hail and locusts and leprosy and smote all who denied him? What exactly do you think he made me to be, the first Light in the Darkness of Creation? I am not kind, not merciful, Sam. I am violent and terrible and unending and you love me for what I am. Stop running from it. Stop cowering. Come over here, and see just what I am, look at me, Sammy, and see what you are, too_ -

“And, by golly, turns out he was right. As long as there is a man, there can be no peace. Because man destroys.” Joy leans down, a foot away, looking at Sam but not seeing him for what he is, but growing more aggressive because she can smell the real predator in the air, even if she can smell Caged Animal, too.

And Sam keeps testing his bonds, keeps his jaw clicked together so he doesn’t snarl at her, in Enochian, screaming protests to a phantom second-born that isn’t even here-

_Repeat after me, Samuel. Humanity is destructive and chaotic and vile and disgusting and nauseating and you are the only holy thing God ever made of your pitiful race. Say it. Sam. Oh, you and your bleeding heart- Sam. Your self-destruction proves my point. God made you this way. But he cast me out for criticizing him, for speaking the truth, for pointing out his cruelty in making you the way he did. This is why you need me, why you’re no good on your own. I understand, and I don’t blame you, Sam. You don’t know better, that’s why we’re here, you fight because you’re mine but you just can’t let yourself see… I promise, by the time we’re done, you’ll remember the truth. I’ll carve it into your bones, your heart, your soul, so all the world can see just what they are, when we break out-_

“And I, for one, am sick of it.” Joy finishes, but even as she stares back, she unconsciously makes herself back away and wavers when Sam glares back at her, eyes burning with an old violent knowing that she would never live or understand.

Sam remembers English over Enochian when he looks at Garth, and keeps himself grounded. He’s used to that, by now.

Sam bares his teeth right back at her, throat bared for all to see.

“I get it now. Why co-exist when you can rule?” Sam sneers, mocking, speaking slow and deliberate because she is a child, really, and that’s all these bastards ever want.

When Joy speaks, Sam barely listens. It’s like water in the background, empty noise.

Sam just straightens his back and huffs out one cold breath, jaw yawning wide in challenge, the in restrained way a snarling hound corners a rabbit.

Sam is always the quiet, still anger. You learn to keep that way, when the Devil hunts you.

Then Joy starts talking about framing them, about setups, and Sam pays attention because he’s going to rip her plan to tatters.

Garth is both enraged and terrified for Bess, and the wolf claws its way out of him, desperate and useless against the chains.

And when Joy speaks, holds the gun to Bess’s head, Sam feels a jolt when he realizes she’s going to pin the murders of Garth and Bess on him.

Not because he’ll let it happen.

Because now all he can think of is Gadreel, using his hands, his hands, burning out Kevin, and the scream, and the smell-

And the burning smell of Hellfire as Lucifer left him-

And the feeling of Lucifer’s hands, sprung so tightly against other people’s hearts and stomach’s and ribs, sticky and squelching with gore over Sam’s fingertips, as Lucifer licks their lips and laughs and says, so softly, with Sam’s mouth, “Oh, Sam, I know you liked how that felt, too. You don’t have to pretend.”

Joy registers the change in Sam’s expression, and her mouth quirks, laughing, as she contemplates tearing someone apart by letting them turn themselves into a monster, bloodying their hands with her poison as they tear their own convictions to shreds without realizing it.

Joy celebrates, too certain, “My husband turned his cheek once. I don't think he can do it again.”

He’d be living a lie, thinking he was doing something justified, if not right.

Living a lie, thinking someone he loved was looking out for him.

Like Sam did, with Brady.

With Jess.

Sam is going to rip Joy’s head from her shoulders. He’d even use his powers if he had enough grace left, but Cas had just helped him make it as dormant as it was going to get, and Sam can’t trade that, needed it out of him, but he regrets all he can do is kicks the gun out of her hand when she gets close enough instead of ripping her apart with his mind.

Except…

Dean has a grudge and a panicked rage and the need to get to Sam, to protect him like he always thinks he needs to without asking Sam for what he really wants, and Dean’s just as trigger-happy and ready to take out his unresolved issues on every single werewolf that looks at Sam or Garth funny.

He’s lost too many people to trusting things he shouldn’t, that they shouldn’t-

Joy gets shot straight between the eyes.

Sam rips out of his restraints a second later and tends to Garth and Bess, gentle and calm.

He is only a hunter when he needs to be. No less, no more.

\--

“Be good.” Sam tells Garth, once he’s safely inside again. Even lets Garth hug him, although all physical contact hurts, right now.

Lucifer ruined that, too.

But Sam needs to comfort Garth as much as he needs feel his friends, alive, and safe, and alive, and feel his own arms not hurting anyone-

Dean stands off to the side, a world apart.

Sam nods at Dean once as he passes, but he hasn’t said word since the barn, and still doesn’t say anything.

Dean stays behind to talk to Garth.

Garth’s eyes well up, and his expression is pained and torn and worried as he suggests hunting with them again-

But Dean can’t let him. He needs someone to be happy. He can’t let anyone else, close, either.

People who get close die.

“No, Dean. I want to make this right.” Garth insists. “I never should've left you guys-“

And Dean’s chest pangs, because he’s so tired of being left, and he almost reconsiders despite himself-

“Especially Kevin.”

Dean looks down and can’t meet Garth’s too-bright, too warm eyes.

“Kevin was my friend. Friends don't do that.” Garth adds, shaking his head.

All feeling goes numb in Dean’s chest. His arms stings, cold and burning with abandonment.

You did that, Dean. You killed him, because you tricked Sam. And he’s never going to forgive you, and this is your fault, and your friends all die-

Dean pushes Garth away as kindly as he can manage, and gives his voice the gentlest sound it can manage, as choked out as it is in his throat.

“Well, hey, you said it… You know, who cares where happiness comes from? Look, we're all a little weird, we're all a little wacky- some more than others- but... If it works, it works. You got something here. Okay? Even though they are werewolves. Or Lycanthropes -- whatever. Don't let that go. Okay? You'll never forgive yourself. Besides, somebody's got to live to tell this damn story someday, and who better than you?” Dean knows he’s talking too fast, stumbling over the words, as his eyes water. Someone deserves to be happy and safe here, like Dean isn’t, like Sam wasn’t and probably won’t ever be again, and that’s Dean’s fault, too, if he thinks about it, because he should’ve know better, should’ve never caved in Hell, and Dean’s been trying to save Sam from things that will never let him go. Dean chokes off, “Now shut up and come here.”

“Really?” Garth is beyond thrilled and beyond disbelief.

Dean recovers his voice, adding gruffly, “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

And he hugs Garth, because Sam won’t even look him head on, and he’s worried he’s losing everyone, Cas and Sam and everything all in one go.

He knows it’s his fault. But what else was he supposed to do?

They’ve never had any good solutions, really.

Everything comes after them, and hunting never ends, and that’s the life, but-

Dean needs to win something. Needs to destroy.

Feels powerful again, and pretends he hasn’t missed Hell singing in his veins, calling out to him, stuck to his arm, and he needs something to keep him there, to feel like he’s in control of something-

He’s worried he can’t save Sam from Hell, too.

It all comes back to that, and angels, the one angel, and all the others Dean will tear apart because Sam might never come back this time.

\--

Dean drives the Impala in silence.

When he stops, Sam moves to get out without a word, then relents, only slightly, because he isn’t trying to be cruel.

He’s just trying to survive.

“I'll send you that postcard.” Sam mumbles, looking back and then away.

“Yeah.” Dean bites out.

He stares at the steering wheel until the door slams and thinks of Jessica’s apartment, of Sam looking back and leaving, and how much he regrets Sam feeling like he’s still forced into this but how there was no other way to protect him and Dean doesn’t want to lose him again, he can’t-

Dean gets out, says, “Hey.”

Sam turns back. Listening. Waiting. On edge, like he didn’t want to at first. He’s tired of turning back and having Dean think he can just talk him back into this, into everything, without Dean ever changing, ever apologizing, ever accepting just how wrong he is-

“Uh, listen, that night that, uh... You know, we went our… Our separate ways-“ Dean stutters, not looking up until he is, hands in his pockets, his shoulders twitching.

“You mean the night you split?” Sam answers.

**The night I needed you to go, because you can’t say a single apology for what you did-**

“Fair enough.” Dean answers, licking his lips, then shifting on his feet. “I was messed up, man. Kevin was dead, and I...”

And Dean looks down at the expression on Sam’s face because he can’t face it, and bites his lip, adding, “I don't know what I was.”

Sam slowly shakes his head, eyebrows rising and falling as he considers if this counts as trying.

“Okay.” Sam answers, rote. Not fully there. He sniffs, eyes downcast.

Dean swallows, then adds, “Hell, maybe I still don't. But, uh... I know I took a piece of you in the process, and for that…” Dean looks up again.

Sam is so still and just… Staring.

Dean fidgets and sweats and can’t apologize. Can only make excuses, because saying it out loud means he has to face what he did, head on. That… That he failed-

“Somebody changed the playbook, man, you know?” Dean says, grasping, motioning, everything off kilter, words too fast, “It's like what… What… What's right is wrong and what's wrong is more wrong, and... I just know that when... When we rode together...”

Sam blinks and keeps staring at the ground. His mouth twitches.

“We split the crappiness.” Sam manages.

“Yeah. So...” Dean says, jerking his head. Like it’s a question. Like it’s enough.

“Okay.” Sam answers, voice flatter now. His eyes stare Dean down.

“Okay.” Dean stumbles.

Except he can see on Sam’s expression that it’s not.

“But something's broken here, Dean.” Sam answers, more intent now. Tired of waiting, of not talking, of holding back. Tired of hiding the pain to spare Dean the trouble.

Dean sees it. Sees it all.

“I'm not saying that it's not. I...” Dean almost says what he knows Sam is asking for, then. Almost takes responsibility. But it dies in his throat again because Sam’s always believed in him and maybe if he asks for another chance, maybe if he begs, Sam will give it to him without asking for anything else, because it’s Sam. “I just think maybe we need to put a couple W's on the board and we get past all th-” Dean says, a note too flippant to hide everything underneath.

“I don't think so.” Sam interrupts before Dean can fully finish his sentence. Flat and uncompromising as he was when he asked Dean what he was doing in his apartment, way back when, because Sam is just as tired, just as angry, just as determined to hold on to the one thing he knows he has, and that’s his right to be angry and exhausted and done with this and he can’t just fall into line again. “No, I… I wish, but... We don't... See things the same way anymore.” Sam answers, gesturing out with his hands. “Our roles in this whole thing.”

Dean blinks at Sam, not liking how Sam is growing distant, yet animated, not moving on like Dean needs him to.

Sam keeps going, because if they’re seeing this through, he will see it through to the end. Just like they always have. Dean starting something, and Sam finishing it, and Dean dealing with the aftermath. Sam’s voice remains calm and level, in all the ways his heart is not. “Back in that church, talking me out of boarding up hell? Or… Or tricking me into letting Gadreel possess me?” Sam pauses, and inhales, and then his next words are so certain the very air rings with them. “I can't trust you. Not the way I thought I could, not the way I should be able to.”

Not the way I wanted to. Not the way you promised I could, when I needed a lifeline, and you drowned me instead-

Except the guilt is too much for Dean to hold on to, now. And so is the pain he sees, clear as day, in Sam’s eyes and in the furrow of his brow and the twitch of his lips. And Dean turns to anger, not because of the Mark scratching under his skin, but because anger is the only way he knows how to distance himself from that, and knowing that’s on **_him_** -

Dean looks away and makes a noise in the back of his throat, almost dismissive because it makes it hurt less.

“Okay, look. Whatever happened...” Dean answers, more fervently now, voice lower, and his eyebrows raise as his teeth click over one another, jaw tightening. “We’re family, okay?”

The age old excuse to brush it all under the rug. It fixes nothing, no matter how much Sam wants it to.

Sam scoffs, and swallows, and the rage lets itself loose now, a fire just beneath the surface. “You say that like it's some sort of cure-all, like it can change the fact that…” And Sam’s voice chokes off as his eyes water, but his voice grows stronger, surer, empathizing each word, “Everything that has ever gone wrong between us has been because we're family.” Sam’s hands gesture emptily. At the ground. At Dean. At himself.

“So, what… We're not family now?” Dean jumps at the words, vicious and scared, head shaking, each word sharp and stuck in the back of his throat. Thinking of Sam leaving him, again, just like for Stanford, because it feels the same, feels like when Dean said, later, in that hotel room, on the floor, woodchips and glass in his back from a punch that he threw first, **_Don’t you walk out that door-_**

“I'm saying, you want to work? Let's work.” Sam answers with more intensity, voice steel, face every bit non-negotiable, because he has very little left to lose, and he can’t keep his self-respect or worth down to foster Dean’s fragile need to be a victim when it’s Sam the one who was handed off to the wolves, violated and made to relive that violation and now Lucifer is sitting pretty in his skull, again, and Sam makes himself sound calm when he insists, resolute and unyielding, as he takes in a breath and keeps the tears back, “If you want to be brothers…” Sam stops, and inhales a breath.

Dean just looks at him. Not giving ground. Not saying a word.

Sam looks away and back, nodding his head just like he did every time he said no, to John, and Dean, and Lucifer, and was just as sure. “Those are my terms.”

Dean looks away, can’t look at him head on, still, even though he blinks and swallows and tries.

Sam’s the first one back in the Impala.

Dean stands there.

On his arm, the Mark still burns, soft and persistent, but so gentle, you might not even know it’s there.

But it’s Dean’s own refusals feeding it.

\--

Inside the Cage, Lucifer senses the Mark grow. Feels Sam, too, although he’s still all distance. Like a whale sending out sonar from the Artic to the South Pacific.

All thanks to Castiel’s and Sam’s meddling. Again.

But Dean, always so remote, never something Lucifer got close, except to tear apart, because of Sam, and Sam only-

Dean lights up like a match. Far away and small and barely there…

But Lucifer feels it.

He feels all the humans ever given the Mark.

He passed the torch to them, after all.

And inside his prison, Lucifer does what he does best.

He waits. And he plans.


	70. Apocalypse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by cigarettes after sex
> 
> also picks up right after Dean tells Sam to split up and go check the basement while lying and going after Crowley and Abaddon and hiding things in whatever episode that was

The basement itself is too quiet aside from the whir of the generators. Sam doesn't let his footsteps clang against the floor, all too used to stealth.

Sam can smell mildew and nickel even though it's almost surgically clean, recycled air and artificial feel of grills and drywall all too stifling.

The room is dark save for Sam's flashlight beam.

Except ten steps in, it sputters and dies.

Sam's eyes struggle to adjust less than expected, seeing as there's a dim light up ahead, not florescent like the rest of the lights had been in the hallways before this...

The scent of blood wafts through his nostrils, familiar and striking.

Sam hurries down into the deeper reaches of the basement, every nerve screaming at the power and warding he can feel humming against his skin as he goes deeper.

Abaddon had been busy.

Sam stumbles on to the pile of bodies and all-too familiar Enochian sigils dripping blood from the walls, all cumulating into a symbol Sam knows all too well.

It had been seared on his eyelids ever since he let Lucifer out.

Just as it had been blinding when Lucifer carved his name into Sam's ribs, the twisting words inscribed on the last seal and Sam's bones, showing just who he belongs to.

But that's not what makes Sam freeze.

On the floor, the nun's broken neck twitches, and her glassy, rolled up eyes stare at nothing, yet focus on Sam halfway across the room.

Her fingers keep twitching, arm broken at the wrong angle like she's reaching for him-

"Hey there, Sammy. It's sure been a while." Lucifer's True Voice hisses between her lips, every honeyed word dripping with anticipation and expectation and that same ringing joy Sam hoped never to hear topside again.

The sound alone is enough to make Sam almost fall to his knees on instinct.

Sam's grip on the dead flashlight loosens. It slips out of his fist, clammy with sweat, and clatters against the floor. Loud enough so Sam flinches.

Sam tries to back away, tries to turn and run, but the wards are made to trap, to keep him here, and they'll fail but not fast enough, and even with that effort, Sam's his knees are shaking so bad, and...

And...

**No no no no no-**

"C'mon, buddy. Don't be like that. I'm only here to get you up to speed." Lucifer has the gall to sound almost put out at Sam's knee-jerk response.

Sam can taste the grin on stolen skin, though, even if he can't animate the dead nun's facial movements too well.

Her skin is blue and her eyes are sunken in her sockets but all Sam can focus on is the icy air leaving his lungs, suffocating everything, and the continual twitch of her fingers.

Sam wants to cut her arm off if it didn't mean getting closer, if it didn't feel like Lucifer was going to use that corpse to crawl along the ground to pull Sam back into his orbit.

\--

One of the perks of Abaddon's former operation is that, thanks to Agnes and other haunts, she still has no shortage of nuns for ritual purposes.

And boy, does that make her life easy. 

Granted, the ritual Azazel had used worked better under different circumstances, but the Cage had been jostled just enough from all the angels falling and the incomplete Trials and Lucifer's ties to Sam, still there, still reaching out-

It's not going to be as good a signal for transmission, not like it had years ago, but it would do it's job.

She can feel Dean getting closer now, and the alarms on her warding downstairs means Sam is right where she wants him.

Lucifer's been dying for a heart to heart for a while now. One Sam can't run from.

Abaddon may have plans to be queen of Hell, sure.

But Lucifer was always the King of everything else, and he was going to rise again, and take the world in a storm of blood and ice and all the eternal light he'd been forever, even after being cast out of Heaven. 

\--

Sam swallows and stares Lucifer's chosen method of communication down, focusing on the popped blood vessels of her face and not the pile of bodies littering the room, or the endless skittering movements of Lucifer's borrowed fingers.

"How...?" Sam finally asks, voice hoarse.

"Does it matter, Sammy? I might be trapped, sure. But we're long overdue for a chat." Lucifer pauses and lets out a hum, the nun's corpse-mouth opening wide, the skin of the lips sticking as they part, gaping, mouth twisted if it's a question, before he adds, "No need for your heart to race out of your chest. Although, I'll admit, I miss feeling the vibrations. Always calmed me down."

Sam's composure breaks like foam on the rocks and he attempts to yell, careening completely, only the words are still too strangled, hoarse noise ringing hollow in his throat, "What the hell do you want?"

The nun's mouth sings with a distant chuckle, but it's shallow, swooping whisper of breath from lungs that don't work, hollow and punctured and sticky from collapsed ribs and bodily fluids.

"In an ideal world, Sammy, I'd like for you to let me out. Or for you to come back. One or the other would be swell." Lucifer breaks off with a sigh, and Sam can taste the bitter sorrow he projects, all couched in contempt and fury and exasperation too close for comfort, even when Lucifer is trapped as far down in Hell as it's possible to go. Lucifer continues. "But we both know you won't. Cas and Dean sure got all your priorities mixed up again. So: new plan. I'm just telling you what's going to happen. Keeping you in the loop. Treasuring the sound of your voice. You know, it gets so lonely, down here..."

"I bet." Sam grits out. "So say what you need to say and get it over with."

Sam keeps eyeing the wards, keeps trying to focus and tear them down, to get out, because if Lucifer's designs are not for him then they're a laser-cannon focused somewhere else, and Sam needs to be there to counteract it, but the more Sam tries to draw on his power the more he can feel the Cage, can feel the draft of the line tugging him and Lucifer close, can feel Lucifer's otherwise dormant grace surging to life under his skin...

He can't let it gain purchase, can't let it roar to life, can't let it claim him like it always does-

"Sammy," Lucifer's voice turns silky, drawing out every syllable, all seductive vowel noise, like he does when he's conducting business. "This isn't just a courtesy call. Surely you know I'd be involved with the Mark in some capacity. You think I didn't feel it, when it branded itself over your brother's skin? Me, when I'm the one who held it first before all others?"

Sam freezes, stomach flipping over and over, rancid and sour and nausea all trying to climb up his throat.

Sam lets out a wheezing exhale and forces himself to stay calm. His voice breaks, all high pitched over the next syllable, "So?"

"Oh, buddy. I have an obligation to look after you. And it's not hard to guess where you're at. Really. I mean, you can't be feeling too safe right now with your brother sporting the same Mark I gifted Cain. Dean start to zone out yet, get a bit twitchy? I mean, it's the Mark of fratricide for a reason. I personally think Dear Old Pops gave it to me as permission, really, as a sign of endorsing my own self-defense. I mean, God must've known what I would do when I saw your kind. And he must've known what Michael would do when I got cast out, and what would do Raphael, and even Gabe when he decided to take a stab at me. But I sure got them back..." Lucifer's voice deepens to a growl, and Sam shivers, before Lucifer's voice modulates, pointedly lighter again. "But he had to have known. Had to have endorsed it. Otherwise there wouldn't be true vessels, or an Apocalypse, or all that jazz, right? Point being, that little sucker is a nasty one. Drove Cain to kill his delightful little brother. Abel always was... Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't take an interest. But you know all about that-" Lucifer trills, and keeps on enjoying the sound of his own voice, like he always does, because solitary confinement left little room for anyone else to talk to, save for Sam, who'd ditched him, yet who still couldn't escape the feeling he hadn't escaped, not really, nor evaded any consequences for it. Because Sam does remember every detail of that discussion. Lucifer had told him all about it. How he sought Abel out because he wanted to see the bloodline of the one who would eventually lead him to Sam. How he tried to use time travel to get to Sam earlier, using Abel's blood. Didn't work, but it made an impression. Set them down the road that would make Sam his, all the same.

Sam doesn't want to remember. He sidesteps.

"What's your point?" He asks.

The nun smiles, white teeth in not-yet rotted gums. Her cap is askew on her head, dried blood on her crushed scalp peeking through.

"Well, surely you know what happened to Cain, kiddo. He might not have been my first, but he sure was the strongest of my first experiments. Least until recently, when he tried to retire. But before that, back in the good old days, well... What exactly do you think the Mark does, Sammy? Think it's all flowers and rainbows? No. No, that little curse makes anyone who wears it mine, Sammy. Not like what we have, not at all, but still. You know the drill by now. Azazel, Lilith, Abaddon. When I'm out, I can contact my favorites easily. Can do it even when trapped, provided they reach out and send a line over, like we're doing right now. I mean, you might have gone all distant on me, trying to close Hell and lock me out of the house, but you still belong to me. And pretty soon, Dean will, too." Lucifer pauses, making sure the message percolates in Sam's brain, and Sam tries to keep himself from feeling the clammy fever and rising fear that makes his heart feel like it's being hit by lightning, over and over and over. Lucifer's voice goes softer, gentler, as he adds, "See, if he doesn't kill, well, the Mark kills you slow. And if he does kill, well, you'll soon find dear old Dean gets a lot more biblical and righteous in his need for ravenous murder. Pretty soon I'll be knocking around in his head almost as easily as I do yours. And what do you think happens then, Bunk Buddy? See, I made you certain promises, just like you made me. You promised me forever, Samuel. And I told you you had to be prepared. Told you that one way or the other, we're both getting out. And once Dean's gone fully under, once he can't shut me up, well... You know what I want, Sam." And Lucifer's voice turns into a cold whisper, hungry, always hungry. He breathes, the nuns eyes rolling as he tongue snakes out, licking dry, strangled lips, and asks, "Question is, are you going to play nice and uphold your vows? Or you going to choose the most punishing option, your favorite no matter how hard I trained it out of you?"

Lucifer lets the silence fester, and keeps going, knowing his audience can't help but listen. Not like Sam can go anywhere yet.

No. 

Sam has to realize he needs him. But more than that, he needs to remember where he belongs, why things have to be this way, has to seek Lucifer out one way or another before Lucifer gets what he wants either way.

Lucifer is getting out, one way or another. He can be patient. Has been, for a long time. At least until Sam tried his patience.

The thing is: Sam had said so many beautiful declarations of love and loyalty and submission downstairs. He'd be a fool to think Lucifer wouldn't come to collect.

And since Lucifer loves him, well. Sam deserves to make things easier on himself, when the Devil comes calling for him all over again.

It's a long time overdue, seeing as Sam's fought him every step of the way.

"Earth to Sammy. You still with me? Still following?" Lucifer asks, all gentle concern.

"I..." Sam can't take in enough air. Can feel the tiniest silver of Lucifer's grace spark to life, igniting inside of him, ever bit gentle and caressing and dangerous as Lucifer's ever been.

Then Sam rallies whatever courage he has left, the taste of metal and fear and his own dry lips not enough to keep him grounded.

"Then I will get the Mark off him. And you won't touch him." Sam snarls.

"Oh, I promise, Sammy." Lucifer's voice remains soft with promise, a lazy threat Sam won't unpack. "You don't want to do that. The Mark exists for a reason. But hey, don't say I didn't warn you. You never listen to my advice, and it's going to get you into trouble one day. Will serve you right." Lucifer purrs, and then Sam feels the grace sliding against his throat, huffy and insistent as Lucifer asks, voice mischievous, "Still. Wanna wager over whether Dean will turn on you before you get a chance to cut him back down to size?"

_C'mon, Sammy. You can barely take care of yourself. Just stop running and let me make things easy. Let me have you. I won't even be angry at you for putting this off and trying to hide. I promise. I just want you back. And I'm going to find you and take you and keep you, be it one way, or another. Question is... Do you want to make up for all the times you let everyone else come between us and handle it all yourself, or do you want to let dear old Dean take on the burden?_

"He will let me out, Samuel." Lucifer's True Voice surges forth again, more insistent, serious and not bluffing in a way Sam knows all too well, and keeps going, "I have ways of making my demons obedient. It's not foolproof, sure, and can be time consuming. But do you really want to put this on him? I can draw this out, Sammy. I don't want to. I want you to make the right choice. Let me out of your own free will. Or come back down, if you can't bear the thought of me walking free. Dean will still be a menace, which I'm sure won't help you sleep at night, but you don't need to worry about what happens to the world. You gave all that worrying up the moment you sent us downstairs- that was the point, really. An eternity of being with me, with no earthly concerns to hold you back, one way or another. You aren't meant to carry this burden, Sammy. And I want you to choose me, like you always do. But if you don't... I will do what I must. And it's not like it's not fun, whenever you play hard to get. I like the chase. But you aren't doing too hot, baby, and I worry about you. I mean, Dean's already proven untrustworthy before. Whose to say he won't hurt you before I get there? And I can't have that. So the question is: Will you take responsibility? You can end this, Sammy, easy. And sure, Dean certainly has it coming, for taking the Mark without consulting you, endangering your life, and stealing you from me. But you've got a lot to answer for, too. You locked me up again. You left me alone. And you still haven't come back, so... Don't force my hand. I don't want to have to hurt you again, gorgeous. I really, really don't."

Sam backs against the wall, heaving, hands shaking so hard he can't recover the flashlight even if he tried. The sliver of grace wavers and dies, proximity to Lucifer's line through the Cage broken from physical distance.

All at once, failure crashes over Sam. Not just failure for himself, or the world, or his principals, but his brother most of all, in a way he otherwise wouldn't.

Sam's used to failing Dean by Dean's estimation. Dean was needy and hard to please, sometimes, having been scarred by John and scarred by Hell and Purgatory but mostly by Sam leaving when he never knew how to get out himself.

But Sam is not used to failing him by his own standards.

Because he wants to fix this. Wants to stop this. But he's so damn scared he can't think straight and Lucifer's going to hurt him somehow, through this, because Sam doesn't know how to get the Mark off of Dean's skin. 

And Sam couldn't forget any of Lucifer's words, because now that they'd been spoken, they were poison curling and uncurling with every inhale as Sam tries to catch his breath.

Same as he couldn't forget the last words Michael had ever said to him, down in the Cage.

_"All of this is your fault, Sam." He'd hissed, grace a clarion ringing so loud Sam's eardrums popped and bled. "It's on you. The moment Lucifer ever laid eyes on you, he was lost."_

The words won't issue from Sam's mouth, now. It's all too much.

Too suffocating.

A raw wound ripped back open.

Every time he thinks he's well and truly free of this, he's caught again. Like a moth that was trapped between two palms, carefully observed, wings almost crushed yet not, then set free, only to have hands clutch over them again and cripple him properly, this time.

And Lucifer's going to get out. He's going to get out and he's asking Sam to fix this and Sam-

Dean had lied to him. Had stuffed an angel inside him. Had taken on a curse that was going to tear him apart because he didn't want to deal with the gravity of what he did, what he allowed to happen...

And now Lucifer's going to be under his skin, getting a line through, and even if Sam's burnt most him out of himself, Lucifer's going to be there, to get inside Dean's head...

"He's going to turn into a demon, you know. If the Mark progresses far enough. And then where will you be, Samuel? Demons answer to their king. And while that is your rightful place, since you are mine, well... I've always had seniority there. They know who really calls the shots." Lucifer finishes, and the nun's mouth curls before he uses her to blow a kiss through the air. "Anyway. Love you, baby. Good talk. I know I'll be seeing you... Well, if not soon, then at least soon enough. Have fun kicking Abby's castle down. She likes a challenge. Isn't really one for boredom. I guess she takes after me a little."

And then the wards fail and the nuns head lolls and Lucifer isn't present any more even if Sam can still feel him somewhere, deep deep down, inside him. He never really leaves.

Sam makes his way up to the top of the penthouse as fast as he can, because whatever this is...

Dean is not safe, not by a longshot.


	71. Blood of Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Offshoot from S922.
> 
> drafty as heck as this was supposed to have Sam messing up some angels with stuff he learned in Hell and then tie into the abaddon subplot I never expanded on, but I ran out of steam
> 
> chapter title a song by brown bird

Sam is not going to let anyone threaten Dean, or Cas, and he's not going to sit idly by when they are being threatened right in front of him.

"Stop!" Sam wrenches himself out of the angels grip. Uses a tiny fraction of his power, reminds these angels just who and what they are dealing with.

It's not all turned to violence yet. It's getting close.

But Sam knows when the angels get this way there's only one way to get their attention.

"No one is killing anyone. But if you don't step away from my brother and Cas, you will not like what happens next."

\--

Sam has had enough. Angels pushing him around. Angels not knowing what they are doing and making humanity pay the price. Angels, threatening people he loves, no matter how much he understands their fear of having fallen and the Mark on Dean's arm and even if he knows how they are just latching on to the only lifeboat they know. Angels, falling for lies and calling them truths and flocking to the strongest player just because they knew precious little else and because they refuse to change.

Obedience is something hard to train out, and Heaven has never forgotten it.

And even with the newfound freedom the angels have, they like straightforward leadership, and if they think Cas isn't trustworthy, if they expect Cas to sacrifice what he has never been able to as long as humanity has been his charge, as long as the Winchesters are and remain his family...

Well. Sam has his priorities. And if it's between a lesser, bereft legion of angels threatening Dean and Cas, and the only two people who've half-survived what the old Apocalypse once threw at them... Sam's choice has always been easy.

He doesn't have to choose them. He's already chosen the world, and Cas, and Dean- Dean, who is not himself, Dean who is suffering and made too many decisions Sam can't back up or entirely forgive, who has made too many mistakes and decisions that helped make this situation a mess, but who he will not abandon to them- no, Sam isn't going to settle for anything, not when they can fix this and not when the angels are just another mob ready for the next cult-like branch into a new sort of servitude and worship that might as well lead to another Apocalypse down the line. Not when Metatron is playing them all so easily.

Some may call it selfish, but Sam knows these angels can't be trusted, and Cas doesn't deserve to be put in this position, and he's had enough with self-made puppeteers playing with strings and people's lives- his own and Kevin's and all the others.

Metratron is a liar, pure and simple, a cheap knock off things Sam has already defeated, and he has no patience for the likes of him. He has lived through too much for this to let him get under his skin, to get a foothold on those who are all too eager to jump ship. And even if he is angel that Sam would know how to beat if he didn't juice himself past the limits of angelic endurance, Sam will find a way to waste him and bring his plot to ruin.

Sam has trained to maim and kill Archangels, even if he's never been asked to pull the trigger and end it all. Sam can remember Lucifer egging him on, the way Michael unspooled, the way the blood and ichor fell from clipped wings and scarred faces-

And even if he is fighting remembering, fighting that same remnant of celestial obedience that was drilled into him another way and that Lucifer never quite shook off even after his own Fall, in this instance, it is the best weapon he has against those who would do his family harm.

Heaven's machinations and it's revolving-door of leadership have damaged too many humans and angels and souls, have torn apart families and itself, because it devours all in it's orbit, all the angels in it's system. Heaven itself was a rerun, litany of memories without change or growth, and those committed to Heaven's functions or recreating it on earth are like Naomi, like Metatron, like Gadreel- holding on to what they know, punishing all that deviated from the plan but unable to move on from it-

Like Michael used to do, and when Raphael followed suit.

Even like Lucifer, because for all the ways he thought himself a rebel, he too prescribed to the grandiose self-worship that Metraton found himself imitating, even if they came from different places, even if they had different motives- for it was narcissism and control and the need to be on top, just like every other heavenly power struggle. 

Even Cas, before he took in the Leviathans and called himself God before he came back to himself, before Sam and Cas had to pick up the pieces of what trust he'd broken with Dean and Sam and everyone else.

Sam was done letting any of this dictate any more of his life. Even if Heaven was necessary to keep souls at rest and out of the Veil, he wasn't going to let it keep churning out a system that demanded the same conditions which led to it's decay and destruction that smote all in it's wake, planned or not.

Sam is washing his hands of this mess the only way he knows will stick, and he's going to make them remember who he is and what he does, because for all the ways he's cast off the legacy Hell tried to groom him for, and for all the ways he would never be a King, he would not be a pawn or a bystander or a victim but a survivor who wasn't going to let them hurt themselves or anyone else.

By making a choice, and making sure his family was safe, and making the threat of the family business and all he could have been the only arsenal when negotiation in good will had all been exhausted.

\--

"Stop."

"I'm not going to pretend I agree with what Dean did. But you aren't going to kill him. You aren't going to touch a hair on my brother's head. And asking Cas to do your dirty work for you... All he's trying to do is protect you, and you're falling for the same lies that led to the fall in the first place-"

"We do not have to follow you-"

"No. But you will listen anyway. You don't get to threaten my family. Not after everything. Not after what you all tried to help Michael pull, not with everything you've been complicit in- and I get it. You don't know how to function. Life on Earth is hard. And it's not like we're friends or have any reason to be working together, so I understand why you don't trust us, or why you'd see it as self-defense to take Dean down, and why you see this as a breach of trust with Cas, and I'm not going to pretend that I'm a fan of whatever this is."

"But I know why he didn't tell you. The moment he gave any sign of not being strong enough, you'd all jump ship, because you refuse to actually fight for something that isn't an order. You know why you fell? Because Metratron told Cas he was going to help fix Heaven. And here we are. Metatron lied to Cas, just like Metatron is lying to you. And I'm not going to pretend we're friends- but don't make yourselves my enemy. You touch Dean or Cas, and I will be that thing you have been afraid of ever since I crawled out of the damn pit. Do you understand?"

"This isn't about Dean, or me, or Cas, or falling. This is about the fact that you won't stand up for yourselves. That you're willing to keep following and keep hurting people just because it's convenient, because you're scared. Well, welcome to Earth. It's scary. That doesn't give you a free pass to cause destruction or demand that Cas turns his back on the only people who've ever actually protected him. Because Heaven damaged you. Heaven damaged all of you."

"None of this would have happened if Castiel-"

"And he's trying to fix the mess. But it doesn't change that he didn't know the consequences, and if you think that means he can't lead you, then that's your decision. But it doesn't mean you have to flock to Metatron because you're too scared to stand for something else."

"We're going to fix this- we're always stuck fixing these messes, and frankly I don't trust any of you to bring Metatron down without trying to re-create the wheel. And you are welcome to fix this in the ways you think matter. But you go near my family- you get in the way- and I am done showing mercy. Do you understand?"


	72. God From The Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s10e02 and maybe part of s10e03 i don't remember.
> 
> chapter title a song by santigold
> 
> this is going in one big section finally
> 
> also i just realized i never wrote part 8 with the hammer
> 
> which was the entire thing i wanted to get to oh well

Crowley's voice echoes in Dean's head, ordering him to pick a side.

He almost wants to laugh, if it wasn't so pathetic.

Don't they get it by now?

Before he died and became a demon, he's only ever been on one side. The side with him and Sam and Cas, nothing else standing in their way.

And once he had nothing else left except himself...

The call in his bones whispers, shooting up his arm.

Dean finds he doesn't give a damn.

He's on his own side. The side where he doesn't have to choose anything except what suits him. The side where it's all whatever he wants to do, all the time, no guilt. No pain. Just taking what he wants.

Deep down, somewhere, the part of him that hasn't gone fully under knows he's only treading water.

The moment the call to kill rises up: he's like a mindless piranha in the water. Willing to do anything so long as that feeling never lets him down.

In Hell, on the rack, he'd never made it far enough to become a demon.

Cas pulled him out before their Righteous Man could get spoiled, the loyal soldier he was.

But having it now, having all that familiarity under his skin, the power, the ability to carve someone up and just have it feel right, no pesky emotions getting in the way except glee, no feeling except power, no need to clean up other people's messes...

He can see why Lucifer loathes demons even clearer, now that he is one. The whole lot are just as narcissistic and self-gratifying and hedonistic as him. Must've sucked, seeing that reflected in the mirror, no grand plans to speak of except fear and devotion keeping them stuck to him like glue.

That, and there's this pull-

Dean's been fighting it. He hates with all his being too, and Lucifer's always been a son-of-a-bitch. But there's no denying the whispers.

The small notes of, _See, Dean? See how intoxicating it is? But you're just small fry compared to me. You'll come into the fold eventually. No one can ignore me forever. I handpicked my knights, you know, and Cain molded all of them into what I wanted them to be. He chose you, too. How's it feel? Knowing your great-great-great granddaddy can see just how much of a screw-up you are, how you've followed so easily in his footsteps?_

Dean's hand digs into the wood of the stool, grounding him, ignoring the Devil because it's all he can do.

Just like he's been avoiding Sam, when the Mark keeps pulling, keeps egging Dean to seek him out, too. There's still royal blood in Sam's veins, still the same ties to Lucifer, still that need to listen to the ringing hum under his skin that Dean can suss out even from here, telling him what places to avoid even as they call out to him, drawing him closer.

Except Sam is right on top of him now.

Sam found him. Sam sought Dean out himself, like he has been for months, with Dean barely one step ahead of him, like smoke on the wind to keep his little brother off his trail.

Dean ran for a reason, even if it was all wound up in the last gasp of his humanity before it all got twisted. Selfishness persists when you're a demon- that might've been all that was left. Not wanting to give up Sam to the things older and crueler than him, because Sam was his brother, and he got to say when he lived or died, he didn't want to do whatever those sons of bitches wanted Dean to do, and all Dean wants is to lose himself in emptiness, in blood and death and punches and alcohol and skirts and everything he ever took comfort in, took pride in, made an art out of, because all he's ever been good at is destroying, and man, is he in his element here-

Deep down, some part of Dean only wants to avoid Sam because he knows the moment he sees him, all control is gonna break, and Dean wants control, always has, even when it slips away-

But he knows, when he sees Sam, he's gonna do whatever the Mark wants- whatever Lucifer wants- because the Devil held it first, transferred it over to make a demon even more beholden to him, and Dean took on that role without reading the fine print, just to try and gain back control when all he was doing was handing it over. Lucifer engineered the first lead-up to his own wish-fulfillment, brother killing brother, taking it out on the rest of the world for his elder brother turning his back on him, and Dean followed the same damn script Cain did, throwing his brother's choices out the window if keeps the emptiness and loss and fear from pulling him under, with the Devil breathing down his neck.

Dean fights it, sure. But he can feel the Archangel even from here, timeless and alien and patient in his need to hurry this whole affair along. And he can hear Lucifer inside Sam's blood and skin, not just an echo but a thin trickle of ringing noise, like an estuary leading to an ocean, strings leading down and down and down into a Hell. And Dean's been hopping in and out of downstairs, but also avoiding even since one close call, because the closer he got to rock bottom, the closer he got to the Morningstar, and when he did, the Mark burns on his arm, made him collapse to his knees, made him almost a hypnotised thing beholden to Lucifer's damn whim, before Dean got ahold of himself and hightailed it out of there and smoked back into his ditched corpse after he tried to throw Sam off his trail before Crowley gave him away. The grace, even as an echo, is powerful. Old and raw and endless. The power draws Dean in like a bug to a flame, except he knows it's going to burn him out if he gets too close. There's a compulsion there, too.

But most of all, louder than anything else, Dean can hear Sam's heartbeat now.

It's a bit fast, all things considered. Thudthudthud, in triplicate. Like a too-fast waltz with some of the steps removed.

Dean knows Sam can sense him, too. There's a link there, lighting up between their minds, brushing up against their awareness now that Dean's jumped off the deep end and gone hurtling to the other side. Sam's soul and mind is bright, and burns like a too-hot lightbulb against his smoky, writhing soul. It hurts, and Dean can't look at him head on for long, Sam's essence blinding to look at even before he enters the room. And Dean feels all the dead coils between them, all the tendrils that could burn him to a crisp and spit him out if Sam just let loose, let himself reach out and pull, to tug Dean out of his own meatsuit. But he doesn't. Because it's Sam. Gentle, hapless, desperate Sam, fighting a war he hasn't won, that they both know he's losing. Sure, Sam has tried to kill and starve that part of himself out, tried to fry Lucifer out of his skin as much as he can with the trials and Castiel's help, to scoop all that residual grace out from all the times Satan tried to ride him or played with his soul, leaving all that scar-tissue behind. Demons can see that easily. All the things Sam tried to leave behind.

But Sam was made to rule them, made to house the one whose corruption turned every demon into what he wanted, who made them everything they are even when he wasn't doing the turning. Sam might have missed the train on purpose, but it doesn't change all the things he can't control.

If Dean were human, he'd feel betrayed, that Sam's kept all these ties to the freaky shit they hunt and never said anything about it.

Right now, Dean doesn't care. It's inconvenient. As it stands, he's also a quarter bored and half-annoyed. He doesn't want Sam rooting around in his head, trying to find ways to order him around. Sam could do that, if he drank Dean's blood, and reactivated all the latent things inside himself. He won't do it unless he sees no other options, or if Dean falls prey to the traitorous whispers inside his head, lacing up his arm.

_Give him back to me, Dean. Bring him on down, and then we can all be one big, happy family, the way we all tried to be once. He can't ruin your fun when I'm keeping his attention. Wouldn't that be nice? Maybe I'd even let you join in, if you're good. And then we can go gallivanting around the world together, killing everyone who dares draw breathe. And when we're finished, it will be just the four of us. You, me, Sammy, and your pet angel. Seems fitting, after all the shit you all pulled to try and stop me. That, and I like to think we've grown close, after all our time together, even if you still personally disgust me. But Sam has only ever wanted you alive, and you'll turn into the angriest little soldier, more defiled than little brother- Michael would be scandalized, if he could see you now. Isn't that nice? Isn't that funny? Sam's more angelic than human, after all I've done, after all I'll do once I'm through with him, and you... Well, you'll make a good replacement for all my generals. You two did kill them. And while I would mop them up when I was done, I wasn't quite finished with my war when you so rudely left me without their two-weeks notice._

Yeah. Dean needs him to shut up. Tequila and fucking some broad with daddy issues hasn't even helped at all. Particularly when part of him just wants to roll over, with all the bloodlust boiling under his skin. He needs to stab something. To make everyone else hurt...

That, and there's the fact he's being pulled in two different directions. One, where Sam keeps trying to drag him back to himself, to who he was, through sheer force of will and Sam's loving mind alone, which is impressive, considering he's barely scratching the surface of their link and trying to be as gentle and non-invasive about it as possible (although whether that's to keep distance from Lucifer's influence, Dean's only half-sure: it could go either way, although based on how desperate Sam is, he's betting it's all just because he loves Dean, in all his sickness, in all his broken ways, and wants to bring back humanity that Dean doesn't want back at all). The other direction is all force, a riptide where the Devil is purring in his ear from the deepest dredges of Hell, laughing at his newest shiny toy, goading Dean with the irresistible feeling of wanting to rip Sam open, to break his ribs and peel off his skin and string him up on a rack nice and slow to punish him before Dean sends him on downstairs, to gift-package Sam up before passing him along to who he belongs to. Normally, Lucifer would say Sam's off limits, but considering Sam's betrayal, the way he clings to Dean, Lucifer considers it a lesson Sam needs teaching: that Dean's never really been too gentle with him, and would rip him up just as easily, given the right opportunity. It's not like he's held back, even if his methods before were limited and human, but Sam should know that love by now is violent and possessive and the people who love him most only want to hurt him to fix all the broken kindness inside of him, the care for others over himself that will only get him hurt. Lucifer doesn't want to stamp it out entirely: he just wants to redirect to himself, where it belongs. Then again, both him and Castiel were broken that way. The two of them could cling to each other in their gentle, directionless morality while Lucifer and Dean called the shots on their respective soulmates. Shows their roles, really, even if Dean was not one for taking initiative. Lucifer didn't even have to guess that much, even if it's not something he'd want to be privy to, but Dean's mind is an open book, and any weapon in his head is fair game. And anything that makes Dean fall is another way Lucifer can break Sam, and with enough of a push, maybe he'd finally give in, this time, and accept what Lucifer's been trying to get him to see ever since the beginning.

That there is no getting away. None of them are getting off scot free. Not after all the things they've done to waylay his plans personally. And not after Sam promised Lucifer forever. Lucifer intended to keep that vow, no matter the cost.

And if using Dean is the way in, well... Lucifer can't complain. Not really. It's gratifying, having him under his thumb, even if he isn't fully along yet. Serves him fucking right, for taking Sam away in the first place, for ruining their future...

But that's not the greatest weapon in Lucifer's toolbox. No. Most of all, Dean remembers how his fingers itched, how they still do, and how right it felt to throw other people on the rack in the endless screams of Hell, and half of his willpower is focused on keeping himself from lunging out of his chair and reliving that all over again. Demons aren't known for willpower. For restraint. For not taking exactly what they want. And Dean wants the blood to run over his fingers, and for Sam to scream, to topple and stop following him like love has ever solved anything- 

Love has never spared Sam anything. Dean doesn't know how he still believes in it. Even when love let Sam break through, let him spare Dean's life and throw the Devil down, when he loved him, too-

All love did was place Sam smack dab in the one place God had forsaken most, so very long ago.

Dean runs his hand along the wood of the piano, considers taking another swig of Jack Daniels, then refrains. He wants to bludgeon his little brother into the floorboards, wants to cave in Sammy's skull, his little brother too good for the world and too willfully stubborn to accept how things are supposed to be, wants to keep stabbing and kicking and punching and whipping Sam to death until his body is a bloody smear, and then move on to Castiel-

How dare he look for him. He tried to warn him. He told him to stay away.

But Sam never listens.

He just does what he wants anyway, and the human anger that got twisted up from when Sam left him to live his life, from all the other times after, makes the rage pool in Dean's gut.

And then Dean banishes it. All he wants to do is have a good time. Being so bound up with all these old feelings isn't fun. It just makes him shake and makes his mouth pant and makes him want to taste blood on his tongue, and it's like having a heroin addiction with the needle right there, only Lucifer's whispers are like when the dealer is giving you that too sharp-smirk that you know means you are gonna be their bitch the moment you take a hit...

And Dean doesn't want to be controlled. He just wants out.

That's the only way he's been fighting this so hard.

Being a demon doesn't mean he isn't still damn tired.

Lucifer doesn't let up. Dean wishes he still couldn't see what Sam saw in him, but with this line directly to the monster himself, he can see all too clearly.

Lucifer dangles your worst wants and needs and cravings on a string, and packages them in small doses, pretending what he's offering is all just your idea.

If he pulled this shit with Sam, Dean doesn't wonder why he didn't fall for it.

He's only been battling it out for a month, with the Devil not letting up.

Sam... Sam battled it for over a year, and when he said yes, he still said no, and took a swan dive down to the place Lucifer never wanted to fall again.

Dean, even as a demon, respects and fears that. Mostly fears.

Because if Sam was willing to take that plunge, for him, to keep him safe, when he loved Lucifer and Satan offered him the damn world on a platter, and now, if Sam thinks dragging Dean back is keeping him safe, now, too...

Then Dean is going to have a fight on his hands.

And this time, he knows, even with every advantage and dirty trick in his arsenal, this time, Sam really has nothing to lose. He'd be fighting for his life, with Dean and Lucifer on the same side.

And it terrifies Dean to the point he's almost confused. He hasn't felt fear with the Mark. It was just straight-up gone, like he never knew what fear felt like.

It's not like that. Not with Sam.

Sam beat the fucking Devil. He lost, but he beat him, too.

Lucifer keeps poking and prodding away, not bothered by Dean's attempts to ignore him. Dean's going to fall under the influence eventually. The Mark had it's own will, and Dean belonged to Lucifer now.

_I mean, sure, I get it. You want to keep your distance in case Sammy and Cassandra are spoilsports. Right there with you. But once you give Sam to me, and let me out... There's so many possibilities, Dean. And you don't have to tell me that little angel of yours isn't still appealing. I can smell all the things you want to do to him. Alastair taught you a bunch, but trust me, you haven't even scratched the surface... And you're my newest Knight. Think of it like initiation, or hazing, a way of brushing all our bad blood under the rug. It would almost be turnabout being fair play, don't you think? You, taking Sammy from me, only to give him back, and me, taking Cassie from you, only to hand him on over. Sam gets his brother back, new and improved, I get him, Cas gets you and gets to live, seeing as I can keep him alive and kicking, with his grace all down the tubes... Everyone gets what they want, this way. Besides, I know how much you miss my little brother- you'd be missing out, not taking the chance. It's not like I haven't heard Cassie scream- when he took Sam from me, oh, all the things we got up to.... Dean, I could give you so many ideas. And who says you have to kill him? Boring, right? Angels have killer stamina. Just think of all the things you could do-_

Dean tries ignore everything calling him down to Hell. Ignores the one thing tying him to this curse for as long as he can, can live his life as nihilistically and in as much perverted joy as possible, the biggest bully with no fear on the playground until the call became too much for him and he was whistling the Devil's tune.

Sam's been hesitating by the door for a while now. Like they both don't know he isn't going to walk right up to Dean, like he isn't right there-

Sam's courage is like a physical warmth flaring next to Dean, too close yet not far enough.

Sam takes a breath, and walks into the room.

“Hiya, Sam." Dean says, not looking up from the piano. Little brother never was one for taking a hint. That takes skill, really, seeing as Dean can scream the hint inside his brain directly right now. Oh, the places they'll go, except he really doesn't want to be near Sam's mind.

There's something primal and terrifying and older than him locked away inside there, and that, above all else aside from Sam's feeling of brotherly protection, which drowns out everything, makes Dean viscerally, animalistically afraid. The demon part of him knows when it's working against something innately stronger than him, and all he has to compensate are Sam's feelings and traumas Dean once pretended weren't there and now knew too much about to ignore and not capitalize on as his only winning strategy.

Dean plays a few notes on the piano to distract himself from his discomfort. He's better with music now, like Sam was when he got out of Hell. He's not sure if his newfound skill is a result of his brother's latent psychic bleed-over or if that's just another thing Lucifer is lording over him, too.

Somewhere, the tiniest, microscopic part of Dean that is still human, still fighting, still drowning before the Mark takes his worst impulses and drowns himself in his own shit, knows that both of them are fucking screwed. Just their luck, really, ending up like this...

Except this time, Dean knows it's his fault.

It's always been his fault. He made the deal to go to Hell, with all of it's siren song welling up inside him again, and he broke the first seal, and he brought Sam's soul back from Hell, took it from an angel with a twisted sense of romantic possessive bullshit, and he shoved an angel up inside Sam and took on the Mark to never feel out of control so he'd never feel like he'd have to pull that shit or feel as vulnerable as Sam was ever again, after Abaddon threatened to ride him like a fucking pony, and here they are.

It's all his fault.

The Mark burns, and tries to smooth that feeling of culpability away.

He's allowed to call the shots. He's the one who gets to mold the world how he wants.

He doesn't have to answer to anything.

You shouldn't have come.

**I would've caught up eventually. And I've turned my back on you enough.**

Yeah, well, this time, you should've stayed away. You never fucking listen.

Sam doesn't deign that with a response.

"Hey, Harv, why don't you go grab a smoke?" Dean suggests.

Harv reads the room and gets the Hell out of dodge.

\--

Dean places the First Blade on the piano, still not meeting Sam's gaze, although he still can see him out of the corner of his eye.

Sam doesn't quite move from the edge of the bar yet. He's nursing a broken arm in a sling, which is almost funny. Sure, Sam's pain tolerance is nothing to scoff at (something beautiful, really, think of all the ways you can work with that-), but the fact he thought he'd get the drop on Dean, like this, while emotionally compromised, and Dean has no reason to hold back, is pretty damn hilarious, actually.

Either that, or Sam is just as desperate as expected. 

That gives Dean the push to look Sam full on in the face.

The look back is something haunted and grasping, one where Sam knows this is going to end in a fight but where he's going to fight anyway-

There a worry lines all over his face, clenched jaw and deep bags under his eyes and the bruised, purpling line of someone living off of three hours of sleep or less a night all week-

All because Sam knows Lucifer and Crowley and Hell are taking back the distance that he'd been trying to stop growing between them, stealing one of two people Sam has left while the other one is barely clinging to life, and they weren't even trying for that.

Dean's doing half the work all on his own, between Gadreel and the Mark and now being not quite a stranger inside his own skin. Sam can see how the sulfur and twisting smoke lights Dean up from the inside, how his souls been pulsing with red light thanks to the Mark pumping in his veins.

He's always been able to see a demon's true face if he looks hard enough. Side effect of all the demon blood he took in. Helped when differentiating Ruby and Meg, but also just in scrapes.

Sam never told Dean about that either.

But he probably knows now.

He probably knows a lot of things Sam would have preferred to keep buried.

"Who winged you?” Dean asks, the light tone all too assessing. Like he'd catalog every tendon and bone. Like he would have preferred to be the one to do it.

“Does it matter?” Sam asks, barely tilting his head. Keeping still, ready to leap forwards and fight the only battle that's mattered ever since Dean died.

Even since everything tried to tear them apart again.

 _Gotta keep your eyes on the prize, Sammy,_ the echoes sing, and Sam stuffs all the Hell of his own making down, intrusive thoughts be damned.

“Not really." Dean replies, all too casual as he shakes his head. Then he turns all business, all warning. "I told you to let me go.”

Dean drags another shot of whiskey off the top of the piano. Doesn't drink, not at first. Let's the glass scrape along the wood, sending echoes of noise that reminds Sam of other memories, other echoes, ones too close to the way bone sounds when scraped raw and glass peels the skin off, piece by piece.

Sam sees he's not going to make a move yet, and closes in.

For all the ways his brother has been stolen from him, wanting to talk when something's on his mind, to unleash every feeling he pretends isn't under the surface-

That, in some ways, is exactly the same. Because the Mark didn't need to twist for that, to gain any purchase or foothold. All it is is using the worst of Dean's self against him, trying to drown his kindness and his compassion and the innately good part of himself he tries to cling to with all the brackish, poisoned waves of all the parts of himself he let himself off the hook for.

“You know I can't do that." Sam replies, voice low. Then he steps forward, one step at a time as Dean gives him a mocking, half-lidded glance, like he's holding the damn shotglass in a toast, but not quite. Like Sam's won a prize to reliving all his worst fears. Like Dean isn't living his worst nightmare without knowing it. Sam keeps his voice steady as he adds, "By the way, your, uh, pal Crowley," And Sam's mouth twists at the name- because Crowley didn't know trying to get Dean under his thumb meant he'd get Dean to twist into something worse than he can imagine, didn't mean he'd turn into a dog Lucifer would try to jerk around on a leash, because the lore and rumors never had all the information, and once Crowley realized his mistake, how Abbadon played him, there was nothing to be done- And Sam voice turns louder, higher, as the irony is not lost on him. "Sold you out.” Triple-crossed by their old triple crosser, because he didn't read the damn fine print.

That's funny, too. A lot of things are a real riot to Dean these days. That is, if he cared much. He mostly just nurses half a hang-over and stuff that is more than that, an itching, static-all-over, bugs skittering on your eyelids and lips kinda buzzing, where he just wants to bury the blade in and feel nothing but sweet, sweet relief.

Sam wonders if the Mark was a curse on it's own, or if it just took Lucifer's bitterness, his need to destroy, need to inflict pain, need to be right, and just manifested it outwards. Sam wonders if Lucifer stuffed it inside the a person to feel less alone, or to have them rip themselves apart from the inside out like he did, forever unsatisfied. If whatever Lucifer did to twist the first human into a demon became a curse all on it's own, blooming inside Lucifer's waves and wings of being, only to be sloughed off to his next unfortunate target as a full-blooded curse because he wanted everyone else to share in his misery.

Sam wonders why God made Lucifer that way, if maybe God's own accidental cruelty was something he didn't intend. Or perhaps it's true nature was something God didn't want Lucifer to forget. Maybe in the beginning, it hadn't meant to be a curse at all- if God's all knowing being corrupted anything not quite God, not quite enough, and if it gave partial omniscience and omnipresence, and if seeing yourself exactly for what you are is some kind of curse all on its own. Sam wonders if that's what it started as- if God gave Lucifer the Mark as some kind of test, as some kind of leap of faith, if he was trying to give Lucifer all the self-awareness and answers about himself and everything else he craved- and if that lack of foresight, if Lucifer's need to see himself clearly and then being unable to handle it at all, because who could, because who is like God, really- if that's what lead them down this road.

Or maybe Lucifer had always just been hungry and selfish and wanting, and wanted to give humanity something closer to him, some way to take control of them and make them into something useful to him.

Any of those things could be true.

\--

"Sounds like him." Dean answers, and quirks an eyebrow as he grabs the First Blade, sliding it off the piano and into his dominant hand as he rises, other hand still holding the empty shot-glass as he steps forward, walking closer, every movement one continuous, casual motion.

“Dean, hold on a second." Sam growls, holding up his hands, one pointing, as Sam keeps himself centered, keeps himself facing his brother. Like Sam can't see the motion for what it is, that Dean's readying for an actual fight, like he's not two second away from trying to beat Sam senseless for trying his patience. Sam continues, with more ragged, desperate emphasis, trying to find his brother inside the shell of himself, that part with only the worst left to thrive, "You don't have to do this. Look, we know how to cure demons. You remember that?” Sam stresses.

“Little Latin, lot of blood. It rings a bell!" Dean's murmur turns loud and rowdy as he walks past, shoulders hunched, and mid-sentence, he points with the shot-glass, a half-conciliatory gesture, aborting his need to attack for the next few minutes, and still not scared to show Sam his back. Completely opposite Sam in that way, with Sam unable to keep his eyes from facing forward. Always facing him.

It's Dean's turn to run away and leave, this time. Can't Sam see that? Can't he see he's being real damn reasonable about this, seeing as he's two seconds from bashing his skull in if he doesn't resist the pull?

Dean shouts louder now, voice carrying over his shoulder as he heads back to the bar, "But did you ever stop to think that if I wanted to be cured, I wouldn't have bailed?” Alcohol. That will help this shit-show. Always has. Even helps drown some of the coherence, even if the demon stamina means he isn't even winded or actually nursing a real hangover, only the barest imitation of one niggling in the back of his head. It made some of Crowley's and Lucifer's words turn all fuzzy, and probably stopped Dean from stabbing Crowley a few times, too. If Dean's gonna get through this conversation without Lucifer gaining more purchase, if he's not bailing on this joint because Sam won't let him get as far away as possible-

This is the only compromise. 

That, and it's not even sentiment, or nostalgia, or whatever. Sam's an actual threat, even if Dean being his brother and Sam not wanting to do damage plays out in Dean's favor. Sam's still got the grace and the blood and had never really burned all of Azazel's genetic engineering out, no matter how well the Trials came to almost flushing that clean. Sam's still got the real claim to Hell's throne, and that tickles the back of Dean's mind, too. The Mark might be beholden to Lucifer and Dean a knight almost initiated on his own, but it also binds him to Sam. Makes it hard for the last pale imitations of Dean's humanity not to latch on like a pitbull, clamp down and never let go, and drag Sam down with him, one way or another. Lucifer wants Sam and wants to be let out. Dean wants to kill and wants to ride out the aftershocks of all the power in his system, and to stop the compulsion eating at him, making him nauseous and hungry and dizzy. Sam wants to save his brother. To keep him. To be a family.

And Lucifer's not above twisting that, either.

_C'mon, Dean. Even if you kill him, I get him back, we all come out to play. Get to be one big happy family. Sam never leaves me or you again. How's that sound? Everyone wins!_

“That was Crowley.” Sam answers, gesturing, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to prove that Dean's still in there somewhere, with all his ripped up soul.

They both know it wasn't.

Sam can feel the truth.

He just doesn't want to acknowledge it out loud. Never does. Not when things are this bad.

Not when he knows he's close to actually losing everything, this time.

They both know that Dean left because the part of him that feels the pull of Hell is torn in two directions, and the part of him that doesn't want to be Lucifer's toy only knew it was staving off the inevitable, and the closer he was to Sam, the more likely it would hasten everything along, and not in his favor. The part of him that wants to be free to wreak as much havoc as possible can only put off the future with distance. It's harder to resist the pull of addiction and compulsion when you have the one thing you want to salivate over and tear apart and complete and total loss of control dangling right in front of your face.

And Sam brings that out in Dean. Always has, because part of him has always been helpless in the face of his brother.

That's why he had left, way back when, too. Because he can never say no once he's back with Dean right in front of his face.

And opposite that truth, they both know Dean really left because the demonic part of him only wants to make people hurt. Or he knew Sam would go hell for leather to claim him back, and Dean didn't want to be threatened with being set free.

Not when the Mark sings false freedom under his skin.

And if Sam wasn't going to take up the mantle of who he was supposed to be, to usurp Lucifer's place and take control of Dean that way, as a true ruler of Hell-

Then Sam was going to be too weak, too compromised, for Dean not to want to make Sam's memories of Hell reality again every time he's in the vicinity. Only this time, Dean would actually be torturing him and having a grand old time, instead of it being some twisted trick of Lucifer and the Cage.

“It really wasn't.” Dean insists, voice low and rumbling. He lunges over the bar and grabs the rest of a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself another shot to hold himself over.

Sam's patience grows as thin as Dean's, but he reigns himself in. Sniffs, taking a deep breath, arms dropping to his side. All slumped, all the fight desperately trying to be wrung out of himself, except it isn't because he doesn't dare hope otherwise, because it's just a temporary truce. Sam keeps walking forward, closer to his brother.

“It doesn't matter, all right?" Sam says, shaking his head. Voice low and soothing and calm, like he's actually keeping a lid on things. Dean can feel the tension there, though, the insistence of Sam's not letting go as Sam tries to use his own mind to pull Dean back, and not very successfully. "'Cause whatever went down, whatever happened, we will fix it.” Sam finishes with a vehemence, hands punctuating his words as he stands only a foot away.

**Dean, listen to me. Let me help you. You don't have to do this alone.**

It's too close.

“Will we?" Dean asks, having plastered a sneer to his face, mouth open wide with a glint of teeth as his nostrils flare. Dean gives Sam a once-over with a tilted head and narrow eyes. Dean continues, mouth twitching, "'Cause right now, I'm doing all I can not to come over there and rip your throat out..."

And Dean trails off, and all emotion drains from his face, only blank need to hurt staring back at Sam from Dean's empty eyes. Dean tacks on, "With my teeth."

Sam's nostrils flare and his throat bobs and he straightens, spine stiffening, and Dean would laugh at the sight if Sam's resolve didn't douse him in cold water and make him want to reach out and break every bone in his body. As if sheer force of will is enough to overcome everything, and as if Sam pretends he isn't nursing a gimp arm that he can take him.

Truth is, Dean is worried despite the clear advantage he has, and they both know it.

But none of that matters.

Everything is too claustrophobic, and acid boils in Dean's blood, and the hair on the back of his neck rises from too much power prickling over him from Sam, and from the Mark, and from deep inside himself, every grudge not yet let go choking him out and rising in his throat like bile.

 _Punish him._ Dean hears. _Bring him to his knees. Make him bleed._

He doesn't know if that's him, the Mark, of Lucifer, right now.

He doesn't really care.

Except Sam isn't scared of him.

He's scared of something far worse.

Dean covers the silence with more words, and he turns all fake conciliatory as he tacks on, "I'm giving you a chance, Sam. You should take it.” He sips more alcohol, the dry burn in his throat barely feeling like anything at all.

Things don't taste the same, when you're this far gone under the influence of the curse. Dean hasn't cleared enough lately, and it makes everything taste like dust and charcoal and rotted teeth against his gums.

Sam looks down, just for a second. Gathers himself. Soul trying to keep his heart from stuttering in his chest as it breaks all over again, from all the losses he's accrued, from all the trials he and Dean have been through, together-

There is anger there, too. From being used.

From being blamed.

From accepting the life so long as he was a unit with Dean and Cas and holding on to that family, to that one constant purpose, because Sam was dragged back in whether he wanted to or not, and this was what was left. This was the only thing he could rebuild out of the ashes of all his scattered, stolen dreams.

“I'm gonna have to pass.” Sam answers. 

**You don't get to walk away. Not like this. Not when it will destroy you, Dean. I've watched you destroy yourself enough. I'm going to fix it, you hear me? I'm going to help bring you back to yourself. Like you helped put me back together.**

That's a good one. Dean's soul murmurs. 

_It really is, Sammy._

Sam would ignore Lucifer. Should ignore him.

He doesn't.

**No one asked you.**

Lucifer laughs inside both their heads. He hasn't been able to sing inside Sam's head directly from the Cage ever since Sam took on the Trials, but between the Hellgate Abaddon temporarily propped open and Dean's proximity now, it's not hard to temporarily seep in. His grace is still there. Just needs a catalyst to make all those dead grace tendrils send over a signal, as grainy and imperfect as it is.

Dean sends over a line to drown the Devil out.

I don't think you're gonna pull it off. You aren't holding up too good. Haven't been for a while, if we're being honest. I'm not sure I ever did a bang up job with putting you back together, Sammy. Not since you got your soul back. Might as well let me go.

**No.**

Dean's brow furrows, and he huffs out a breath.

“Well, I'm not walking out that door with you." Dean shrugs his shoulders and smiles, without teeth now, as his voice turns deep and threatening. "I'm just not." He shifts in his seat, wriggling, as if this is one big joke, still half-smiling as he raises to glass back to his mouth.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Dean mocks. "Are you gonna kill me?”

They both know he won't.

Sam shakes his head, expression dead and stony.

“No.” Sam says his favorite word again, only blank purpose carved into his every limb. His eyebrows rise and fall, matter-of-fact. Because there's only one way this ends- and that's with getting Dean home, safe and sound and himself, no matter how much Sam has to drag his humanity back, kicking and screaming, like so many times he could never stop anyone else from falling off the brink.

Dean makes a face at him, baffled and still sneering. His eyes are too bright, too wide, pupils blown as he thinks of all the things he'd like to do. Anticipating the fight before it even starts, no matter how much he holds back. “Why? You don't know what I've done." Dean accuses, then turns playful, still holding every cell of himself all too still as he raises his chin, smiling again. "I might have it coming.”

Always willing to break the rules when it's someone you care about, right, Sammy?

**They're the same rules as always. People are only monsters when they choose their actions. And you aren't in control, Dean, no matter how much you think you are. You didn't know what you were getting yourself into. I'm not going to let you become a monster just because you didn't know what the fuck you were doing.**

Sam's head dips, and then he looks up again, walking closer and closer until he's only inches away. He can smell the blood and whiskey on Dean's breath.

“Well, I don't care. Because you are my brother." Sam insists, every word adamant and strong, "And I'm here to take you home.”

It's one loaded phrase. Inside Dean's and Sam's heads, Lucifer displeasure prickles, sharp and painful.

_You do that, Sammy. And you better save a seat for me._

Dean tries to ignore the need to jam the First Blade under Sam's tongue and succeeds, although it's a near thing.

“Hmm." Dean scoffs, then downs another shot, eye narrow and throat tight. His hand shakes a little, propped up on the bar table. "Ah!" Dean sets the glass down and smacks his lips together and says, chuckling as he imitates Sam's voice in a thin wheeze, "‘You're my brother, and I'm here to take you home.’" Then Dean's voice comes out too fast as he straightens from doubling over. "Yeah, what is this, a Lifetime movie? Huh? With your puppy-dog eyes?" Dean's voice succumbs to laughter again, although it's really joyless, this time.

**Dean, you are coming with me, and I'm going to set you free. This is not a fucking negotiation. You got us into this- and I'm getting us out. Sam's patience finally snaps, and his mental probing turns sharp, imbued with all the hurt and desperation and need to save Dean as much as possible.**

It always takes root. Sam's get enough magnetic pull to make a dent in Dean's resolve. Being the presence that Sam is... It's not easy to fight off, not completely.

Too bad Lucifer's hold is still stronger, and he's not letting go for anything.

_You're mine, Sam. Mine. And I'm not letting your brother go, either. Not when he'll bring me back to you, and right the wrongs he set loose the first time. Your both mine forever, now. Better start getting fucking used to it._

**Over my dead body.**

_That can be arranged._

Dean's voice turns ragged and when finally recovers, he adds, "Oh, thanks, Sammy. I needed that.” Like his mind hasn't been a battleground. Like he isn't being torn apart at the seams, stitch by stitch.

Sam is tired of playing this game. It's time to make a play and end this, one way or another. He takes the handcuffs out, every demonic binding sigil a physical weight shimmering and weighing down the air.

Dean's fist tightens over the shotglass.

“You really think those are gonna work?” Dean cajoles, still leaning by the bar. Hiding his nerves. Hiding how close he is to just completely fucking losing it.

Just let me go, Sam. Forget about me. Live your life like you always wanted. It's over. Dean tries, one last time. Because he knows he's about to give himself over... and once he does, there will be no holding back the tide.

**We both know I can't do that, Dean. And our lives are really over this time, if we don't see this through to the end.**

Sam can't let it get that far. He can't.

Sam shifts from foot to foot, both of them waiting for the actual calm to break, and give way to the fight they've both been dancing around.

“There's one way to find out.” Sam answers.

Dean straightens, every limb loose as he leans forwards, eyes tracking Sam's every movement. There's a throbbing, red and sticky, coating itself over his every feeling, the thudding of the Mark too hard to ignore anymore.

“Mm. I gotta better idea.” Dean hums, and breaks the whiskey glass on the bar. It shatters, and he cuts his palm the same second Sam slams into him. Dean rams the side of the first blade into Sam's temple to daze him, to buy himself time, and then jams an elbow into Sam's gut, winding him.

Sam gets one cuff over Dean's wrist, anyway. Pain barely fazes him, even if he's probably got a concussion for real, this time.

And Dean makes his last ditch effort and shoves himself in Sam's face, cutting his palm and smearing his own blood over Sam's mouth. Sam's head pulls back and slams into Dean's as he tries to ward him off, and Dean clenches his jaw, trying to get Sam to inhale, while Sam tries not to swallow, tries not to let it set off the faintest vestiges of Lucifer's grace inside him that Castiel nullified, even if the extra kick means he might be able to kick Dean's ass, because right now, he's going to drag his brother home, and he's going to do it the human way, if he can help it. The last thing they need is Lucifer distracting Sam and getting him off his game through his grace while Sam tries to keep his brother stable, or Dean dragging Sam to Hell to try and get Sam to take up the more demonic heritage Sam has long since cast out, as if Sam becoming more like Dean will stop him from trying to drag him back, as if that will save them from the Archangel trying to use them both to haul himself back out of prison again, just like he did the first time.

"You miss that, little brother?" Dean chuckles, choking Sam out to try and get him to open up. Sam struggles, holding his breath until the edges of his vision start to blur. He's used to being choked, but it never makes it any easier.

You want to take me home? How about I do you one better? We both go down to Hell, overthrow everyone else down there, and you take your damn medicine and turn into a demon, too. Then Lucifer will never have you, and we'll get to be together for all eternity, nothing tearing us apart again. That's been your home for thousands of years, Sam. I've heard you missed it. We can turn Cas, too, once he falls fully. He's barely hanging on by a thread. And then it will clear, smooth sailing, all the time. No more responsibilities for us. Just freedom for all eternity.

Except Sam knows it won't go down that way, and he's never letting Hell get it's hooks inside him again. It's a desperate, thrashing, last-ditch self-preservation effort, because Dean knows if he can't convince Sam, he's either being dragged back to humanity day by day, because Sam won't stop, or he kills Sam, gives in to the need to destroy him, and then Lucifer will have cemented his foothold, will have Dean in his pocket and Sam back with him in the Cage, and then it's only a matter of time before he busts out and makes him claim over the earth again.

It's a last desperate bid for power, because if Sam can take control, take his place down in Hell, then he'll get what he damn well wants. Sam will get time with his brother for eternity. And if he just takes it, just sucks the power in, then maybe he can keep a leash on Dean enough to keep Lucifer out.

Except Sam doesn't want to lose himself, too. Doesn't want to win this war with anything less than pure, absolute victory, with Dean dragged back above the surface with only his humanity left to cling to.

And Dean knows Sam won't take the middle road. So he lets go. Lets all the things he's been battling inside himself out, and hurts Sam nice and slow, like the most out of control parts of himself have wanted to for a while. Ever since he made him feel like Gadreel was something Dean did to him. Ever since Kevin, and all the vile feelings Dean didn't want to examine there came back. Ever since Purgatory. Ever since he sold his soul and languished in Hell.

Ever since Lucifer and everything that followed him.

Ever since Sam left the first time for Stanford.

For all the ways Dean has sworn off humanity, it's his human hurts, human feelings of helplessness, human feelings of powerlessness, human feelings of being hurt for hurting his brother and all the guilt that sucks him dry, that turn his pain into rage and hate and action.

Dean rams a knee into Sam's broken arm for good measure, to try and get him to cry out. 

Thing is, Sam's got a higher pain threshold than that, and he manages to slam Dean when his grip slips, thanks to the blood making his grip less solid.

Sam gets thrown to the floor, Dean is pummeling him into the ground, and the smallest drop of blood makes it's way down his throat, and Sam tries not to let the aching, scraping feeling of a thousand wings and rotten sulfur and liquid, tarry residue make his breath quicken as taste memory lights up his insides and Lucifer's power hums under his skin, reignited as Sam uses the small kick to throw Dean into the wall and hold him there.

 **So much for sobriety.** Sam's thoughts are disconnected. All that matters is winning, any way he can manage, now.

Dean smiles at him, beatific, even as he coughs and strains against Sam's pushing mind, the Mark surging and making his throat ache as it pulses and writhes under his skin.

"You gonna exorcise me, little brother? Throw in the towel and send me packing downstairs?" Dean laughs, an ugly, low sound, one hand still having half the handcuff locked over his wrist. Sam steps forwards and reaches out to the secure the other hand, but Dean struggles, slams his head into Sam's forehead, and his free hand pops Sam's collarbone with a push of his thumb, hard enough so bone peeks through. Sam flinches and sways, but doesn't fall or break his grip.

"No." Sam grits his teeth and grunts, "You are coming with me, Dean." 

"You're gonna have to make me." Dean rasps, trying to pull himself off the wall, the First Blade shaking in his hand as he readies it to gut Sam slow, to throw him off.

It's the moment of truth. Whether Dean will break free and beat Sam bloody and senseless until he dies, or if Sam can keep hold of Dean long enough 

Except a canister breaks the window, leaking tear gas as it slams Sam in the head, knocking him into a table. Concentration broken, Sam's power fades for just long enough, and Dean pulls away from the wall and lurches after Sam, trying to embed the knife in his arm, or leg, or chest. Doesn't mind dragging this out slow, now that Sam's struggling.

Sam wrenches out of the way and slides out of Dean's grip on his arm thanks to the blood making him slippery near his shoulder, and keeps coughing as he crawls out the door, wiping blood off his face with his sleeve.

Today wasn't going very well, all things considered.

\--

“Wow. It's really you.” Cole (that's his name, thanks to Sam's frantic thoughts as he keeps track of all the angles of the parking lot and tries to ward Dean off, not that Dean cares) says, stepping out from the alley as Sam and Dean make their way out of the building. Not wanting to be anything other than the center of attention.

Sam keeps hacking out his lungs.

Dean lets himself get distracted from his beatdown of his brother. He wants to maim someone. It doesn't necessarily have to be Sam at this exact moment, not when they are in half-a-stalemate and Sam's not able to rise to his feet to even reach the cuffs half-hitched to Dean's wrist. 

Sam's still doing a stellar job warding him off with a push from his mind so that Dean can't quite slam the blade downwards in an arc to stab Sam in the eye or further incapacitate him. Sam's a tough customer even when the demon blood is setting him on fire and lighting up Lucifer's grace so that Sam's barely there right now, mentally at war and still on his knees and bleeding and struggling to get up as he keep crawling away. Human biology really is a giant fucking weakness. Not that Dean's too bothered. His body is doing just fine.

So Dean will deal with the distraction.

It's not like Sam's going anywhere. Besides, Dean wants to take his time with him. One way, or another, Sam is going to break.

And he can't afford to have other people barging in, being annoying while he either kills Sam or tortures him into submission. He wants to savor seeing Sam give up, through exhaustion or death by torture.

Whichever comes first. Dean can't say he's too bothered by either idea.

The Mark is clawing at his arm, and the blood in his veins is singing.

That, and Lucifer is cheering inside their heads, egging Sam and Dean on, distracting Sam as much as he can, trying to get him to doubt reality again. It's not 100% working, but still points in Dean's favor.

_C'mon, Sam. You remember all your promises, right? Just let Dean take care of you now, let him give you back to me. All our bad blood can be left under the bridge. You know what you deserve, Sammy. Stop fighting us. We only want what's best for you._

**Eat me.**

_Well, I could have him cut out your heart. Remember that?_

**Dean, please, just hold on, please-**

Dean kicks Sam in the gut, and Sam spits blood, still holding his side, broken clavicle still bleeding and arm re-broken in its cast.

"You stay here, Sammy. I'm not done with you yet." Dean says under his breath. Sam glares at him, tilts his head, and throws Dean back with his mind, although it only makes him stumble a bit, and he catches himself on the car in the parking lot. 

Then Dean turns faces the man with the gun, whose out of the shadow of the alley, now. He probably thought Sam tripped Dean up, from the angle he's at.

“We met?” Dean asks, shifting his weight. Turns his attention to fresh meat, waiting for Sam to exhaust himself further. The more blood loss, the more Sam will be hard pressed to put up a fight. It isn't playing fair, but Dean doesn't intend to.

“Talked on the phone.” Cole clarifies, gun still raised.

Dean laughs and looks down at Sam, and then back up.

“Right. Right. You're the guy who's supposed to put a bullet in Sammy's brain." Dean's voice carries over the parking lot. Then he makes a face, head tilted, half-smile promising bloodshed, as if the absence of said bullet was almost a personal offence. If Cole had done it, Dean wouldn't have to be dealing with this earsplitting headache. So, in a way, his incompetence is Dean's problem. "Did you miss?” Dean shouts.

Sam crawls farther from the tear gas, not really registering his own gasping lungs as every part of him tries to ignore every ounce of old feeling threatening to pull him under as Dean engages Cole. His head swims from all the times it's been hit, all the blood pounding in his head. But none of that matters right now.

Sam needs to catch Dean by surprise. He has enough holy water. If he can just get Dean when he's otherwise occupied, while he's not focused on Sam, so Lucifer can't gain more purchase...

Dean and Cole keep talking, circling each other.

Dean's a shark in the water, playing with his food. And as little as Sam cares for Cole (between Lucifer in his head right now, and all the torture, all the threats of broken kneecaps and blowtorches and broken fingers and losing another limb, he's barely hanging on to remembering what life without pain was actually like), the fact remains Cole is still human, and in far over his head, and Dean's gonna tear him apart slow, because he wants to give Sam front row seats to all the tortures he's gonna do to him.

Dean voice carries, drifting over the tar road, all flat and without any mercy as he smiles. "I'm just saying he wasn't the first and he certainly wasn't the last. And they all just get kinda blended together." Dean holds out his arms, a what-can-you-do gesture meant to goad Cole into getting closer.

Should I peel his face off first, Sammy? Or should I focus on the ribcage? You must have other, more creative ideas, right?

**Dean-**

No, I'm serious. You've seen a lot. What would you say hurt the most?

**Dean, you don't fucking touch him-**

The compulsion doesn't stick fully. But it works well enough. Dean can hurt Cole but he's still pulling punches, still working around Sam's orders as best he can, still intending to mock and kill Cole as slow and drawn out as possible. Breaks a leg by dislocation, disarms the gun, dodges every blow Cole tries to land on him. Uses gravity to hurt Cole, lets him use his own momentum against himself to break his nose instead of landing the blow himself.

If he's going to find a way around Sam's mental influence, best to figure it out on a volunteer test subject. Dean pushes Sam mind with his own influence from the Mark, and uses the countermeasure of Lucifer singing under his own skin to send the memory of burning, of all his time on the rack with Alastair, over to Sam, to make Sam remember Hell, all while he tries to tear Cole apart in whatever ways he can manage.

"What did you think was gonna happen, huh? You just stroll up here and say 'my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,' And I'd just roll over? Well, that's just... It makes me sad." Dean says. The pressure on his mind relents slightly, Sam distracted, and Dean tries to push his advantage, still pushing Cole back.

Then Cole slashes his face, and Dean snarls as he throws his head back. The cut heals over, and the Mark surges under his skin, setting Dean free from most of Sam's not-so-subtle suggestions, and Dean grips Cole by the throat, pressing him into the car door. "You have no idea what you walked into here, do you? None." Dean growls, no longer playing. Dean pulls out the First Blade and presses it to Cole's throat, wanting to scrape the skin off his face, slow, but still struggling against the last of Sam's mental reserves of willpower trying to send him sprawling.

Except then Cole asks Dean to kill him, to get it over with, and Dean gets an idea.

Killing him might not be worth it, really, not if Sam's compulsion holds.

But he can still ruin his life. After all, he knows what ghosts haunt his family. Might as well spread the curse of unfinished business around.

Dean smiles at Cole and answers, "I guess I changed my mind."

Then knocks him out.

Guess you'll get your wish, Sammy. You get to be first in line down to Hell-

Holy water submerges Dean's face and drips down his body, soaking his clothes, as Sam levitates his canister of holy water over Dean's head, and then keeps crawling closer as Dean writhes.

And Sam catches Dean with the handcuffs as he body-tackles him to the ground, unbalancing Dean by pushing the backs of his knees in as the agony of the holy water keeps him from gaining the upper hand. It was a split second window.

But it worked.

“Stop! It’s over!” Sam snarls, hugging Dean with his free arm that's still in agony, but a manageable agony, broken and pulled out of place, Sam's own weight and the hexbags he's sewn into his jacket helping to hold Dean still. "It's over, Dean."

The First Blade skitters as Sam kicks it away from Dean's thrashing attempts to grapple it back.

Then Sam draws his summoning sigils with chalk around them using his mind, the taste of blood still making his mouth feel syrupy and warm. All he can smell is sulfur and sweat and rotting wood as his head aches.

Sam isn't worried about Crowley showing up. In this case, they're tentative allies, Sam cleaning up Crowley's damn mess, and Crowley knows better than to test Sam right now.

Sam could end him with a thought, and they both know it.

When Crowley shows, Sam doesn't let him help him to his feet. Sam just dusts himself off and allows Crowley to heals his broken collarbone for brownie points. Crowley would heal the broken and burnt arm if his self-preservation seemed to be on the line for that, too, but it's beyond his power, seeing as there's cursed burns under it, which is why Sam had been letting it heal the long way. Cas couldn't do shit to help even if he had enough grace, which Sam wouldn't allow him to spend, not for anything, not in his state, and neither could Sam heal it with any extra manipulation, and Crowley has already fucked up enough to try his luck further, seeing as Sam can still exorcise him on a whim right now, with all of Lucifer's remaining grace lighting him up all over again.

All of Crowley's "helpful" attempts don't count for shit, seeing as he got them in this mess trying to take Abaddon down, but it does make dragging Dean back to the Impala easier for Sam. Sam buckles Dean in the passenger seat, still bound, head hunched over, unable to look Sam in the eye.

Sam gets out and keeps hold of the First Blade, while Crowley waits, calculating their best bet to keep it out of Dean's hands. There's only one real option, but that doesn't mean Sam is happy about it.

“A pleasure doing business.” Crowley starts in, all hopeful, eyes lighting up as he sees Sam's reluctance to hand it over. 

Sam gives him the deadest, flattest look he can muster.

**Don't fucking push it.**

Crowley knows how much he fucked up. Knows what will happen if Sam decides to come after him now, and isn't eager to ease his own death along faster. He's not Sam's priority at the moment. Not when they're both team Anti-Lucifer and get Dean back to human.

And Sam doesn't have the patience for him right now. He'd rather kill him.

The only reason Crowley is alive is because their first priority now is getting Dean back to himself, and Sam needs all his allies against Dean and Lucifer he can get. The moment Dean is back to himself, Crowley is the first one on the chopping block.

Crowley knows it, too, but until Sam fixes Dean up, Crowley needs Sam and Cas more than they need him. Sam's the only other person with a viable link to Hell, and as long as he's holding the fort keeping Lucifer's crowd on the run, Crowley needs him. Helps to keep Hell under his thumb and prevent any more uprisings or to let the Princes of Hell get any ideas, trying to finish what Abaddon started. It's not foolproof- there's been whispers Dagon's stirring, along with Asmodeus, after leaving Crowley along- but they haven't made a move yet, and Ramiel is still as disinterested as ever. So Sam's still serving a purpose. Crowley needs him topside, just as insurance. Just like they need Crowley to keep the blade as far from all the other demons out there who would want to press it into Dean's hands.

And Sam can be patient and strategic about this. No need to jump the gun. He knows patience all too well- all he had was time, down in the Pit.

Sam presses his thumb into his palm, just out of habit.

Crowley notices, but says nothing.

“What are you gonna do with it?” Sam demands. The hollows of his jaw stick out, as does his pale skin, in the sun, and Sam looks more skeleton than man sometimes. 

“Toss it into a volcano, leave it on the Moon. I'll get creative." Crowley tries for appeasement, fidgeting as he holds Sam's unwavering gaze. "Believe me, I don't want Dean getting his hands on the precious any more than you do. Your brother knows I ratted. He tends to hold a grudge. I don't want to get... Boned.” Crowley smiles, all nervous, knowing his own joke falls flat.

Sam hands over the blade. But he keeps hold of it as Crowley takes the hilt, pulling Crowley closer by an inch as his anger hisses past his lips.

“This doesn't make us square. If I see you again…” Sam lets the threat hang.

Crowley gives Sam an unimpressed look, nerves making him want to lash out, just like he always does when off-balance and uncomfortable, with something more powerful than him staring him down. He doesn't like feeling small and young in front of a Winchester. It's not becoming. Not when he's the King now, and Sam's sworn the position off.

“Oh, stop it, Samantha. No one likes a t-"

Sam slams Crowley into the car, gripping his throat with his free hand, clenching his fist tighter and tighter.

"Call me by that name ever again, and I'll gut you where you stand." Sam snarls, getting in Crowley's face. 

**I’ll kill you for that, too. I mean it, Crowley. You better stay the fuck out of my way.**

Sam wishes he could end him. There are so many reasons Crowley needs to die.

But he might be needed, if Dean can't be cured.

If they can't get Lucifer's influence the fuck out of him...

Sam can't waste valuable resources, even if those resources need to deep fry in the deepest pits of Hell, too.

Because Crowley engineered this.

Crowley did this to Dean, and when this was over-

Sam is going to end him.

It's not a matter of if, or how.

It's only a matter of when.

_It's not good to keep your anger bottled up, Sammy. You know that._

Sam lets Crowley go like he's been burned.

And Crowley's knack for self-preservation overcomes his pride, and he zaps out of there like a flash, like he was never there.

Sam can still feel Dean's stare boring into him, just like it has been this whole entire time.

\--

Sam can still feel Dean's eyes on the back of his neck as they drive, sun going down as he rushes out of the parking lot.

“This thing is filthy.” Sam finally breaks the silence as he brushes a stray cup off the dashboard. His voice is a frazzled mess.

“It's just a car, Sam.” Dean replies, voice low. Like it's nothing. Like everything they've been through, with this car, with this being their home for so long, even with all the things Sam carries with him-

This car, with the green plastic army men, half-melted from the heat, still shoved in the small spaces, and stuttering legos jangling inside the vents, and their initials carved inside it-

How Sam found the strength to push Lucifer down, through every memory, every song they sang, every joke they shared, every fast food joint and hastily stowed beer cooler and every fond tap of the shoulder or prank gone awry-

Sam raises his eyebrows and dares to glance back, his anger and exhaustion like a physical burn inside his chest.

Like everything's being scooped out from inside him, slowly.

“’It's just a...car.’" Sam murmurs, then his voice can't quite stay level anymore as he adds, "Wow. You really have gone dark.” Sam lets out a thin scoff, as if it masks the pain.

It doesn't. And it's not hidden. It's just raw exhaustion at this point.

Sam's hanging by a thread.

“You have no idea.” Dean answers with a small smile, and then looks at Sam and out the window.

Except Dean knows Sam exactly how twisted he's become. Sam can feel all the parts of Dean that are battered and violent and hungry-

Sam still feels Lucifer wriggling beneath his own skin, every phantom breath and touch and whisper-

Just as he knows Dean's dealing with all the whispers of grace, too.

Sam glances back and then at the road, lip curling, and he keeps his voice low and level as he argues, even if he knows it won't change anything. He just wants to feel like his brother isn't a ghost slipping through his fingers, growing more insubstantial by the minute.

“You know what, Dean?" Sam argues, and wets his lips, "I saw what happened back there. You could have killed that guy, and you didn't." That makes Dean turn, and smile at Sam like he's done something adorable.

Sam hates it. It's a look that's too much like Lucifer.

"You took mercy on him.” Sam adds with more emphasis, voice a scratchy wisp as it rises from the hollows of his throat.

“You call that mercy?" Dean challenges, all the threat hanging there. Then he goes in for the kill. Sam can feel the tension there, the expectation, the need to make Sam hurt-

But he pretends at being fine. He's good at that. And every word Dean utters keeps him from being distant. From feeling like he's gone already, even if the words are all wrong.

Dean continues, "Imagine you spend your whole life hunting down the guy that knifed your father." Dean pauses. Expectant.

Or hey, lets try for Mom. That make this example more true to life for you, Sammy?

Dean finds his stride, the words becoming more pointed, harsher and colder and with even more mirthless laughter hidden in the wings. "When you finally find him... He whips you like a dog." Dean shakes his head, back and forth, like a dog tearing a scrap to pieces, just to rub it in.

Oh, wait. That was us. Remember Azazel, Sammy? He got us good. Real good, riding around in Dad's skin. And when push came to shove, you choked. And we got in this same car, and then we crashed and burned. And then I died. And that's on you, Sam. The demons got us, and I died, and Dad traded himself for me and that's what set this whole thing off? Remember, Sammy? It all starts with you. You brought all this to our doorstep. I've got you to thank, for my own deal, because you couldn't take care of yourself. Were too pussy to pull the trigger and let yourself go . Isn't it something? And remind me again- what did it feel like, bleeding out in my arms, after Jake stabbed straight through your spine? Think we can recreate it, before I'm done with you? Because we're not done, Sam. Not by a longshot. Not if you refuse to let me go...

"How do you think that feels?" Dean posits, like the rhetorical question isn't all too close to home, even after all these years, because this has shaped their lives ever since, and there's some things you don't ever get over. Like Hell. Like the Devil. You just let time run it's course and try to get as far away as possible.

Dean sighs, because it's not about Cole, not at all, and his brow stays furrowed from the ghost of laughter on his lips, from the way all the rage still hasn't leeched out from under his skin. "That kid's gonna spend his whole life knowing that he had his shot and that he couldn't beat me. That ain't mercy. That's the worst thing I could have done to him."

That's what happened to me, Sam. You got Alastair for me. I never got him. You did. You beat the Devil. And look at me. It's like I never left Hell. How long do you think you can run, Sam? You've been running all your life, and you've never actually gotten away. Why not run to where you belong, or just throw the damn towel in already?

_You know, for once, your brother and I are in agreement. Funny, how these things have a way of working out._

In the rearview mirror, Sam can see shadows under the hollows of Dean's eyes, and the aftershave on his face glints blue, like the shadows of a Hell that clings to Sam wherever he goes.

"And what I'm gonna do to you, Sammy..." Dean pauses, voice heavy with promise, "Well, that ain't gonna be mercy, either.”

Sam grits his teeth, trying to drown Dean and Lucifer out.

You drove me away. If you didn't, I wouldn't have taken on the Mark. You didn't want to follow my lead, like always. So now the Devil is trying to call the shots, and it's all your fault. Again. You did this to me. You and your pride.  The only mercy you're gonna get is if Lucifer goes easy downstairs. And between you and me, Sammy, I don't think he will. He seems pretty fucking pissed. More than me, even, and that's impressive.  But let's not beat around the bush. You like being under the knife, Sam. You don't like making all the hard decisions. So you can either let me go, and we can wait Lucifer out, or you don't... And then I'll get out, Sam. You know I will. And I'll send you right back to him. And we both know you aren't over it. That you never will be, no matter how peppy and happy you pretend to be while I was human. You can't hide that shit, Sam. Not from me. Not like this. You're a King inside your bones, and we call all feel you. Just like we all feel Satan, even locked up in the Pit. You proud of yourself, Sam? Because you never could burn it all out. We've been tainted since day one. Only way out is to not play. You said that yourself. Well, here we are. And one option we've never tried is forsaking humanity entirely. It's not worth it, Sam.

_Amazing. Even as a demon, your brother's levels of deflection and blame for his own choices don't abate. I'd be offended on your behalf, really, if you weren't so pigheaded about everything._

If Dean wasn't compromised, he'd tell Lucifer to stuff it. As he is, he can't do shit. The Mark silences the thought, easily.

Sam just rallies himself and tries to float above it all. He has a plan. And he's so close to fixing this. All he needs is enough blood, and Latin that's familiar and rote on his tongue, and time, and for the universe to be on his side, just the once-

When they get to the Bunker, Sam chains Dean in the basement, and immediately rushes out to get the right amount of blood. Enough to silence all the things that made Dean's soul something ugly and cruel.

Cas is still halfway across the country, en route.

Sam should've pushed harder for Cas to stay. He knew he wasn't doing well, but didn't know the extent until recently, long after Cas had left.

But at the time, Cas had insisted, knowing just how weakened he was. He didn't want Sam to see him wasting away, even if they promised they were in this together.

He couldn't let Sam watch himself lose another friend.

Cas couldn't watch Sam's face, or stomach his concern, or love.

It was too painful to face, after everything they've overcome.

But Sam needs him now, as does Dean.

And when the Winchesters need him, Castiel will be there. 

You don't leave family behind.

\--

Sam descends into the basement with the cooler of blood, past the shelving units that serve as little cover and just before the edges of the warding keeping Dean under lock and key. There's a strange feeling of being off-balance and lightheaded pounding at the back of his skull, but the fact that Dean is at least contained and that they can fix this...

Sam suffers himself the hope, even as all his worst fears are nipping at his heels.

“Really?” Dean says, mouth curled in a half-sneer. His face looks too pale in the harsh light, pupils too wide and brows knit together as he slightly tilts his head, following Sam's every move.

Sam crinkles his nose. No showing weakness. Not when they are so close to finally ending this once and for all.

“For whatever it’s worth," Sam says, eyebrows rising and falling, tired resignation still balled up in his throat, only that isn't good enough, Dean can follow the bob of his throat and the set of Sam's heavy shoulders, so Sam turns it into a thin smile and sarcasm and he gives a quick roll of his eyes. "I got your blood type.”

Then Sam looks down at the blood, unpacking the syringe and everything else that's necessary to somehow turn Dean's twisted soul back into whatever it used to be.

Dean rolls his head, neck cracking.

Sam pointedly doesn't look at him, even if he tracks him out of the corner of his eye.

“Sam, I know you think you’re gonna try and fix me, but … Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to be fixed?" Dean's low growl turns louder as Sam twists the cap off of the metal flask of holy oil, "Just let me go live my life." Then Dean's voice turns warmer, turns gentle, as he bargains, trying to pretend this isn't inevitable, that this is the only choice Sam has, as the monster that's risen up in his soul assures, "I won’t bother you." There's the smallest pause, and when Sam's expression doesn't change, Dean's mouth peels back into a grimace and he hisses with every bit of spitting hellfire he can rally, "What do you care?”

That hits its mark, and Sam turns despite knowing he shouldn't engage at all. But there's some things you don't let go unchallenged.

The love for his brother, the loyalty, the need to keep him safe- that is one of those things.

“What do I care?” Sam asks, eyes narrow as he shoots Dean a look. **You know exactly how much I care,** Sam thinks, and he knows the message is received.

Oh, sure. You care so much you just let me go, after Gadreel, after all the other times you've left. Real nice, Sam. Brother of the fucking year.

Sam swallows, but gives Dean a look that, of all things, is patient, is kind, but still disbelieving, because he knows Dean knows how far he's willing to go, and pretending otherwise won't stop this.

They hold each other's gaze for a moment, Sam thinking of the Impala and Dean's bloody, crumpled, bruised face, with Lucifer pulsing so bright and cold inside his chest cavity he thought he would crumble beneath the feeling.

Dean feels it, too, and Sam feels his mind even as all of Dean's power coils beneath his skin, pushing at the wall, feeling for a weakness he knows he won't find because if Sam is good at anything, it's the rank and file way of trapping and destroying the very monsters that tried to make him a puppet on a string. And still, Sam feels Dean's white-hot thoughts uncurling, pushing inside his head, the poke and prod of brands, and knives, and chains, and smoky laughter from a joy that only comes from so much pain your soul laughs instead of screaming because screaming is not enough.

Inside the basement, it is quiet.

Sam shifts on his feet and speckles the holy oil over the ground as he starts the process, rites and ceremony all part of the purification process.

“You think I’m just gonna sit here like Crowley?" Dean talks over Sam's whisper, but Sam keeps his head down and doesn't pay him any mind. "Getting all weepy while you shoot me up? Well, screw that. I don’t want this!” Dean's voice grows louder, sharper, the whites of his eyes too wide as he stares Sam down.

Sam nods, but barely looks back.

“Yeah, I pretty much figured that out.” 

The syringe feels heavy in Sam's palms, but his hands do not shake as he taps the airbubbles out and makes sure it's good to go.

“You don’t even know if this is gonna work, do you?" Dean accuses. The small space between them might as well be a chasm from the way he slings his words across, because he knows he won't get under Sam's skin easy, but like Hell he isn't going to try. "You know, I got a hell of a lot more running through me than just demon juice.”

“Mark of Cain, got it.” Sam's voice is flat, betraying no emotion at all.

Dean's eyes glitter as he gives Sam a look like he's found an opening, like Sam's refusal to play ball hasn't halted his plan in the slightest.

“That’s right.” Dean says.

You look cold. Is there a draft or is it just me?

Sam ignores the prodding taunts, and Lucifer laughing at Dean's every carefully placed barb meant to hurt as much as possible.

But he notes the uneasy way Dean's eyes flicker to the syringe despite himself, how he looks into Sam's eyes with a fear that he can't shake.

“Buckle up.” Sam warns, shuffling closer.

“Sammy…" Dean says, quieter now, and Sam stops right in front of his face. "You know I hate shots.”

Sam knows. He's seen Dean every time they've had to inject something in him, even when he was eight and cried in the side of the car while Sam clutched the first-aid kit in his hand and John patched Dean up from whatever secret had hurt them in the woods after they'd pulled over on the side of the road, and kept Sam locked in the backseat. Dean didn't cry much after that, courtesy of John demanding Dean not show weakness that didn't exist, but Sam keeps the memory in mind, because that's the soul he's after. Not the one drowning too much in Hell to ever crawl his way out.

There's a beat as Sam tilts his head, and swallows, thinking of everything that dragged his brother down, and every monster that tried to mold him into what they wanted him to be, thinking of everything Abaddon or Alastair or Azazel or Meg or Ruby or Lilith or Brady or Crowley ever did to him and to Dean and to Bobby and everyone they've ever tried to save, and of all the ways Hell had tried to make them into something unkind, of all the ways they invaded Sam's body and his mind and made him unclean. And how Sam had followed, so blindly, picking the path they laid out as they brought Lucifer closer and closer with every passing day until Sam realized the truth, and then everything was all wrong and Sam tried to hold on to everything he's ever loved without being washed out to sea.

Sam thinks of Hellhounds dragging his brother to Hell, and of Lilith, laughing, and tastes Lucifer curled around his soul and promising horrible, beautiful, everlasting things if Sam just let him have his way, because there was only one choice, and no more running away.

Sam thinks of drinking blood, and the heat in his mouth, and trying to bring his brother back, and tries to feel like he hasn't lost Dean all over again for the rest of forever.

Sam's mouth twitches.

“I hate demons.” Sam answers, advancing. (It all came back to them, to the beginning, and how everything went wrong.)

Dean snarls, and tries to bite him, but Sam throws the holy water in his eyes to throw him off. Routine stuff, keeping demons tethered.

The syringe slides in Dean's arm easy enough, and if Sam pushes the blood down with more force, it's only because he can't let any sign of weakness show through, because somewhere, his brother is in there, and he's gonna raise him up and out of the sulfur clutching and branding his soul.

Dean growls and flinches, sweat and holy water dripping down his face.

Sam inhales, stepping back slow, although his voice gets rougher and louder, still catching in his throat. “Look, we got a whole bunch more of these to go. You could make it a lot easier on yourself.”

Dean's head tilts up slow, eyes still hooded and chest still heaving slightly from the strain.

Then Dean's gaze flicks down, and back up, and his mouth freezes in a flinching, open-mouthed, silent scream of pain, new convulsions racking his limbs, until he's gagging and screaming something infernal all over again.

Sam hears bones click as Dean flexes in his chains, and the monster of a curse buried in what was once Dean's soul and long since turned to smoke and ash and pain screams out from his lungs and roars with all the secret torments of Hell Sam doesn't wish on anyone save the one who made Hell his kingdom, anyway.

Eventually, it passes, and Sam digs in the syringe in again, and again, and once more, three minute intervals on the dot once the shakes pass the most. The twitches and shakes grow less violent as time passes, although that might be Dean getting worn out and unable to pull against the bindings.

Sam knows it's not a new angle, not entirely. Dean can't hide from him, not like this-

And Sam knows that, for all his hopes, this is still a gamble. But it's the only one he has.

And he knows... Knows Dean doesn't want to be this.

Although... Deep, deep in Sam's brainstem, if it's between keeping Dean alive as a demon, or killing him... Sam's not sure of his answer. But there's more at stake, so Sam's stops thinking about it where Lucifer or Dean can pick that up, even though they all know the stakes already.

"For all you know, you could be killing me." Dean finally rasps, chest heaving at every breath.

He doesn't meet Sam's eyes, either.

"Or …" Sam turns away to clutch another syringe, voice low, because it doesn't matter if this is a trick, because Lucifer and Dean will use the weakness they know is all there, anyway, and Sam can't give more ground, he can't- "You’re just messing with me. Either way, the lore doesn’t say anything about exceptions to the cure."

Sam sits at the table across from his brother, rests the only way he can when all he feels like is another Cage waiting to press into his back and hands to drag him back down to something that's not quite oblivion. 

“Ha. The lore." Dean chuckles, and his mouth twitches in a way it never did when he was human, skin stretched too tight, sneer too false, as he tosses his head. "Hunters. Men of Letters. What a load of crap it all is!" Dean shouts, and then he gives Sam a speculative look, like he's waiting for a rejoinder.

Sam doesn't bite, and Dean's eyes smile in a way so pitiless it almost is like Azazel, when he was playing with his food, and in all the the worst betrayals of having Dean stolen from him, that might be the worst of this, aside from Lucifer still singing away through the link between them.

_Sam, we both know you won't risk Dean. Why are you fighting a battle you know is one you've already lost?_

"Oh, you got nothing?" Dean challenges.

Sam blinks and sighs, every part of his body overcome with a deep seated ache in every joint and behind his eyelids.

"You want me to debate you?" Sam sighs, and then the edge of frustration bleeds through, ugly and not yet ready to give up, but weary enough already. "This isn’t even the real you I’m talking to."

"Oh, it’s the real me, all right."

Sam gives Dean a pitying look, one he'd give the real Dean, and grinds his teeth, trying not to give in to the impulse to laugh hysterically.

Dean keeps talking, slow, soft, like he's being reasonable, and it's all Lucifer all over again. "The new real me— the me that sees things for what they really are. Winchesters. Do-gooders. Fighting the natural order."

Sam swallows, and glances at the wall, as Lucifer's grace rings with something wordless, something ancient, something wanting, and pretends it isn't the same thing Sam's been running from from the start.

Only this time, Dean isn't there to help pull him along.

No, this time, he's got to pull himself free, and drag Dean along with him, whatever that may bring.

Dean notes Sam's wandering gaze, and his words grow harsher, louder, "Let me tell you something—guys like me, we are the natural order. It’s the way it was set up."

_You've always been helpless, Sammy. Always. But that isn't a bad thing. Just give up, give in, and I can offer you the world again. I can give you back your brother._

Sam's heard that song and dance before. He didn't believe it then, and he doesn't believe it now.

But damn, it all stings, ugly and bruised, on the inside of his mouth and pressing against his sternum. It hurts, hearing Lucifer's philosophy coming out of Dean's mouth.

Sam manages to answer, "Guys like me..." And Sam swallows, the words catching despite it all, for all the whispers of hell and the screams and memories forced out from his throat coming to claim him all at once, "Still got to do what we can."

"Don’t be so full of yourself, Sammy." Dean warns, head tilting. "‘Cause, see, from where I’m sitting … There ain’t much difference from what I turned into to what you already are."

And there it is. Dean as a human already knew how to land a hit, knew exactly which buttons to push. All that being a demon has done is remove the filter and find the best place to push down to re-open wounds Sam is used to pretending don't exist.

Sam expected this, though. Lucifer resorted to a lot of tactics with Dean slinging his disappointment in Sam in the background, as ambient noise on some days when some kinds of torture weren't enough.

If Sam's voice comes out too quick, too angry, a challenge, it's not for lack of trying, although his voice is still low. Still not rising to the bait, although Sam has a feeling he knows right where this is headed. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"I know what you did when you went looking for me." Dean cuts off each syllable, staring Sam down with wide, guileless eyes, because the truth breaks Sam more than lies, more often than not. Dean's voice hums, his brow furrowed, lips pushed together just so to give that mild edge of disappointment that's always been angry and broken and not soft, not blank, not like this, when Dean's human face wore it. "I know how far you went." Dean adds, voice too light. "Crowley told me all about it. So let me ask you …" Dean pauses, and leans forward as he notes the tic in Sam's jaw, the way he shifts whenever he's caught in a trap he pretends isn't there, and asks, all smiles hidden in the hollows of his cheekbones, "Which one of us is really a monster? Hmm?" Then Dean's expression smooths out, and turns into something condemning, into something that hunts the worst things of the world down to bring them torment greater than his own, "Starting to come back to you now?"

_This is your birthright, Sam. This is who you are. This is what you've always been. And no matter what you do, you know how this ends. You've always known the last words at the end of the book. Everything will belong to me, just like you always have, and it doesn't have to be taken away ever again. Just let go, let yourself accept what has always belonged to you, what has always been inside you, and let me take all that you are. It can be over, Sam. It can finally end. Don't you want to rest, baby? You've fought the good fight for so long..._

Dean's words wash over him, not "You would have liked to have gotten there before the deal went down, but you didn’t really care about poor ol’ Lester, did you? Oh, and so you know, I killed Lester myself. And that wife of his married the tattooed guy."

Sam's hand slams on the table. He shouldn't lose his cool.

But people died, because of him. It wasn't intentional. It wasn't calculated, or the same, he was supposed to get there in time to stop it-

Sam is used to fighting on a rigged chessboard. Sam's used to having to make hard calls, and torturing demons is all in another days work, something that Sam might compartmentalize but that still comes too easy, some days, when the worst of Lucifer hums under his skin and whispers through the cracks.

As for the rest...

It's not right, sure. But Sam had already lost Dean forever once- already gave up looking for him and it had been eating him alive, and he's not able to live through that again, he can't- and Dean, Sam, and the ghost of the Devil's memory all know it.

Sam has already lived a mere fraction of forever. He can't save everyone.

And if it's between Dean, and the world...

Once, Sam might have chosen differently...

Now...

Now, Sam has to pick up the pieces best he can.

And there's no use living topside, if Sam can't have Dean back with him. Dean brought him back- and aside from Cas, and maybe Jody's folks, Sam doesn't have much else to live for.

"I never meant—" Sam rises to the bait and defends the action anyway, because intentions matter, even if it doesn't stop him from having to clean up the fallout-

But his hands are already stained with so much blood, so many mistakes, that it's hard not to feel like it's another grain of sand in a desert of too many other consequences that Sam chained together, one after the other. Sam messed up, and Sam can't fix this one, but they all know he's bound for Hell, anyway. He'll be paying his dues in the end, no matter the cost.

And he would trade his soul for Dean's, easy, because no one else would take it except the one thing ready to keep him close forever.

_Sam. Sam, I know you are so tired. You've paid so many dues. And you know I'll wash you clean. I have always lifted you up, above all the rest, because you belong here, at my side. Your sins are a mercy, righting the wrongs you've tried to shield the world from. As for the humans, and the demons, and the rest- you know they deserved it. You know they had it coming, no matter what you did. They always deserved it, Sam. The only guilt you should be feeling is your condemnation of yourself... But I'm proud of you, Sammy. So, so proud. No matter how much you run, nothing will ever change that._

Dean's voice gets louder and louder, and Sam finds he'd rather drown his thoughts in his brother's condemnation, in a demon's twisted self-righteous speech of yet another thing Sam has let Dean down with, than the other whispers Lucifer is so softly kneading through his skull.

"Who cares what you meant?" Dean challenges. "That line that we thought was so clear between us and the things that we hunted, ain’t so clear is it?"

Sam still can't look at his brother, through, as he fills the next syringe with blood. He feels scraped from the inside-out, and his mouth snarls without him realizing as he tries to hold himself back from being something ancient and tired and burning from deep, deep in the pit, older and more ruthless than Dean will ever know.

"Wow. You might actually be worse than me! I mean, you took a guy at his lowest, used him, and it cost him his life and his soul." Dean's voice is a low rumble in his chest, his eyes too bright, too wide, too bloodthirsty in ways Sam doesn't want to recognize, a smile lighting up the sheen of his face, skin too thin to hide the flayed soul underneath. "Nice work."

The needle jabs into Dean's neck.

Sam doesn't flinch when Dean screams, or when his head tosses back, or when the glint of teeth snaps too tight and Sam worries Dean might accidentally bite off his own tongue.

This isn't his brother.

This is just what the world, what Lucifer, what Purgatory and Hell had tried to turn him into, and Sam is not backing down until he's got the real Dean, the Dean who fought back anyway and kept hanging on to humanity by the skin of his teeth, back with him. The real Dean, who could hold a grudge but who told shit jokes and had weird taste in pizza and who liked licorice and vintage rock and milkshakes and greasy burgers and who drove too fast on freeways and who took too long in the shower and who always picked the motel bed with the most pillows if he didn't steal Sam's to start with-

The real Dean who knows how to stop Sam from being sucked into a vortex of light and sound and fury and love- so bright, so constant, so cold and harsh and inescapable- that has swallowed Sam and held him down for too long.

The real Dean who deserved to be happy, to be human, who believed in people, who fought the good fight just because it was right-

That's one half of all that Sam can believe in anymore, and the other half is still on his way, even if Cas is drowning slowly in a human kind of slow-death that Sam still can't pretend is real.

They might all be fading away, but every star goes out in an explosion of light and fire and fury, and Sam hopes, that when the debris clears, they are calm and safe and themselves again, in all the fragile ways they've always been, in all the carefully-cultivated habits they've tried to keep routine as the world tried to rip every thread of human freedom away from them.

But Sam still throws the needle away from himself as far as he can. Disgust and unease lighting up his every nerve, along with the ghost memory of Dean's blood on his tongue.

He can taste Hell from here, the screams of all the souls down there haunting the edges of the shadows when he sleeps.

When Dean goes quiet and looks up again (Sam can feel it, the gaze on the back of his neck, burning like all of Hell, even as he pointedly looks away), and he hears the creak of the chair as Dean recoils against his bonds and as his head cracks back to take in more air, just to make Sam think of all the times Dean has almost been lost, and Dean's voice is strained, and his throat hacks up the words like the air has trouble whooshing through his lungs.

"Let me ask you this, Sammy: If this doesn’t work," Dean gasps, "We both know what you got to do to me, right?"

Sam starts walking, keeping the tears back, keeping the whispers from tearing apart his mind and flaying his heart and soul into what it wants him to be.

"You got the stomach for that, Sam?" Dean yells.

Sam leaves, holding the tears back, tasting sunlight and blood and death and sulfur.

He can't look at Dean. Not right now.

\--

"Sam?" Castiel's voice is the one tether keeping Sam upright, and it's gentle, not condemning, not ready to parse the shrill notes of Sam's physical tells to rip Sam to shreds all over again.

"Cas. Hey, are you still coming?" Sam paces as he clutches the phone, trying to heave one uneven breath in after another until he can remember what it's like for his throat not to feel like it's closing and the walls not too feel like they are slanting inwards and caving in.

"I’m a few hours away. Is the treatment working?" Cas asks, quick and to the point.

"No, not very well." Sam murmurs, voice betraying all the shaky, raw edges of what he's trying to keep tamped down. "Look, it—it’s not like it was with Crowley. Dean is in pain. I mean, he’s in bad pain. It’s like he’s barely holding on. Cas…" And then Sam presses his lips together, chokes down a sob, but his voice breaks anyway, "I might be killing him."

"It might be." Cas sounds robotic and flat over the phone, although he's trying to keep calm, for Sam's sake, and doesn't blame Sam where Sam otherwise feels responsible, because it's his hands doing this, to Dean, no matter how much there isn't another option...

"So…" Sam flinches, blinks, shudders, "What? Should I stop?"

Sam can't let this keep going, but he can't kill Dean, he can't-

"And do what?" Castiel's voice gains a harder edge, more serious, because for all the ways his heart is breaking, he won't let Sam sacrifice himself for something Dean chose, however foolishly. "He’s not possessed. Exorcism is out of the question." Then Sam can hear him stop pacing, crickets and gusts of wind loud over the phone. When Cas finally speaks again, it is with resignation. "The ritual of purified blood is the only treatment I know."

All the crushing feelings of drowning come to claim Sam in one fell swoop.

"Cas, did you not hear what I just said?" Sam says, voice thick with every emotion he can't accept. "I could be killing my brother."

**And if I don't... If I don't, Lucifer's going to claim me again, like always, like he promised, and Dean will hand me right over to him-**

"Sam, he’s not your brother. At least, not now." Cas amends, because that's the only way he can handle the possibility of Dean being gone, because Dean did this to all of them, and Cas can't accept anything else. "You have to be prepared for—"

"Killing my brother." Sam closes his eyes, breathes out a thin half-gasp as his head back to the wall, and shuts that train of thought down, reiterating the complete lack of that being an option on the table, no matter how much he's been pretending out there, with Dean, (with Lucifer singing inside his head), just so Cas can hear how much Sam cannot live with that, despite all the fear come to house him and all the helplessness he can feel in every shiver and every twitch of his fingertips.

Lucifer may be running the show and Dean might be twisted into a new kind of monster that Sam doesn't want to handle, but at the end of the day, Dean is Dean, even as a demon, and Sam can't look at that face and see it all end.

Castiel's voice is one low promise, "I’ll be there as soon as I can."

"Yeah, all right." Sam's voice is a low mutter, but at least Sam has someone on his side now, and all he can do is keep busy and pray in the meantime. "I’ll, uh … I’ll leave the entry unlocked for you. Just … hurry."

_Oh, Sam, Sam, Sam. Whoever do you think you're fooling?_

Sam bites his lip and hangs up.

When he rounds the corner, Dean is slumped in the chair, and his heart stops only to burst out of his chest.

Sam rushes over to the chair and slaps Dean in the face, gripping his jaw.

Anything, anything to get a response...

There's the low buzz of sulfur and the taste of ash and a hazy tug of power where Sam's mind meets the drone of his brother's miasma of a soul, faint enough to worry but still present enough to prove that Dean's not dead.

At least... Not yet.

"Hey! Hey! DEAN! Come on!" Sam shakes his shoulder, pleading, "Come back."

"No." Dean groans.

Sam keeps hold of his shoulder, and keeps his gaze on his brother's own closed eyelids.

"Come back to me. You there?" Sam's voice turns sharp. "Hey! Dean, you okay?"

"Yeah, if you…" Dean inhales, voice still a low mumble, and if this is a new con, it's convincing enough to stick as he continues, "Consider drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils 'okay.'"

Dean coughs weakly. Sam can feel the pounding of his brother's head, the blood and all of it's web humming between them. (Sam can still taste it on his tongue, cloying and thick, but can't think about that now. He's been ruined and used, sure, but even as a demon, Dean needs him.)

"Look, I can’t stop doing this." Sam answers, frantic, desperate, the edge of real emotion burning through because for all the ways he's been trying to hold it together, there is one thing that will send him spiraling down, and that's Dean being gone forever, and Cas following right behind...

_You might have to, Bunk Buddy. It's not even a contest. Choose Dean, and choose me- or soon you'll have nothing left at all._

Sam slowly straightens, feeling Dean's thoughts snap outwards, a slow burning heat of his thoughts strained but brimming with new purpose, like embers scratching at the corners of his mind. There's a new angle to Dean's survival mechanisms, and that's making this as painful as possible.

"Sure you can. You just stop!" Dean shouts, voice still shot, like he's gargled tacks. Then Dean levels a look like his old self, helpless and self-loathing, and Sam can see the echo of his brother, his real brother, hidden in every manipulative tic of his Dean's face as he adds, "There’s no point in trying to bring your brother back now."

"Oh, I will bring him back." Sam vows, nostrils flaring, tone caustic now, because he's done being patience when he's being played and he's done showing weakness and he's done feeling like nothing will ever keep anyone- his brother, Cas, or himself- safe. (And deep down, he feels the welling up of real truths, not lies, from the grainy, noxious thing that is his brother's feral, broken soul, and that scares him more than anything, in all the ways his brother has never been able to be saved, because he's never saved himself, not when it matters, not when it counts... All of Dean's worst enemies are himself, his entitlement and self-hatred blinding him and keeps him from seeing the truth, from letting himself truly see where things had gone so wrong...)

"In fact, your uh… guilt-ridden, weight-of-the-world bro has been M.I.A. for quite some time now." Dean adds, baring his teeth, eyebrows rising when he realizes the pity party is over. "But I’m loving the new model: Lean, mean, Dean."

Dean flexes again, takes in another unnecessary drag of air, to fill up more space, and Sam shakes his head as if it will shake the unwanted promises out with all the washed up words his demon brother slings out, in all the ways he used to laugh at his own jokes and gravitated towards corny, well-worn puns.

_You could learn to love this new Dean too, if you tried hard enough. You are such a loving person, Sam. And maybe, maybe, if you're good, I can teach Dean to be your brother again, even as a demon. I could grant you that, Sammy. You don't have to lose him. All I ask is that you don't pretend that you're not missing your proverbial other half, and accept your place, with me, where you belong. You've already given me everything once, Sam, and I know you can do it again._

"Right." Sam growls, eyes narrowed, and he keeps his shoulders hunched, ready to spring into action when the next trap closes behind him.

Because that was all this was. A show of vulnerability so Sam trips his hand and shows his cards, just so Lucifer and Dean can shred them and worm their thoughts where they aren't wanted.

Sam turns to get the syringe again.

Dean just keeps talking.

"You notice I tried to get as far away from you as possible? Away from your whining, your complaining. I chose the King of Hell over you! Maybe I was just tired of babysitting you. Of always having to yank your lame ass out of the fire since…" Dean laughs as Sam turns to face him, unable to just listen to that come out of Dean's mouth, because it is too close to letting him down, too close to responsibilities Dean had always placed on Sam as a punishment for not wanting to be beholden to what he wants for him, and all the expectations thereof. "Forever. Or maybe…"

Dean notes the resistance, the fury brimming in Sam's brain, the same surety that let him walk away, and twists another knife instead.

"Maybe," Dean posits, "It was the fact that my mother would still be alive if it wasn’t for you."

And Sam looks away, can't look at the alien rage and contempt on Dean's face, on the scorn so often used in his nightmares and playing down in the Cage, a face that wasn't Dean's at all but still hurt all the same.

Dean's voice burns with all the promises of Hell, of all the weight that John put on him when he told him he was supposed to keep Sam in line, and the expectation he give up his life for Sam when Sam would never ask for him to take on that burden, that it wasn't his to bear in the first place, but that Dean internalized anyway. "That your very existence sucked the life out of my life!"

And Sam ignores the old, worn feeling of betrayal that still sits, poisonous, in the back of his mind, because he was made for Lucifer, for the throes of Hell, for all the tainted, ugly things that wanted to wriggle down and nest inside him, and that God had made him this way and Sam is still fighting, always fighting, to keep his head above water, treading in a sea that so often crashes over him in a riptide he can't escape.

"This isn’t my brother talking." Sam reminds himself as much as Dean, eyes still burning, mouth twisting in disgust, and in all the ways it still hurts as if Dean meant every word. **It's not Dean, it's not, it's just what Hell wants him to be, like Hell wanted you to be someone you are not, that you'll never be, no matter how hard they try to mold you into what they want.**

_Oh, but Sam, you have always been what I've wanted, no matter what you might believe._

Dean knows he's losing ground, and doesn't blink. He shouts, "You never had a brother! Just an excuse for not manning up. But guess what: I quit."

Sam takes in one breath, two, (and they aren't even, but they are enough to ground him back to earth again).

"No. No, you don’t." Sam hisses, pointing, stalking closer, rage and loss and every broken part of his soul radiating from every taut muscle in his face, and for once he lets the rage out because better that this mask wearing his brother hears it, better to let it out before it can wreak havoc on everything again, and because there are only so many reminders of being used that Sam can take. "You don’t get to quit. We-" And then Sam is shouting.

(Why, he doesn't rightly know, but he's never mourned himself or Lucifer half as much as he should, considering the thousands of years he keeps buried all the time, no matter what might haunt him in his dreams, and he's mourned his life too much where Dean's concerned, and all he can see is the large threads pulling him to this false brother Dean turned himself into and all the cobwebs of Hell reaching out to trap Sam in Lucifer's many webs, and all he can see is Jessica burning and once he would've mourned Stanford but it's been so long that once he climbed out, once he was saved, what he chose was Dean, and a life with his brother, and then Dean stuck an angel inside him, and then Dean never said sorry, and now Dean is gone and Sam still chose this life, for Dean, and he chose it for himself, and he wasn't getting to choose all over again, it was all being ripped away like it always is, because Lucifer never let Sam have anything for himself, not unless he owned every part of Sam and could keep it locked in his own kind of Cage, and Sam can't keep it together anymore, not with everything coming to a head and not with Dean staring him down like a stranger speaking all the words he'd once feared were true when there are worse things, now, because the worst thing Dean has ever done is stolen Sam's own mind from him and pretended it was a mercy, when that was all Sam had left to cling to, topside, once Lucifer took everything else away.)

"-Don't get to quit in this family!" Sam's voice shatters the feeling of the walls closing in on him, drowns out the laughter humming inside his head, and Sam shouts, throat raw, "This family is all we have ever had!"

"Well, then, we got nothin’." Dean taunts, neck twisting at an angle so it cranes, unnatural and enough to cause strain if Dean could feel pain properly at all, and Sam doesn't let him get another word in edgewise because that would just be giving him more ground to tear Sam apart from the inside out in all the ways he's trying to hold the line and keeps on failing, miserably.

"Would you say that to Dad?" Sam challenges. Distractions, anything, so long as it keeps Lucifer from worming his way deeper and the echo of him from conjuring himself at the corner's of Sam's eyes...

"Dad? Oh, there’s a prize. There’s a man who brainwashed us into wasting our lives fighting his losing battle!" Dean growls, and Sam takes the chance to grab the syringe and do what he has to, because as much as he can't lose Dean...

He didn't take the shot once, when Dad was on the floor, and he almost lost Dean then...

Would have lost Dean then... If not for John-

And Sam isn't losing him now.

"Oh. Ooh." Dean mocks, lurching in the chair, shaking his head like Sam is five and he's a child all over again. "Is this you manning up?"

Sam takes every ounce of the rage he's told himself he's never allowed to feel and lets it burn on his tongue, let's it light up every inhaled breath that feels too close, too tight, for being used, for being lied to, for being played with by people he thought he could trust who keep blaming him for their inability to fucking deal with the consequences of their own decisions-

(And like always, Sam isn't sure if that rage is directed at Dean, for taking on the Mark, for Gadreel, or at Lucifer, for all the ways he so thoroughly betrayed everything Sam ever felt that Sam still is scared to feel everything the Archangel promised him, wrapped inside his soul-)

_Sam-_

**I am not taking this lying down. You don't get to have me. You don't get to have Dean. You don't get to take away my family because you ruined yours and took ours away and poisoned everything I've ever believed in-**

"This is me yanking your lame ass out of the fire." Sam snarls, and he rams the syringe as far as it will go, in one fluid motion, with all the grace he's learned from tearing apart Archangels and shredding their wings. 

Dean winces and bows his head and can't look him in the eye, makes a noise like a dying animal-

But Sam has to trust this will work.

It has to.

Please...

"You’re welcome." Sam tacks on with a nod, still feeling the echo of hellfire in his veins and the ringing of glories under his tongue and the liquid taste of every piece of grace he's ever been forced to swallow.

Dean may have fallen as far as Sam did, once, but Sam wasn't going to let him become a pawn, a plaything, a possession of forces like Sam had been.

He might not let Dean die-

But he would try to salvage his dignity, his memory, the only way he has left.

Dean might be under the throes of a drug, an addiction Sam knows all too well can be too hard to break on his own.

But Sam wasn't going to leave him to rot.

He just has to keep his head up, and hang on to the only plan he has.

\--

"Sam, this isn't going to go how you want." Dean warns, shifting as Sam grabs his arm, stopping his head from tilting.

"Really?" Sam grits out, pumping another syringe in. Dean regards him with half-lidded eyes, suppressing a flinch. Just gives him a long, measured look, that lingers like a drag of a cigarette, a look that is all noxious poison hanging in the air.

"Yeah." Dean smiles at him. "See I know what you're really afraid of. You're worried that because I got this sucker on my arm that ol' Scratch is gonna start calling."

Sam tries not to go still, but his mouth twitches despite himself.

Dean observes. Sees every minute frisson of tension, every suppressed flinch Sam doesn't let himself give away. It's there, though, in every hollow movement of his throat.

"You think I can't hear him? Everything he left still singing in that blood of yours, no matter how much you burnt it out?"

 **Shut up.** Sam thinks, projecting despite himself.

Dean hears him and smiles wider.

You gonna make me, Sammy? Dean sends over, and it takes all of Sam's carefully honed instincts not to grab his brother by the throat, from how wrong every second feels, knowing his mind, feeling his twisted soul rooting around-

"Yeah. 'Bout that." Dean slurs, drawing each syllable out, his Devil-May-Care attitude not slipping once, "You're all worried Luci is seeing through the cracks, making me listen to his tripe like he did all his other Knights. Oh, I know all about it. Got front row seats to that expressway." Dean flexes in his chains, smile dropping from his face. "And boy, you should hear the rumor mill. Got a lot of chatter from everybody in Hell about your time down there. Old me would've been broken up pretty badly. Me now, well... Alastair knew his stuff, and I was better. But your old flame was on another level."

Sam goes very, very still.

**Shut. UP.**

"What, am I hitting too close to home?" Dean goads. Dean leans back in his chair, spreading his stance wider, still straining as Sam plunges the needle deeper, waiting for all the blood to inject. Dean suppresses a hiss, and licks his lips. "C'mon, Sam. You used to be so into giving the Devil a chance. Now that I'm seeing his side of things... I dunno, you did ask for this. That why you got so upset when I tried to let you live? Because you just wanted to shimmy on down and-"

Sam covers Dean's mouth with his palm, wrenching it closed as much as he can.

Dean bites him. Sam doesn't flinch.

Let him fucking eat his damn purified blood, burnt from the Trials, tainted by Lucifer's antithetical, dormant waves of Holy, Infernal Grace, from Sam's own hard-won humanity he'd never let go-

Sam isn't letting Dean win this.

He's going to have his brother back and he is going to guide him home.

And it's not like this is the worst price he's paid.

It's up there.

It's very high up there.

But it's not the Cage. Not Lucifer. Not the complete isolation Sam's been conditioned to fear.

This kind of alone...

Sam has been alone before. Even considering Jess, Sam's had the courage to face his life and strike out. You don't break for freedom for nothing.

Alone and lonely is manageable. Having a body, a mind, a consciousness: everything pales when the essence of yourself is left out naked and afraid, flayed alive by a creation not meant to hold you, every atom of your soul unprotected and on fire until the Morningstar deemed it fit to shield Sam from the Cage again-

But Sam isn't there.

Sam is free. Sam is himself, and himself only.

And his brother is alive-

And as long as he is alive, Sam has reason for hope.

Besides, Sam always vowed he'd free his brother, if his brother would let him, from John, from the life, from the things Dean made himself believe were all his life had to offer, and no temporary stint as a demon with impaired judgement was going to get in the way.

If this time, Sam has to draw his brother out, draw out the poison Dean had given himself-

Then Sam would do it.

He's done worse.

And detoxing Dean, bringing his soul back from the brink, rescuing from chains and bindings he is too blind see for what they are-

It's not possession. It's not overriding his will. It's not coercing false consent from his tongue.

It's taking someone overdosing on a drug, too strung out to realize what it's doing to them, and giving them the slow, languished path back to human, clawing it one second at a time.

It's not a basement or an untried detox. It's scientific method.

Sam had almost cured Crowley.

He had empirical evidence.

And if it went wrong...

Dean did not want this for himself, Sam knows that all too well. Sam would give him the fate he'd always swore for himself, and not let him become a monster he couldn't recognize in the mirror.

Sam wouldn't let his brother be a part of a machine, a machine Lucifer controlled, either.

He'd already broken one seal, unknowing. He didn't need to kick off the same set of events all over again, while not himself. While convinced of his own invincibility and autonomy.

Sam's not sure he could end it if it got that far.

But it's beyond that, now.

It's more than just self-preservation.

It's a defense of everything Sam and Dean and Cas have fought for since Sam threw himself in the Pit.

Sam was going to get his brother back.

And he'd challenge this twisted version of Dean, the one that would never break free of everything Sam's never been able to stomach about his own brother, this nihilistic, vile evil settled inside his brother, pretending...

There are no other options.

\--

Sam closes the door behind him, lets it slam, while Dean gasps and rides out the blood that makes he feel like he's burning up from the inside out.

All the while, Lucifer isn't quiet. Best to make as much noise as possible, seeing as there's a real chance this could work, and then he'll temporarily lose his leverage again.

_You know this isn't going to end well, Dean. But for once, we both want the same thing. So let's see how far we can get this to go, because whether you live or die, Sam's gonna be the one standing in our way._

\--

Sam goes to Dean's room- the first time since he checked it and Dean was gone- and tries to hold on to the memory of a brother who he hopes isn't too far gone to save.

There's still half of an uneaten cherry pie that Sam clears, and underneath, by the journals, are photos of their family. When Sam was young, or not yet alive, and Mary stares back at him, smiling. John and a young Dean do, too, and Bobby, and then there's picture after picture of Sam and Dean and some beers, and that, more than anything else, almost destroys every fragile pretend coping mechanism Sam has cobbled together.

In here, it's easier to break down.

Dean can't see him like this, and Sam lets the wave of grief hit him as hard as he can allow, because once he goes back down there...

There is no room for anything other than resolve.

That was the only thing that was going to get Dean back.

When Sam pulls himself together, he leaves the photos on the desk, but takes one, and puts it in the pocket of his flannel, close to the chest, close to the heart, where hopefully it will keep Sam from losing the only thing that's kept him around for a long time.

\--

There are more injections, more screaming, more sharp teeth trying to break skin, more pleading unholy wails that Sam tries to tune out along with Lucifer's constant whispers and words that aren't Dean, except when they are, but either way Sam keeps going.

There isn't much to hold on to as the hours count down. Sam takes five minute breaks, no set schedule, just enough time to administer new doses of blood and to catch his breath.

Cas will be here soon.

Inside Sam's pocket, the sharp square ridges of the photograph dig into his chest, and it's the only other thing grounding him as his brother tries to rip out up everything that ever brought them together.

\--

The basement is empty.  
Dean is walking free, and with that freedom comes an old familiarity of being stalked by more than one monster.


	73. Hello Darkness My Old Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title based on a song by simon and garfunkle

Lucifer and Michael, as ruined as he is, both feel the Darkness get released.

They scream, for different reasons.

Lucifer, because he can feel the Cage ripping apart. Can feel Sam more fully than he's felt in years, and he's whooping, gleeful, and more than that, because he once helped God lock himself away, and ever since God never loved him the same.

No, now God is going to answer for everything it's ever been. God will be the God Lucifer believed in, again. Because he knows, without a shred of doubt, that even if the Darkness and Amara threaten Creation with Undoing-

He won't let it get that far. He'll bring Sam back, and he'll fix this. He can use this.

He can go home.

And Michael screams and screams and screams, because he's so terribly angry and afraid.

He remembers the time Before.

Before Lucifer fell.

Remembers as Lucifer and himself drove the darkness back, with Gabriel and Raphael in the wings, helping them, a unit...

A family.

Michael screams because he feels all of Creation shudder as God comes back to life, split in twain and so many other disparate pieces, as the world rips apart-

Michael screams for what he has lost, all the grief and pain he's ever felt-

Michael screams as he prays, for the God who hasn't yet answered.

But he keeps his belief, all the same.

He screams, because maybe this time, his Father will hear him, and deliver him from bondage.

Lucifer doesn't hold his breath.

No. He knows exactly how dangerous this is. But it's an opportunity, too, and he's not going to let it go to waste.

It was only a matter of time before the Winchesters did something world-breaking again, after all.

He saw it coming the moment he felt the Mark on Dean Winchester's arm, calling out to him.

And Lucifer knows Sam wouldn't settle for anything less than ripping it out of Dean's skin.

This was all inevitable.

Destiny was working in his favor.

And Sam would find out, one way or another, that the only way they could drive the Darkness back is through helping him.

Michael screams, louder and more frenzied, but this time, it's because Lucifer tears him to shreds again.

Can't have the Winchester brothers seeking out other options, after all.

Long as they don't know Asmodeus has Gabriel, Lucifer's all set.

Sam would come find him.

And if he didn't...

Lucifer knew how to call him back down.

The call has always been there, boiling in Sam's blood, inside his heart, inside every particle of him that Lucifer once occupied.


	74. God's Gonna Cut You Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S11E4.
> 
> chapter title a song by johnny cash

Not many can say they remember the beginning of it all.

Lucifer does, as does Gabriel, bound in the bowels Hell and silently screaming for his siblings who would not answer, mouth sewn shut, and Michael, who, despite his wayward parts of himself that barely held together, cognizant thought be damned, had kept holding on to the idea that God must hear him, must intervene, must pull him out or he must believe this Cage is part of the plan, until he wondered if perhaps God was disappointed in him, if perhaps he had never been meant to kill Lucifer at all, like Lucifer claimed-

All that was cast aside when the Darkness rose and all of Michael could think of was the Time Before, when God had made nothing except them, and wondered if the other half of God, the one beheld in Fear and Awe, the one that rejoiced in the Destruction whose image and mirror Michael had been made to be, wanted to wipe the slate clean of everything, his eldest sons included, or if the end of it all meant they would be re-created as a family anew, and set free...

Raphael remembered before he died, and before he ripped apart the same way Lucifer had ripped Castiel to pieces, he had finally prayed to someone he'd written off, for one last time. And he had called out for Michael, and was silenced.

Silent and still, like it had been in the Beginning, nothing except his brothers around him, the only sound in the Void of God's presence, a presence with had made the Universe altogether not silent anymore.

Truth be told, when he fought Cas, he didn't care about the Apocalypse one way or another. He was tired and angry and lashing out and vengeful. He was a wounded angel lamenting something he felt had been stolen the moment his brothers turned on each other and had cemented into bitter hate once God abandoned them. He'd missed Michael and had sung out last one song... And had thought to himself, perhaps God heard them, but had died and stopped being their father the moment the Darkness had sealed away, for surely that's what had changed Lucifer, that's what made everything go wrong, and Raphael regretted Creation as much as he had pretended otherwise, because he missed his brothers, all of them, back when they all fought as one, and Raphael knew regret, and hated himself because he feared the very feeling he had tried to ignore, and redoubled his convictions, for if he met God when he died, he would not be laid low by the imitation of what had abandoned them-

No, when Raphael died, he would meet the empty, and uphold the vision of the Father and Mother he had once, before God changed.

Perhaps the entity in the Empty would give him an answer God's silence never would.

\--

In the Beginning, each of the Archangels had been bound up in their own impressions of what creation would turn into and suspended in the vision God held out before it all changed. Before Lucifer no longer reveled in The Highest's new creations, and as God sheared off parts of himself, piece by piece, fragments of a kaleidoscopic whole.

Not many remember the time before the Beginning, though.

Not even the Archangels.

God and Death, perhaps. And the Empty, perhaps there at the same time, perhaps predating them, setting the stage for all the Void God had yet to fill.

But what came before God and Death?

There was no true life, unless God was alive. But then what would Death reap, if not for whatever came before God and its acquaintances, and perhaps the other Gods that Elohim warred with, archangels his instruments of destruction, like bacteria devouring all the other microbes on a cosmic scale.

Lucifer had always tried to figure out why the Reaper Death had eventually been bound in Hell. If it was not just about the Apocalypse or if it had been because he knew something about God, about his exile, about the Empty and about whatever predated the Highest Himself and whatever made Death come in being, sprung forth whole before life even existed, for what cannot die is not truly alive...? Perhaps the Archangels had never been alive before they could perish, same as the Leviathans that followed. Perhaps that had been the plan all along, once the galaxy was made, for all of God's immortal creations to live and become not quite mortal, but able to be destroyed, and that had only become all the more fraught once humans and other creatures were made alive, and given souls, for only the soul and flesh and the silencing of the frequencies of an Archangel had ever slain their true selves and scattered them into oblivion. Gods were no match, not on their own, and that's why they had been God's instruments against even the fragments of himself.

And the fact remains that once, it was only angels can kill other angels, as could other lesser Gods with enough power. Yet Archangels surpassed them, the only beings able to kill each other save for their True Vessels, for once humans were created, so were the bodies and corporeal nature of the weapons that let them be destroyed.

Lucifer had hated them for that, too.

But that was how he knew his brothers would try to kill him.

Why would God help them create weapons of their own, tailored to each of their strengths, to kill an Archangel, if he had not wanted them to fight? They had only ever used them to kill other Gods before, so why would they work on each other?

Perhaps that had been a test, too.

But Lucifer was done guessing.

He would fix what God had done wrong and take this universe for himself, as he had been promised, because the only apology God ever gave him was Sam, and the promise of the Apocalypse, the Apocalypse where he'd crush his brother underfoot and take everything for himself.

Even if that had gone wrong, God had only ever exiled Lucifer after he had locked the rest of himself away. The rest of him was in Hell, not merciful, but right there, next to Lucifer, either way. Both a reminder of the responsibility God had given him and how his true curse had been to take the Love he'd had for his son, the one that made Lucifer his favorite, and use it to make his son into a weapon to lock that love away. But more than that, it reminded Lucifer that God could be wrong, that God had doubt, and no faith, not like Lucifer did, because if God did not doubt then he would be whole, and not in Hell. Lucifer wouldn't side with the Darkness, not really, because the Darkness would destroy even the good things Lucifer would keep, but he could not really hate the Darkness.

God had been faithless to itself, and it was time he paid the price.

But more than that, Lucifer felt lighter, felt certainty again, felt hope-

Because everything would get fixed now.

Because Lucifer can feel Sam again, can feel his heartbeats and that beautiful mind, and he can sing back to those prayers he sends out again, begging for guidance on how to put back the self-same thing Lucifer had once been so foolish to cast aside...

It's not a one-sided connection like Castiel and Sam had endeavored to tamp down.

And Lucifer knows it's only a matter of time before Sam comes back.

Even if he suspects the Devil, even if he's reluctant and wants to believe it's anything else-

Sam is his, and knows he doesn't really have a solution to the new Apocalypse his associates and actions had help unleash. He'd almost let Dean kill him, sure, had almost let himself be taken off the board-

But Sam doesn't want true death, or oblivion.

Not where it counts.

He just wants freedom. Has only ever wanted it, the cessation of the responsibility from the human weight that's made his footsteps heavy and made him hang his head when no one sees... Save the Devil who can see him, always see him, because for all his faults Sam has never been able to hide.

And Lucifer would just have to make him see, the only freedom he's ever had, is when Lucifer had let him be the force of nature Sam was always meant to be, with Lucifer right there beside him, forging the world anew.

And if Sam didn't feel free under Lucifer's care, well...

Serves him right.

His home had been with the Archangel, and he'd left him like he had promised he wouldn't.

Sam could run but he couldn't leave.

\--

Suds wash over Baby’s windshield, Dean making sure she’s glossier than she’s ever been, putting as the backbone in each stroke and circle of soap.

The garage door slams open, and Sam huffs in a breath, still bleary from the nights sleep that’s been escaping him more often. He just can’t shake this feeling of wrongness, can’t quite drown out memories of Hell that keep cropping up, but he’s been keeping it under wraps so Dean doesn’t suspect he’s sliding again.

Speaking of which, Sam eyes Dean now that he’s finally found which room he’s haunting. He got up earlier than Sam today, which meant he had been restless, too.

“Hey.” Sam starts in as he walks closer.

“Hey.” Dean answers, turning around to look at him. The sponge tightens in his hand despite himself, not quite startled by the noise. He knows Sam hasn’t been sleeping well and has been hiding it, and he’s stressed from that and the Darkness and visions he’s pretending he isn’t having, of the world slowly being unmade, and Amara, talking to him, telling him he is her agent of undoing…

“Dude, what's up with the shorts?” Sam asks, voice slightly muffled from stifling a yawn.

“It's a free bunker.” Dean snipes, and Sam scoffs, still judging Dean’s choice of casual wear. Dean cuts in again, “Did you find anything?”

“Uh...” Sam hustles down the metal steps, each footfall audible. “Not on the Darkness. No.”

He joins Dean wiping the Impala down.

“What about Metatron?” Dean adds.

“Still in the wind.” Sam sighs, voice buzzing with annoyance. “No leads.”

“Great.” Dean exclaims, voice higher from just how done and tense he’s become. “So we have an ancient evil out there somewhere, just getting stronger by the day.” Dean’s face twitches as he looks away from Sam and more intently at Baby, scrubbing her harder and with more determination.

Sam goes still and looks at Dean from the shotgun side window, not really focusing on cleaning so much as both avoiding Dean when he’s this tense and trying to fix it. “Cas is getting better, so there's that. Still wants to fix your, uh-“ Sam gestures with the sponge.

“I'm fine.” Dean whines, interrupting with another grumble that’s lower and not shrill, not giving away just how not fine he is. “Fine. 100%.”

“All right, well, he's not.” Sam announcing, countering the obfuscation he knew would happen, like his older brother always defaults to. Ever the pragmatist, Sam focuses on what he can fix, and who he can help, and Cas sure as hell could use some time off. “He still needs more time to heal.” Sam sniffs, finally focusing more on the car and moving towards the trunk if it means not looking Dean head on. Dean follows his movements and focuses on the rest of the car windows and frame, following Sam to the rear of the vehicle.

“Well… Guess we got nothing to do but get better.” Dean relents, voice softening. He’s been worried, too, and uses both arms to sponge Baby down with even more force. “I don't know about you, but...” And Dean finally opens up, letting Sam in even though he’s still deflecting from the obvious, “I've got some serious cabin fever. I've washed every car in here twice.”

There’s a question there. Asking how Sam’s holding up.

Sam can’t quite figure out if he is.

He doesn’t understand the visions he’s getting and he’s afraid he understands them all too well.

“Well, I may have found us a case.” Sam suggests with a sigh, biting his lip and doing some deflection of his own, but it’s still a solution of sorts. “I mean, it's thin…”

“Hey, thin works.” Dean answers, each word punctuated with a sharp nod of his head, voice gentle despite the usual gruffness as he looks up at Sam head-on. “Tell me on the way.”

And Dean rushes to rinse off Baby and get them out of dodge. Anything to keep busy.

\--

As Sam and Dean drive down the highway, thunder rumbles. Rain pours down and echoes against the roof of the car. Sam tries not to think of lightning and Hell, and how he had been doing so well, getting used to thunderstorms before the visions rolled back in. Dean notices the tense way Sam keeps his shoulders, but doesn’t comment.

“Figures." Dean scowls at the rain, red illuminating his face from a stoplight that hasn't turned yet. The windshield wipers whir too loud. "All right, let's hear it. What do you got?” Dean begs Sam, hoping the laptop will be enough to get Sam to normal.

\--

“Okay, uh, Quaker Valley, Oregon, town outside of Eugene.” Sam starts in, adding, “Dwayne Markham, the local sheriff, was found in the woods a couple days ago. His body was mauled, so they chalked it up to an animal attack, but I'm thinking…”

“Werewolf.” Dean interrupts.

“Yeah, maybe.” Sam replies, uncertainty clear as day.

“Yeah, you're right. That is thin.” Dean says, voice a bit hoarse and flat from the need for this to be something.

“Yeah. Probably nothing, right?” Sam answers, and his face scrunches.

“Probably not.” Dean admits, then he gives Sam a look he knows well, one that’s almost smiling but not quite, yet full of purpose and fire all the same. “Oregon, here we come.”

Beneath that look there is something tired and worn, though, something sad because he knows there is something Sam isn’t telling him.

Sam can’t quite share the enthusiasm, and he remains morose in his quiet hunched over silence, staring at the road, still hesitating to share what’s really bothering him and knowing Dean wants to push but isn’t.

Sam’s throat is dry, and he twitches, shocks himself out of thinking that there’s always another case, and Dean, and as long as he has those two things…

Well, he’s alive. He’s with his brother hunting, the way he needs it to be, because as much as he still wishes he could get out…

There is nothing else for him except Cas and Dean up here. No direction he can go.

And he can feel Hell calling him, haunting his very bones.

Sam turns around and grabs a smoothie from the cooler in the back, sipping slow, trying to ease his nerves and the burning scratching against his Adam’s apple. He pretends he still doesn’t miss the cold, and how used to it he was, even though it all became too much and he doesn’t want to go back…

But he was down in Hell for a long time, and it’s always never let go. Lucifer always held on harder, and even with most of his grace burnt out and scraped out of Sam like an infection thanks to Cas and all the things Sam has tried to keep it from becoming anything other than dormant, he can still feel ice inside him, a ghost of everything Sam’s run from since he was raised from eternity.

The smoothie is coagulated and thick, and Sam sips through the straw too quick so that he tastes a bit too much plastic along with a criminal amount of spinach and peaches and ice, but the cold shocks Sam’s system into not feeling Hellfire in his bloodstream and the acrid smoke and blood and the too-sweet, too soft taste of Lucifer on his tongue. He’s never forgotten that, either, and his dreams…

Sam doesn’t want the visions to make him think of the Devil, but he can’t help thinking of Lucifer, all the same. Kind of hard not to, when it is visions of Hell that God seems to be sending over…

Sam needs it to be God.

He can’t let it be anyone else.

He had finally burnt Lucifer out of him.

“What is that?” Dean demands, shocking Sam out of the complacent level of dissociation he’s been trying so hard to keep under control. Sam had made the smoothies to taste as disparate and flavorful as possible, to make the zoning out go away.

“It's a smoothie.” Sam answers, voice deadpan as he gives Dean a look, idly poking and prodding at the straw. Sam slurps more loudly, not fast enough to get brain freeze but not slow enough to think.

Dean glances back at the cooler as if it has personally betrayed him and then gives Sam a look to rival his own perfected bitch-face, so labeled courtesy of his older brother.

“Where's the beer?” Dean asks, voice throaty and eyes hard. The mood turns on a dime.

Sam gives him a look of innocent and almost tentative blankness, eyes shifting to the road and back to his brother. Dean glances at the road for one second, but then keeps staring Sam down.

“Under the smoothies.” Sam answers, matter-of-fact.

**Not like I purged all of it.**

Still, Sam had wanted Dean to cut back. They were driving, after all, and Dean’s alcoholism had reached a whole new level of fucked up and more than habitual by now, and considering how quick to violence and hair-trigger and tense he’s been ever since the Mark…

Sam doesn’t want to encourage his worst habits, or have then driving into a pole because Dean can’t handle all the things he’s not dealing with, or give Dean an out to get violent again.

He almost died, and had almost let Dean kill him.

Now that he’s out of that fire…

Sam isn’t anxious to repeat the same experience thanks to Dean being out of it or too willing to indulge in violence again.

Because fact of the matter is, Dean had been real bad with Sam and Cas with the Mark, like, Lucifer levels of bad, and that was an understatement. Sam isn’t chancing more bullshit, even if they are running from that bullshit and doing a case together as a way to avoid that discussion.

And Sam did not get raised from Hell and have his soul stuffed back in and to be possessed by another angel and to be almost murdered by his brother- to have his worst nightmares become reality- with yet another person he loved. He couldn’t see Dean backslide into his worst habits or the kind of person he would sometimes be, only worse, now that Dean’s back to being himself and free of the curse.

And failing that…

Sam isn’t real keen on possibly being decked in the face again. So he can’t criticize Sam for dumping more beer.

Sam has precedents to worry about.

Dean is still checked out for the moment, staring at the road with thinly veiled panic because alcohol is the only real retreat he has right now.

“Where's the rest of the beer?” Dean growls.

Only apparently, he can hold it against him.

Sam stares Dean down with purpose, not giving ground.

Dean understands what isn’t said, and can’t stare back any more, instead turning back to the droplets on the windshield. Tiny droplets that all run together and turn into giant rivulets down the glass, trajectory pushed out of control…

The phone rings, and it gives Dean the outrage to look back at Sam again.

“Ooh, it's Cas. We gotta, we gotta…” Sam gulps and swallows and stammers every word, but it’s the angry, quiet, uncompromising kind. He might have a knee-jerk reaction to Dean’s implied hair-trigger temper and violence in his tone and the set of his face, how Dean’s tongue darts out and he swallows, lips tight and curled like how he does when he’s almost biting his lip and so angry he wants to punch something, but despite this, Sam knows he can take him and knows Dean isn’t thinking or processing, just lashing out, which excuses nothing but means the moment he realizes how much he’s backsliding he’ll back the fuck off, and all in all, Sam is more twitchy from the visions (and remembering Lucifer, and things he’s been trying to bury deep), and it shows. Doesn’t change the fact this almost went south real fast, but at least Sam is keeping a lid on things…

 _You never needed to guess where you stood with me, baby. I always let you know exactly what punishment you would get and when. I’m predictable, really. A creature of habit. Not one for pretending everything is fine and holding it over your head so you never felt safe, like dear old big brother did. Sammy, don’t look at me like that. I know every single feeling flitting through that mind of yours,_ And Lucifer would chew each word, hungry and sibilant and close, close enough to reach out and touch-

_It hurts less when I hurt you, Sam, because you know I’ll always make things better. I always do. You can’t say the same for everyone else. They betrayed you, over and over, pretending at love and always giving you false hope-_

**You lied-**

Sam can feel the imprint of Lucifer fingers against his chin, soft but too strong to pull away from.

 _You felt the truth, Sam. You know everything I am and you want it. Don’t pretend I’m not giving you what you wanted. I never pretended to be anything other than what I was, and you followed me down because you know you would never let go. Not where it mattered. Not in your heart. Hell is your home now, Sam. You closed that real-estate deal for two. So… Our home is right here,_ and Lucifer would lay a hand on his chest, lips brushing Sam’s, _and you know it._

Sam banishes the words he doesn’t want to think about it, and the feeling of Lucifer’s phantom limbs, always invading Sam’s space and tangling too close-

He’s gone. He’s been gone.

Stupid visions don’t have a right to make Sam feel all off-balance and fucked up again, particularly since Sam knows Lucifer hooks and conditioning, the cocktail of torture and pleasure and mind-games alike, always took hold when Sam felt vulnerable and threatened by other violence, violence he thought he’d escaped…

“Man!” Dean groans, trying to sound more whiny and done than threatening and on edge like he knows just burst out of him. He was banking on that alcohol, but knows he’s got to dial back on his attitude, seeing how Sam just flat-lines and how his eyes turn faraway again. He knows he fucked up bad.

But he still can’t quite apologize, because apologizing means he needs to talk about it.

And Sam is tired of more than just his alcoholism.

There’s a lot they haven’t been talking about.

“I gotta get this.” Sam answers, not backing down, not thinking of all the times in the past Dean has said, ‘So help me, if you answer that phone…’ And Sam answered anyway under the threat of the old violence Dean had let fester ever since they were young and Dean didn’t know how else to keep Sam in line when John got on his case and Dean got scared, so punching Sam and locking the doors was just another way Dean took what John dished out and moved on to Sam. When not under the influence, Dean hadn’t lost it and it hadn’t happened for such a long time, except the Mark had brought all that back up, had shown how much Dean relied on violence to feel… Not safe, but in control, and control made him pretend at safety.

Sam always hated it, and the resurgence makes him off-kilter more.

But Sam’s spine stiffens, and both brothers know he will fight this fight if he has to, and they know Dean has no real power right now because he knows Sam will throw down if all this comes to another head. Sam forces his tone to be level. “Hey, Cas. Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I was just reading up about the other cases in the area that you're headed to. I haven't found anything yet that matches.” Cas answers, voice breaking up Sam’s scattered thoughts and some of the tension of conflict between Dean’s brotherly concern and inability to cope that had been masquerading hand in hand with actual rage, because when Dean wants a distraction, work and Sam are his default concerns. That and alcohol.

Sam keeps staring Dean down and sees him slump, sees the moment pass as Dean tries to reel in everything that’s tearing him apart and he can’t talk about or apologize for or avoid, and sees Dean crumple, sees Dean trying to calm down and recreate the ease they had been pretending at not to explode on one another…

Sam had told Dean he would never be anything other than good, because Sam knew, if Dean really, really tried, if he really found a way to get help and actually heal-

He’d move past all this. Sam knew he could.

He just needed to believe he could and find actual coping methods, not constantly self-destructing at every turn…

Not that Sam is much better, sometimes. But Dean’s self-destruction and want for oblivion has consequences for everyone around him, because his internal wars manifest outside him, and leads to him lashing out…

Sam’s self-destruction always led to Sam running to the wrong people. People who fed on that pain and made Sam too reliant and too bound up in them, using people who wanted Sam to be under their thumb and pretending to be safe so that Sam felt like he could rest from trying to run from everything, to hide in the safety he’s finally thought he’s found, only for the rug to be pulled out from under him and for it all to collapse and for Sam to pay the price for his own broken heart.

That’s not to say Sam didn’t hurt others. He knew he’s made some morally questionable calls trying to get Dean back, to find the demon his brother was, and he can’t mourn for everyone. He’s had that compassion ripped from him. He’s lived too long and seen too much and can’t care about everyone, only people who he can muster the energy to believe in…

But some prices were too high, and even if Lucifer had made Sam a weapon, Sam has always been a weapon focused on results and the big picture. He had to make something good out of his curse, out of all the things trying to mold him, and if some people who hurt others got hurt trying to fix a bigger problem, well…

Sam is tired, and while it fixes nothing, he would only have resorted to desperate measures if it wasn’t all he had left. And while nothing justifies the wrong decision, or hurting people, sometimes, there are no right answers, no way out, only two bad decisions that Sam has to weigh the cost of…

Sam always tried to keep his eyes on the endgame. Anything that was close to letting Lucifer out, like Dean would eventually try to do, once the Mark took him over…

That had taken precedence over everything.

And sure, Lucifer might have made it his mission to be the only one with staying power, there, trashing those same relationships Sam tried to build and destroying anything hurting Sam so he’d be the only one owning Sam and keeping him trapped in some false kindness where Lucifer would protect Sam from everything except himself…

But Sam has seen the pattern he’s fallen into before, and can’t let Dean be one of those same people hollowing him from the inside out. He needs Dean to get better already because Sam can’t stay if he doesn’t. He needs the brother who loves him and who is safe, not the person he’s been the past year and perhaps even longer.

Not the demon that mocked him in the basement of the Bunker and parroted Sam’s fears and Lucifer’s promises right back at him. Not the brother who was still Dean but all of Dean’s more terrifying and destructive impulses made a hurricane. Not the monster moonlighting under his brother’s skin, or the ghost of their father Sam still worries Dean hasn’t quite moved on from…

As of right now, Sam’s brother and Cas (and Jody, and her family, although Sam doesn’t want to infect them with his problems, wants them to be happy and safe and faraway from the burden of Sam ruining everything he touches), they might be the only people Sam feels right with, but he was too used to Hell, and while he’s happy he’s not on meathooks or choked out by chains and has more freedom than before, there’s a fear innate to having lived through too much.

When the meathooks and chains became rote and habitual and routine…

Sam had adjusted back to Earth life, sure, but he still had called Hell home too long, and he’s not sure how good he is at navigating human safety when his barometer for fucked up has been broken beyond repair. The only reason he’s sure he notices Dean crossing the line is because Dean was supposed to help make things still feel real, and because Sam was living for Dean because Dean had brought him back to do this together, to be a family, and because it was one universal constant protecting Sam from the only other universal constant he’s ever known. And because Sam was looking out for Castiel, and knew when Dean was getting too close to Lucifer’s kind of rage, so he had to have a barometer for what isn’t safe behavior.

Sam keeps sipping and slurping the smoothie in rebellion and joint purpose to not feel the headache he knows is coming on.

Sam had packed less for a reason, and hadn’t been banking on Dean’s alcoholism and impatience being a hurdle.

He hates being trapped in a car with Dean when he’s like this.

Dean shuts his eyes and tries to ease his body language and to not be a raging mess of nerves and too-tense regrets all coiled up in his too-tight grip on the steering wheel.

“Cas, you've got one job to do and that's to heal. You understand?” Dean’s voice turns gentle as he tries to get himself back on track. He knows he’s not doing well…

He just doesn’t know how to fix this. Not in a way that will stick.

He’s tired and he’s failed everyone and he doesn’t know what else he should have done, because he can’t be wrong, because then all of this was pointless, and…

Dean can’t think that because then he’s thinking about all the people he needs to protect, and he’s not sure he can.

He pretends he knows, that he does, but deep down, he knows he’s a curse inflicted on everyone, Mark or not.

“I can help.” Castiel insists, ready to burn the candle at both ends if it means the Winchester brothers aren’t fighting their endless battles alone.

This is one thing Sam and Dean can agree on- Cas needs a break, and they love him, and they can’t let anything else hurt him. Cas is yet another priority right now, even if Cas won’t prioritize himself.

“Yeah, of course you can, Cas,” Sam interrupts, just as steely as Dean, “But right now is the time for you to focus on getting better. This is just a milk run. We got it. So… Try and relax.”

Like neither of us can. Sam keeps those thoughts on backburner.

Cas sighs but knows that with both brothers in agreement, that they might have a point. He can’t help them if he’s wounded. He’s learned that the hard way, before.

He hates feeling useless, though. Angels are supposed to be the opposite of useless.

Not that Cas is sure he should feel any pride over being an angel, anymore.

His brethren had hurt too many people… He had hurt too many people, to not feel like that was half a lie, like there wasn’t something unclean eating at him from the inside…

He had been so sure of the purity of God living inside him once.

The truth made Castiel’s throat hurt, and he wasn’t supposed to feel that.

But Cas did, because out of all the angels, he had a body remade for all his own.

“All right.” Cas acquiesces.

“Read a book,” Sam suggests, adding, “Watch some Netflix.”

“What's a ‘Netflix?’” Cas asks, eager for a distraction despite it all.

Sam smiles and laughs, a tightness in his chest lifted.

Some things never got old. Castiel’s unfamiliarity with random human things was just one thing that reminded Sam that this was home, and knows Cas might take a shine to watching TV, or that at least he might get distracted enough not to push himself too hard.

Sam and Dean glance at each other and away again.

“Go to my room, turn on the TV. You'll figure it out.” Sam answers. Cas always was curious, and it shows trust. He knows Cas has been struggling with that and feeling at home lately.

Sam understands that last part a bit too well, for all the wrong reasons.

“All right. Just call if you need anything.” Cas insists.

“Got it, Cas. Thanks.” Dean reassures, still staring down the road. He’s worried about Cas, too.

He’s not sure he even has the right to look him in the eye, after everything that’s gone down.

God, he had threatened to kill him only a few months back.

He was going to kill the people he loved most and-

Dean thinks about John, and wonders what he did after Vietnam, and how he didn’t fall apart when he came home to Mary.

Unless he had been a mess before Mary had died, been the same human he’d always been, and Dean had only gotten glimpses…

He wondered how he was supposed to live in his own skin, having failed the two people who really mattered. He’d failed the world, too, but hurting Sam and Cas…

That hurt more.

The phone beeps as Sam hangs up.

“You think he's gonna be okay?” Sam asks, too quiet. There’s a question in there if Dean digs deep enough.

Are any of them…?

“He just needs some time, you know? We all do.” Dean answers. He hopes Sam can hear the apology in there.

It burns his throat and stings in his eyes too much for Dean to say the actual words.

(Even if some part of Dean wonders, dissonant, if an apology means anything if he'd do it all again, and if he thinks Sam might never really forgive him for it.

But Dean ignores that, because acknowledging the impossible never does anyone any favors.)

\--

Dean starts pulling into a building full of blue and pink and yellow neon lights and loud music, and the lights are so bright they burn Sam’s eyelids, glaring from the streaks of rain against the windshield and corona of fogs scattering the light around them. It had been a less fraught drive after Cas called, thankfully.

Sam and Dean had been too tired and needed more comfort than an outlet for fear, and had settled into a kind of peace from being too shot to do anything else.

They needed to feel safe around one another, and if pulling back from heavy conversations or knee-jerk fights over things like addiction and slippery slopes and secrets was the only way to do it…

Sam glances at Dean and back at the roadhouse, voice rough from lack of sleep. “Are you serious?”

Dean smiles at the disbelief in Sam’s tone, and that smile makes something hurt less inside Sam as he catches it out of the corner of his eye. Sam keeps up the complaining, though, because anything else wouldn’t be normalcy, and they had decided on that, in some form, through silence.

“Dee, it's late.” Sam mumbles, falling back into old nicknames and disregard despite it all. “I'm exhausted and ... And starving.” Sam says, the hunger biting in his stomach, and he adds, “And this place... I mean, even Swayze wouldn't come to this roadhouse.” Sam contends.

“Okay, first of all, never use Swayze's name in vain. Okay? Ever.” Dean jokes. Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean keeps talking, “Second, you don't remember this place?” Dean’s voice becomes conspiratorial. “You don't remember Heather?” Dean asks a bit too pointedly.

Sam’s eyebrows rise and his forehead scrunches up, because he’s not remembering at all.

It’s a miracle he remembers anyone’s names, really. Hell had stretched on for so long-

Dean didn’t even know he’d dredged that up. He might know about Sam’s time in the Cage from being a demon, sure, but he didn’t know how long it was.

How much had been scrubbed from Sam’s mind except for what Lucifer wanted him to remember.

Except sometimes Sam remembered cases. One’s Lucifer used to make a point about just who Sam is, when it comes down to the line.

Was this case pre or post Hell? That would make a difference. Sam remembered more after Dean convinced him being topside was real.

Sam focuses on the mundane, and the brotherly camaraderie, and hopes Dean isn’t just using this as an excuse to retreat in the arms of a stranger. Not that it would be the worst thing, but it means Dean is just trading one avoidance tactic for another and pretending it’s fine.

Dean sees the blank look on Sam’s face, and adds, “The hunter that we worked a wendigo case a couple years ago?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sam finally has recognition break over him.

“Yeah, exactly.” Dean insists, seeing the expression on Sam’s face as that the metaphorical lightbulb goes off. He licks his lips and turns his head back to the roadhouse.

“What, she's here tonight?” Sam asks.

“I texted her. She's working a rugaru case in Texas. Actually, she never texted me back.” Dean mumbles, hand waving as he puts a hand to his forehead and pulls away again. “That's not the point. The point is, is that we have a ton of driving left to do…”

Sam nods as Dean makes his point, not quite sure what this gesture is supposed to represent or if this is Dean’s unofficial way of trying to point out how not-okay and subdued the car ride had been for a while...

“Just to go to a town where there's probably not a case.” Dean adds, “But in there ... Good times.” Dean points, voice going smooth. “And time heals all wounds, Sam, especially good times. What do you say?”

Sam gives an unimpressed, not-on-board look, not wanting to get in the way, and weighing the cost. Dean needs an outlet, and Sam needs space, and if he’s trading alcohol for company or another vice, or even just getting more drunk in the company of other hunters…

Sam knows when he can’t win a fight, and wants things to get better. And made acclimating to other people, even if it’s a distraction, will settle Dean down and help him refocus.

As for Sam…

“I say, knock yourself out.” Sam answers, nose twitching and mouth opening wide enough for his teeth to yawn, discomfort and exhaustion on every pore of his almost-yawning, skeptical face.

Dean visibly deflates, mouth twitching and eyes dropping to the floor, head tilting as he glances out the window.

Sam adds, “I'm gonna find a diner, dig into the lore like Cas did, see if anything's ever happened where we're headed.” Sam gives Dean a wry grin, trying to keep things light and typical even though it’s a mask, at this point.

**Gonna order some waffles and grits and an omelet to make myself feel less awful.**

Sam still hates that omelets make him think of other times, but he’ll be damned in he let Lucifer ruin veggie omelets for him. He can only swear off so many types of food, after all.

“Oh, man, you really gotta learn to have fun.” Dean groans, trying for usual brotherly ribbing. “Seriously, it's pathetic.” Dean sighs and opens the car door.

That last line, less so, but Dean’s more caustic ever since the Mark, or since Purgatory, really, and Sam can’t quite take it to heart, because he knows Dean’s real angle.

He knows Dean’s deflection methods for trying not feel alone and vulnerable, and what he’s really saying is he wants company in the worst way possible.

Except Sam feels like clawing at his own skin and can’t settle down, and itch and a headache and a ringing in his jaw that he knows shouldn’t be there but keeps persisting, anyway.

Sam needs to sleep.

He’s scared to, though.

**Fuck it.**

Sam will do what it takes to keep himself from falling apart, and much as he wants to reconnect with Dean as much as Dean wants to make things right again in the only roundabout way he knows, Sam knows his limits.

Sam follows Dean’s lead and gets out of the car, even if he’s not following his brother inside. He knows it will be too much for him in there.

\--

Sam heads to the closet diner on foot. He’s set on those waffles, and jogging a little makes him feel more at ease in his own skin.

After he orders and chugs as much water as possible and is halfway through the lore, he can’t stop shivering, and he can’t quite muster the energy to bother Cas when he needs to recuperate, just as Sam can’t finish his plate of hash browns and omelet, so he strikes up a conversation with the blond waitress waiting on him instead, and she takes an interest, but not in a way that makes Sam’s heart stutter or feeling evaluated like a piece of meat. It is attraction, sure, but the kind Sam can say no and it will stick, and that makes Sam ease up, ever so slightly, even if her closeness to Jessica’s profile is something Sam refuses to think about. 

When Sam leaves a tip, Sam lets Piper walk him back to the car.

He’s not filling in holes of a life he’s left buried and running from the feeling that’s dragged him down and ruined Sam and broke his heart. Just because he was trained, was used, was wanted and Sam wanted that closeness and safety he only ever got conditionally…

Sam hates missing what he loved when it only ever lead to pain. And he needs to rewrite that script, needs to stop avoiding what’s throwing him under the bus and picking at his brain all over again, and he needs to drown out the Hell that God seems so set on reminding him of.

Sam needs something human and safe and real and nothing like the Cage or what he’s had before that. Piper is almost like Amelia, that way, although Sam can’t say he loved her, either, not properly. They were both broken and scared and wayward and running and falling to pieces, so they clung to each other as a proverbial life-jacket in a storm until they broke land on the rocks and couldn’t anymore. But Sam never fully let Amelia in or let her top him, even if their emotional connection had been a muddled open book. She hadn’t wanted to go too far or make Sam uncomfortable or set herself off, and Sam couldn’t handle too much even though he pushed himself hard despite not being able to vocalize his history… They had guessed each other’s hang-ups and given explicit instructions on what not to do, ever, although quite honestly, they hadn’t really fucked much except to try and make it not scare them to death or to fight the flashbacks in a controlled environment, considering their history of partners and the scars that had left. They had mostly cuddled and helped the other through the nightmares and the whimpers and the wide-eyed, sweaty nights where their throats screamed and they needed to hide under the covers.

So right now, Sam says Yes when it won’t hurt him.

He needs that much. To be able to choose. To make this choice and move on and have it finally, finally stick, even though Sam still feels like he’s always running in circles hiding from something he’s not sure he’ll ever move on from properly. It’s more just getting by, day by day, and hoping things get better and backslide less.

The blonde waitress’ name is Piper and she’s pre-law and she likes running marathons. Sam gathered that much from her pickup lines before she offered walk him to his car, and then, on the way, hinted she’d be willing to go down on him and other things, if he’s on board.

And Sam, desperate as he is, wants to trust something he’d normally run from, because he’s tired of running, and if he can’t talk about the past or move on, then at least he can try to get past this by facing his fears without flinching.

It’s not like Sam hasn’t let other bodies keep him warm before.

He has had flings. They hadn’t meant as much, but Sam still had felt something. He couldn’t not feel something and commit or feel comfortable with intimacy otherwise, except for when he was soulless and needed a body to keep him warm and soft and safe and alone and from feeling like something was out to get him in the dark, heart pounding like he’d just slip away…

Sam hasn’t exactly approached other people ever since he got his soul back, but with the casual sex he has tried to use as a springboard to fight off what he knows keeps him frozen and trapped. Sex with other people is warm, and while Sam runs hot, that delineation makes all the difference and keeps Sam from thinking of someone he’d rather not. In those cases, Sam stays on top and gives his partner what they need, to make them comfortable and to keep Sam from thinking about people he’s loved and how they loved him back and the ways that had manifested… Or in Ruby’s case, to dissociate the act from actual love and turn it into a business transaction, into something that isn’t sex but different from what Sam considers real feelings or actual kindness between two people. That’s what sex mostly serves as, these days. Two people trying to make each other feel better and moving on, and that’s that.

Truth is, Sam has only ever let people he’s really loved and felt close to take care of him or have complete control, both Brady and the Archangel that truly lived inside Jess and Nick. Once, it had been the best feeling in the world, being loved and tended to and feeling safe and trusted and good…

But after seeing just who Lucifer really was, after all that happened and the worst of all his betrayals…

Sam still can’t handle anything too similar from anyone else.

But right now, for just the once, Sam just wants to feel like he can throw caution to the wind, and move on, and to throw all the rules out the window.

He knows it is probably not the best idea, having this kind of sex for the first time with a soul and allowing someone else taking the lead when he hasn’t tried before…

Sam knows himself. He hasn’t dealt with being tortured and raped, repeatedly, by the one person he once considered the love of his life, one who had given him a home when he’d had none, one who Sam needed and who needed Sam right back, who built Sam up only to tear him down and build him back up, who Sam had trusted and confided in and believed in and would have given everything to before Lucifer’s true colors bled through and who he still missed and still loved even though it was beyond a betrayal of himself, always agony despite how much he wanted to melt into nothing for feeling anything, for yearning for something so sublime and inhuman and wanting that Sam didn’t know how he ever survived it. There’s no real way to come to terms with any of that, especially after thousands of years of it. Sam hasn’t bothered to try. He knows he won’t get far.

But Sam needs a marker for not giving ground any more. He needs something concrete, something he can say is a sign of progress, is a sign of Sam moving forward and living in this world and not with one foot still trapped and sinking back down into Hell, despite feelings he can’t change, a sign of Sam truly starting over.

So Sam can feel like Lucifer doesn’t still have a hold over him or his heart…

Despite that he has no right to keep that love, when all Sam wants to do is not feel it, particularly while topside. He couldn’t not feel it, downstairs. Not feeling it was so far beyond unsafe it wasn’t even a question of survival. Rebellion only ever led to Sam being undone and not knowing if he was real anymore, when Lucifer left Sam alone with only himself after he was done hurting him. Love had protected him, despite how it kept him from moving on. The rules change when you are trapped versus when you are not, and old coping mechanisms don’t always translate well once you make it out.

Love meant that Sam could survive, down in Hell, because if he made this choice it was his own, and if he loved Lucifer, surely anything he did couldn’t hurt much. Not really. Not if Sam loved him enough, and gave the Devil what he wanted, because that love was a choice Sam clung to even when it was the only illusion Sam knew was bound in heartbreak and coercion.

But Sam is done hiding and pretending the hurt doesn’t matter and that he can’t say his final No to Lucifer now that he’s finally started to feel free, even if the world might end any second.

For Heaven’s sake, Sam’s broken out and made a new life and after the last evil to be unleashed on the world. Who knows what reprieve Sam is ever going to get? And if this is the only fresh start he’ll have with his brother, by starting over and cutting the past off and both of them moving on from mistakes they can’t run from…

Sam wants some semblance of normalcy again.

Wants to feel lovable and like his heart hasn’t wept for all the things it can’t erase but can’t quite feel.

He just wants something safe, something not cosmic, some kind of love and bodily warm and companionship that hadn’t buried itself so deeply inside of him that he didn’t know the way out.

If the world is going to end, Sam is going to find peace before it all goes to shit, and he is going to throw everything he’s ever felt for the Devil away and lock it up, even if he can’t make himself not feel it.

And if Sam has to go downstairs again…

He can pretend that love isn’t eating him alive.

Sam can have his freedom before it wavers. Can feel like he’s tried to heal and made some progress, even if there’s good days and worse days.

He just wants to feel like he’s the one calling the shots, when all Lucifer even did was have Sam play right into his hands.

Sam warns Piper this might go south and specifies some of the details.

She’s a sweetheart about it, because she’s a normal, kind person without any ulterior motives, and Sam wishes he had picked more people like her to date, instead of the people his heart chose to latch on to.

Sam makes sure she is having the time of her life, too, seeing as this is a mutual thing, and he wants to make someone feel good, particularly when they are being so kind as to see something in Sam that Sam isn’t sure is really there anymore. Sam’s good at giving people what they need. It’s rare he gets the same thing back, but in this case, being with her feels warm and right and gentle and close enough to something he’d never truly get back.

His heart has been ripped out too many times for Sam to feel like he can feel anything, really.

And Sam might slip up a little, asking for her number.

He can’t quite help it. He’s embarrassed and tentative and thinking of the past and what he wishes he could reclaim, but Piper doesn’t get too bothered, and lets him down, definitive but not unkind. Almost self-deprecating, but Sam tells her she deserves someone who makes her feel safe and good, and he understands not wanting to settle. He does.

Sam tries not to think about what his slip-up means, if it means he’s still latched on to something he shouldn’t be, or if it means he’s actually closer to healing…

Piper is so much like what he wishes his life used to be, in some ways.

Piper was like everything he’d never get back, almost like Jess… But nothing like her at all.

And Sam just wishes he could feel safe and calm and home again.

He knows he won’t.

But he felt it, for just a moment, and he didn’t panic or freeze of think of Lucifer or Stanford or the Cage at all.

It felt like closure, almost. Not quite catharsis.

But it felt like Sam got something back, like Sam reclaimed a part of himself, by letting himself feel love he wasn’t supposed to give to anyone else.

And Sam is three-quarters glad she turned him down. Relationships and sustaining them and repeated exposure, even if it’s safe, even if Sam is choosing it for himself, pushing himself out of what he’d otherwise feel comfortable with…

He’s not sure he’d be okay trying this more than once. He’s not sure his heart could deal with the many things he’s tried to hide from, from all the things that have been choking his heart and soul like vines, icy hands and lips and tendrils that are so inhuman Sam isn’t sure he’ll ever feel free.

Sam can only hide for so long, and maybe just breaking the rules this once is enough to break whatever feeling of treading water and barely keeping his head afloat has been holding Sam hostage, now.

He needs not to feel trapped before the end.

It’s all he wants, and he thinks he might almost have gotten there.

Maybe it’s the fact he didn’t sleep all night, though.

That had helped.

No visions of Hell, or whispered words Sam didn’t want to revisit…

And that was maybe half the reason Sam agreed to Piper’s proposition in the first place.

\--

Dean makes his way out from the Roadhouse as the lights go out at the crack of dawn. His head pounds, but he feels no real regret, even if he knows it wasn’t the best call. A dog barks in the distance, a bit too loud and frenzied along with the rush of distant traffic for Dean’s head not to pound harder.

“Mistakes were made. Mm-hmm.” Dean grumbles and smacks his lips together as he leans his head back against the seat.

“Who are you?” Dean starts at the unfamiliar woman’s voice, and sees a blonde woman perched behind him in the rear-view mirror. Dean sits up and turns around.

“Oh!” Dean stumbles and eyes the not-dressed blonde lady, then sees Sam underneath her and promptly averts his eyes away.

“Ah, good morning.” Sam says, clearing his throat. “That's, uh, my brother Dean.” Sam’s voice pipes up from the backseat a bit stronger. Dean looks down at his jeans and his hands and down in general to avoid the rear-view mirror peeping at the blonde woman fixing her hair, the way she carries herself entirely unapologetic and not shy in the slightest.

“Sorry, Sam, I didn't…” Dean answers, and then his tone turns a bit too gleeful and he can’t help but appreciate the view and look back, despite himself. “I didn't realize you had company.”

Dean smiles at the blonde lady, who side-eyes him and smiles with a similar intensity and glee. Must have siblings, then, and can hear the unsaid teasing about finally getting some decent action, Dean thinks. Or she likes his face. One or the other.

Dean has been trying to be better about showing more consideration for Sam, considering he likes teasing Sam about it and way back when had stolen some of his dates when he didn’t think Sam would go for gold. It had started off innocent enough- Dean and Sam hadn’t really had boundaries about their exploits despite Sam being a prude because quite frankly, they had to support each other. Sam, while he got less flack for men, seeing as John thought he was delusional about his gender, always got in even worse fights with John over the girls. That’s why Dean had started bonding with Sam over women and dating them and people watching, really, as a show of not being in John’s corner, and as a means of mutual support. Sam had done the same for Dean with men, although Dean didn’t talk about that or indulge as much because there was a lot of baggage there. A lot of things he had to repress, thanks to John’s differing tactics in handling his eldest compared to Sam. John hadn’t been keen on any of Dean’s sexual proclivities except when he picked women, and while Dean liked them well enough, he had honestly preferred men more often than not, even though he never felt comfortable saying it outright. Top of the list was Cas, really, but their entire relationship had been fraught with more than one can of worms Dean finally feels like they’ve unpacked, and if not for Castiel being easy to talk to and easy to read with some things, after all their history and fighting together, Dean might still be in the closet, seeing as it had taken years for him to even come out. Cas and him hadn’t even admitted they were a proper official thing until a year after Purgatory, but long before then, Sam and Jody and the rest of her family already knew and threw the cheesiest party they could think of.

With Cas, it’s not the sex that’s the problem there, or the relationship itself. It’s all the other stuff that happens on the job, the stress of the world ending and angel politics and human struggles, the secrets, and Dean fucking up and lying, or Cas doing the same, and in his case, flying off and trying to deal with everything himself, and both of them not understanding each other’s expectations, human and angel, and both running away from talking about it. No, most of the time, its miscommunications.

Dean hopes that if nothing else, they’ve sidestepped that for now. He might have a lot to answer for, but he’s been talking with Cas in a way that he thinks they are on the same page.

Even if he is too ashamed to face him and has turned to other bodies for comfort again without the stress of actual emotional intimacy. Cas doesn’t mind Dean having multiple partners, seeing as he does the same, albeit less frequently. He just minds Dean running away and not facing what he needs to, much like Dean hates when Cas pulls the same evasive bullshit.

Dean distracts himself from what he’s been avoiding dealing with, too, and the worry about Cas and his condition breaks over him again. And all the things Dean hasn’t apologized for.

Moving on. Fact is, Dean knows he’s gotten better about respecting Sam’s boundaries on the whole oversharing thing. He doesn’t hold back on everything- as a big brother, he thinks it’s his right to push the envelope a little- but he knows when not to. When it’s not a joke and when Sam isn’t in a good place.

And right now, Sam’s not freaked, or flashing back to anything. He’s just embarrassed and blushing and slightly mortified.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, could you give us a minute?” Sam begs. Dean eyes his face and vulnerable expression and nothing else, neck twisted up in a way that is uncomfortable, but he’s too thrilled about this new and unexpected development to care. Dean does turn away a second later before Sam can meet his eyes, knowing how Sam likes privacy. Or at least, has aimed for privacy. In all his other relationships, most of his partners were less reserved a bit too keen on kissing and ended up showing off PDA because they didn’t want to hold back, and Sam went along for the ride.

That doesn’t even count the trainwreck that was Lucifer at Bobby’s, and Dean has had a blanket policy of not thinking of that at all ever since Sam got out of Hell. But fact is, the bastard liked showing just how much Sam forgot himself when Lucifer was holding the reins and the Archangel was way too full of innuendo and kissing and public displays of affection enough to make Dean gag. So with this, Dean’s grateful Sam’s finally had sex in a way that doesn’t seem to have destroyed him.

He knows Sam hasn’t really gone through with anything ever since he got his soul back.

This was good.

Probably a sign Sam was getting better, if he gets his hopes up.

Maybe it’s a sign that Sam hasn’t internalized the bullshit Dean has noticed happening with his self-esteem, despite Sam trying to hide it. He’s been more subdued even while angry, and had cast off his usual assertive anger that drove Dean crazy like it had turned dangerous…

And Dean doesn’t have to speculate why. It’s not like Dean had helped, there, but he’d picked up on a few things after the Trials, even if Gadreel sent everything spiraling out of control…

But more than that, he’s heard Sam whimpering in his sleep after the wall broke, and while the words might not be English, he’s heard Castiel whispering at Sam’s bedside in English, whispering support that Sam can’t quite hear, words like, “It’s not your fault, Sam. He can’t hurt you. There is nothing to forgive.” So Dean knows whatever anger Sam had, it’s buried under fear and conditioning Dean doesn’t want to unpack.

And sure, Dean knows Sam’s need for forgiveness and his hang-ups and willingness to blame himself come from Dean’s disappointments on some level. He’s never good at admitting he’s wrong and blaming Sam is sometimes… Too easy, really, even if Dean knows he can’t let that go any more, has to stay on top of this because otherwise things turn into the debacle that was the Mark, and Dean’s scared of that more than he wants, because he knew how right the Mark had made him feel, and how easy it would be to just cruise along on the certainty that he was right to do whatever he wanted.

But Dean knows Sam, and remembers all too well what Sam really said after that one fight at Stanford before Sam cut off all contact. Deep down, he knows Sam self-blame is often a way of hiding anger, of burying it, of taking the path of least resistance and hiding from the hurt and betrayal when he doesn’t think he needs to apologize at all, but he uses it because it feels safer, because sometimes it is, and gets people off his back. Sam had done it with John for years, and Dean had watched him. And he’d even used it on Dean at his worst, and that’s when Dean knows things between them have gotten bad.

And while under the Mark, that manner of turning the tables around had set Dean off, and while Dean was a demon, that was just another thing to use to get under Sam’s skin, and Dean doesn’t want to think about this but on some level, he has to.

Because despite everything that’s gone down, Dean knows when Sam isn’t internalizing Dean’s blame but is instead mired in something else, in other memories and promises and failures that still made Sam hunch smaller, when he is mired in memories of a place and a person he won’t say a single word about to Dean, and that Dean is too scared to push or even ask about it, really. Sam gets careful and quiet and sleepless when the worst is there, and when the worst of it hits, whether they’re on a case or not, and Dean has a violent reaction because he just needs to break something, Sam flinches and just shakes and repeats sorry too softly and doesn’t seem to see Dean at all, and then Dean has to hide and go somewhere else to let his worst feelings out, because he can’t bear to see Sam looking like that when he knows where that look came from.

So right here, right now. Sam’s either getting some control back. It’s either that, or Sam is careening out of control because of whatever he isn’t telling him, and Dean needs to be on top of that, either way.

“Hi. Well, I'll just, uh...” Dean stammers. “Just won't be here anymore.” He finally settles on, looking out the window, “So you kids take your time.” He adds, habitual older brother support shining through even if he does glance back at Piper, who isn’t even looking at him anymore, before he makes his hasty escape to get out of dodge.

Dean smiles to himself, but it’s tense. He hopes this is a good sign. He needs it be a good sign. Not just because he’s falling apart and when he’s falling apart Sam usually helps put him back together, but because if Sam is falling apart, Dean doesn’t know how to fix any of it.

Dean sneaks back to the rear of the car and gives one last glance at the back of Piper’s head, and then turns his eyes downwards just to make sure Sam is genuinely all there and not out of it.

There’s bags under Sam’s eyes, but his expression looks relaxed now that Dean’s buzzed off, and that’s more than a good sign.

Dean holds on to hope, and gives Sam a thumbs up when he catches his eyes.

Sam rolls his eyes and makes a face, and Dean finally goes off to get some coffee and breakfast and maybe find a drugstore if it will make his almost-hangover-but-not-quite headache die.

\--

Piper keeps buttoning her orange uniform and turns back to Sam, bright and energized.

 **Must be a morning person,** Sam thinks, and he doesn’t dwell on that either.

“Have you seen my hairpin?” She asks.

“There.” Sam spots it on her other side and points, trying to cover himself a little since the car door let in the cold morning air, and it’s a bit too cold.

Not freezing, though.

Just chilly.

And that’s enough to make Sam want to pack on as many layers of flannel as possible.

He kisses Piper instead and holds on for dear life.

He can move on.

He will.

He’s going to fight this fight and he’s going to win.

His heart doesn’t stop feeling too tight in his chest after the temperature change, but he still hasn’t flinched once.

And Sam had made it through the night and it had been good, and hadn’t been anything like what things used to be, despite the fact Sam knows he’s latching on to what he used to latch on to, on the familiar things he would make good again, divorced from what Lucifer made them into…

That counts for something, in Sam’s mind.

He inhales the cold air, tasting and smelling asphalt and gasoline and extinguished cigarettes and the leather of the Impala and constant the musky, oil and sandalwood scent of Dean and whatever sharp deodorant he uses that always fills the car, and the smell of strawberries, thanks to Piper’s perfume, overpowering and manufactured.

He has been taking one day, one night, at a time, and he made it through the last one.

He’ll make it through the next one, too.

He just has to keep on breathing, and things will feel good more often.

He just has to believe his luck has finally turned around.

And he will feel safe again, damn it. He would make it so, piece by piece. He had finally felt safer when Cas had helped with the grace still inside him, and he felt even safer having this one night stand that didn’t fall apart because there were precisely no expectations, only living in the moment, divorced from past and present even if Sam hadn’t achieved that fully, and…

Just because it’s another end of the world, and because things have been bad with Dean until they let the Darkness out, just because it’s just another day in the life…

Sam clings to his belief, that things will honestly be better, this time, because he’s the one calling the shots now, and he will make it better for himself no matter what gets thrown in his path.

He lets himself stay calm and grounded in this half-finished, rusted out parking lot, inside a car that had been both home and an accomplish in ferrying Sam along roads and places he hadn’t wanted to go to, on a life he’d escaped and come back to and made into his own, finally…

Whether it’s God sending the visions or not…

Sam won’t let anything dictate his fate and ruin this.

He would answer the call and fight the fight and stop yet another end of the world.

He’d do what he had to do.

And then he was going to stop hanging on to just survival and finally live his life for himself again.

\--

When Dean comes back and Piper is gone, the first thing he does is fumble with a tape to set the mood and to make their habits feel like the normal routine.

Sam’s still struggling with the final buttons his third layer of shirts.

“Dean, I can explain what was going on...” Sam says, not too quietly, but still halting, and Sam is pointedly not looking at him, head downcast.

“No, no, no. No.” Dean just turns the volume up and lets the music play. He doesn’t want Sam apologizing for this, even if he is possessive of Baby. He’s proud of Sam for this.

Dean moves his hand along to the music, and Sam goes still, but more in a way of sarcastic disbelief than any other feeling.

**Are you serious right now?**

Sam rolls his eyes his brother and lets out a gigantic sigh. “Don't ‘Night Moves’ me.”

“Shh.” Dean shushes Sam, altogether too relaxed as he taps his own chest. “Just let it wash over you.”

“Let...” Sam can’t even string together a thought to counter that pile of big brother bs.

“Just take it in.” Dean adds as he rolls them out of there, steering wheel sliding over the palm of his hand. 

Sam lets out a huffy laugh, eyebrows raised and hands open in a question what-am-I-supposed-do-with-this gesture, and shakes his head. Sometimes, normalcy shows up in the weirdest places.

Dean being every bit the big brother he’s always been since Sam was a kid is one more thing to add to the list. He’d pulled this same bs when Sam had first been caught going to second base with Sarah Barnes in freshman year of high school.

Sam goes back to buttoning his shirt.

The first bars of the song kick in. Sam sees the crinkles around Dean’s eyes as he just keeps smiling.

Dean mouths the words and jabs a hand at Sam at the lyrics that once described his skinny form and now both described his tall figure and frustratingly chronic just-too-thin self, teasing and yet altogether too serious. Sam sees him smile at him and smiles back before he turns to the road, still shocked he’d gone this route.

“ _’I was a little too tall… Could’ve used a few pounds… Tight Pants point hardly reknown…”_ And Dean leans back in the seat and stops holding on to the wheel to hold up both arms, miming pointing at his face before grabbing the wheel again. _“She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes…”*_

Sam snorts and rolls up his sleeves now that the day has grown warmer. The sun shines on his arms, warm and free. “This is ridiculous.” Sam starts in, and Dean’s smile grows, all teeth, as they both look out the window at power lines and passing green trees.

“One of the greatest rock writers of all time, Samuel.” Dean shouts over the blare of the speakers.

“It’s Sam.” Sam answers. Usually he liked it when Dean says his full name, the one Sam chose, the one recognizing Sam for who he is. But he wouldn’t be Dean’s younger brother if he didn’t correct him at every turn, and in some ways, it’s the ingredient they needed not to have everything hanging over their heads. But it’s also just Sam.

It’s always been just Sam.

Dean looks at Sam’s small smile, one he’d once seen time and time again when Sam was 5, or 8, or 10, or 15, and hasn’t seen for a long, long time. A real one. A hopeful one, smoothed over from pain. The same one he gave him every time Dean called him brother and made it count, the same happy quiet when Sam felt accepted and right and not entirely like his own skin had been holding him hostage.

Some of the pressure on Dean’s chest lifts. He needs Sam to smile like that more, for his own sake.

It means he feels safe.

Dean then turns and makes a smug face, all crinkled forehead and raised eyebrows and slight, no teeth grin, the same teasing look he’d always give at 9, or 14, or 19, for years and years, teasing and I-told-you-so mixed all in one. Dean keeps letting the beat of the music drive him, arm swaying with the beat and hand tapping on the dashboard, while Sam keeps watching the road.

Sam keeps glancing out the window and back, mouth open wide enough to show teeth in almost laughter.

“Out in the back seat of my brother’s ’67 Chevy…” And Sam alters the words and sings off-key on purpose, like he used to when he was 14 and Dean was 18 and John hadn’t caught them out sneaking out and on the prowl, before singing turned from something fun and frivolous to something altogether not.

Dean waves a hand at him, and Sam pokes him, laughing as he adds, “Yeah, you started this. You started this.”

Dean grins ear-to-ear as Sam laughs again, and his voice chimes in after two beats, the chorus waiting in the wings, every word light and without any of the same hoarse stress that’s been weighing him down. “Here we go. Come on now.”

And the two of them sing together, “Workin' on our night moves…” Both their heads nodding and foot tapping and Dean’s fingers still drumming on the dashboard, Impala’s engine a warm rumble in their bones as the long strip of road stays bordered by clumps of trees by the freeway, black tarmac and parallel yellow lines stretching out to the horizon, looking as if there is no beginning and no end.

If Sam starts singing on-key in a way he doesn’t realize as the song goes on, Dean doesn’t comment. His voice is soothing, mostly because the stress has been wrung out of it, and that’s what really matters.

A few miles down the road, Sam takes out a custom wrap he’d packed and ordered from the diner, one BLT for Dean and his own a combo of delicious avocado and ranch dressing and peppers and carrots and other greens all for himself. The tinfoil crunches, rumpling against his fingers.

The song keeps playing at the sun filters through the trees, and Sam laughs again, breathing in the free air, and it feels like nothing can touch him.

Dean laughs in silence, almost choking on his too-large mouthfuls of less-than-greasy food, and the light, airy sound remains music to his ears.

\--

Thirteen miles later, Dean tells of his own exploits and misadventures that didn’t entirely consist of flirting and bars, and picks a joke one hunter made about some planet and astronomy he knows Sam will appreciate, and Sam laughs at that, like he knew he would, too.

\--

Forty miles down, the sun’s blocked out by some trees, but Sam’s still cloud-watching from the window, except when he’s trying to mess with the radio. Their drinks and extra calories and Dean’s cola from the latest drive-through at Tex-Mex sit between them, growing warmer by the minute.

“Next time, I choose.” Sam starts in, readying to rummage through the glove compartment for the next set of songs right after he starts pawing at the steering wheel. Dean intercepts his waving hand with one arm flapping like a lame swan, and Sam’s arm flaps to his side, veering from its course.

“Hey... Hands off the wheel.” Dean grumbles, but his voice is warm from the same old unspoken argument that resurfaces every trip.

“You're not even looking at the road.” Sam’s protest is a petulant whine. One hand points for extra emphasis, while the other brushes his bangs from his eyes.

After another mile passes, the sun starts shining on the backs of their necks again through the back window, light glancing off the glint of the radio, and Sam wipes his mouth with the back of his knuckles, growing quiet as he keeps his eyes on the world around them, and Dean lets the radio lapse and lets Sam pick the next song, for once.

If they’re gonna start over right, they might as well alter some old traditions to make things more square.

Dean can give Sam that much.

\--

Eighty miles from the Roadhouse, they pass a bay, and the sun is pink and orange as it glances off the still water and the clouds and starts to duck down behind the trees.

Sam picks up a book and reads, and it has something to do with ancient pyramids in Guatemala, Dean catches that much despite not getting to glance the cover, and Dean asks him to tell him what the book is about, something which surprises Sam, but he appreciates all the same.

Sam rambles on about Tikal and what archaeologists have dug up about the Mayan site and the Peten rainforest and the conservation around the actual monuments in connection with the ecology and the state of excavation and legal rights involved in the area, peppered in with some extra comments about how this annotated copy is on loan from some hunters talking about the supernatural challenges facing the area like an increase in tulpas recently, and while Dean tunes some of it out, Sam’s rambling interest and excited enthusiasm keeping him focused on the road and at ease. Sam and Dean pointedly don’t delve into bigger things, things too close to home, because they needed a break to recalibrate, even if it’s slight, and doing otherwise would defeat the purpose.

Sam still doesn’t doze after the hours go by, not like he otherwise would.

Dean notices that, too.

\--

By the time night hits, Dean’s noticed the three cups of coffee Sam has chugged, and he tries to ignore it, instead opting to finally find the courage to delve in to what he really wants to ask Sam about.

“’Digging into the lore.’ Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Dean teases.

Sam gives a slightly breathy almost-laugh and keeps staring out at the streetlights even when Dean looks over at him.

“Man, I needed that.” His voice is softer and a bit too solemn as he shakes his head.

Dean isn’t sure what to say there, so he forces another smile and chuckles a little and retreats back to shallow teasing, “And hey, look at that, you're finally not a virgin anymore. But you know what? I think it was time. I respect the fact that you, uh, you know, you wanted to stay true and pure and waited.”

Despite the content of the joke, for once, Sam finds the completely juvenile and factually inaccurate bullshit something he can almost joke along with, and he the smile in his voice rings out, cumulating in completely done, brotherly exhaustion. “Yeah, you know what? You...” Sam answers, voice shot and slurring, all gargling and too high pitched in his throat from how genuinely close he is to passing out, having not slept for the last three days straight, “You're an idiot.”

But then Sam grows quiet, and the uneasiness sets in, anyway.

“Even put a blanket down.” Dean says, looking back, his voice softer. “Buddy, classy and thoughtful as always.”

That does make Sam think of things he wasn’t initially, and the secrets that have built up, and the fact that even though he’s coping as best he can…

He’s still not sure if this counts as running. Or what he’s running towards, really.

Sam hesitates. His mouth twitches, and he keeps his eyes on the road.

“I tried to give her my number. You know what she said?” Sam says, and the weight of his history finally crashes over him, faraway and numb, so he almost doesn’t feel it.

“’We got tonight. Who needs tomorrow?’” Dean says, slinging a one-liner of his own. His voice deepens, lower in his throat, as he realizes just how quiet Sam’s got again, how his eyes are barely open against the glare of oncoming headlights. Dean gives Sam a pointed look when the silence drags on, and Sam forces a small smile and leans back, retreating into the brotherly safety that, aside from Cas and the Mills-Hascum family, is about the only true retreat that sticks and he has left.

“Is everything a Bob Seger song to you?” Sam jokes, almost aghast at the brazen disconnect but not really, and he blinks, eyes still a bit too watery from lack of sleep and things he’s still holding back, and he waves his arm, fingers crooking from just how tired he is.

“Yes.” Dean answers, definitive and unapologetic. As if it’s even a question. And he gives Sam that same look he does when he wants to be supportive but he knows Sam doesn’t want any heavy conversations. Just the familiar.

Just things he can hold on to.

And Sam looks back and sucks in his cheeks and brow furrows, because he’s tired, too tired to worry about anything and holding on to the gentle ease he’s had the past day and night.

“Well...” Sam sighs, voice fading as he swallows the words and glances back to the backseat, “It was nice knowing you, Piper.”

Except there’s a melancholy note at the end, and Dean knows that tone, and knows that maybe, Sam is mourning himself, who he used to be, young and free and not carrying the weight of too many years and horrors still etched under his skill, and he can see how Sam is fighting off his resigned loss of innocence, and instead looks towards the old days, when the backseat of cars and sex had meant something entirely different.

Dean struggles to stop Sam from getting pulled again, and grasps for something to keep the conversation going. Dean nods and Sam and gives him another conspiratorial glance, and when he forces a smile, there’s desperation there. A need for Sam to get back to wherever he had been, and not on this new train of thought that makes Dean worry all over again.

They’re getting close to what he hasn’t been saying, maybe.

But now that they are… Dean doesn’t want to break into anything heavy, anything that might take whatever ease had loosened Sam’s shoulders ever since they started singing and kept on the highway.

Except Dean isn’t sure reclaiming that ease will be possible, now that Sam’s too tired to keep up any fronts and the compartmentalizing he’s used to having stave of whatever makes him less than okay.

“Piper? That's awesome.” Dean’s voice doesn’t waver, although Sam can feel the nostalgia and strain at war with one another as Dean tries to rekindle whatever moment Sam had almost thrown a wrench in, and Sam laughs and smiles back until the strain in his jaw grows too tight and he bites the inside of his cheek and licks his lips and wonders just where this conversation is going. Dean’s voice washes over him like a wave…

Dean isn’t sure that reclaiming the intended ease is the right move, now that he thinks about it. And he knows Sam likes honesty, likes attempts to talk and connect, and maybe he should try that, seeing as he feels old, too. They’re been burning the candle with every new crisis for a long time now. Maybe there’s no point in pretending that they’re always trucking on forward? Maybe talking will just… make some of that strain finally seep out, drained of whatever power it has to keep them from falling back into the past?

“Heather. One-night wonders, man.” And then Dean knows from his own exhaustion burning in his chest, and the regret, and the fear, and the way Sam has started hunching over, that maybe avoidance isn’t the way to go on this one. Maybe he needs to crack Sam’s protective shell, let Sam draw himself out if given the right opening. Dean’s voice grows softer, almost a whisper, as he inhales and adds, “Shoot, we're lucky we still get that at all.”

Sam tries to keep his thoughts on track, and can feel the effort and the unsaid things hiding in Dean’s words, and gives him a soft, querying look, one that’s both hopeful and haunted and wistful. One Dean doesn’t understand at all.

“Really? You don't... Ever want something more?” Sam asks. Loaded question, on his end, in more ways than one. But in the safety of the Impala, so close to the old army men Sam had shoved in the grills, so close to thing that had given Sam control back…

Sam lets himself think of the good things he’s gained, of the dreams he realized before they were gone, before during and after Stanford and after Hell, of the things he’s reclaimed and succeeded in for himself, and even of the good times he had before things got twisted beyond repair and the Cage opened and…

Maybe if he thought of the good, of Lucifer, of all the things he’s had despite the lie, of Lucifer and when he was Jess and there had been little that hurt, maybe he could exorcise everything else the Devil haunted him with, and Sam could burn everything else the Devil was, and take all the rest of the good for himself as he banished everything else Lucifer was from his mind once and for all.

Sam wants to believe again.

And through it, he wants to defeat the past once and for all by holding on what he wanted to hold on to, and not letting anything else break him.

And if he’s asking for an old hope to be reality, well…

Hoping for a home and someone to hold on to and a united family and a way to be free, once and for all, there’s no crime in that.

Sam’s not a bad person. He’s done a lot of good, in spite of everything.

And he made it out, thanks to people he let himself hold on to.

He might not feel right, or safe, or good more often than not, there might be worse days than other, and he might be hiding from something all over again…

But he doesn’t feel the weight of old sins and old blame pinning him down anymore.

He has pride and loyalty left, and kindness he’s kept for himself.

Otherwise, Sam has always believed Dean could get that where he couldn’t, because Sam knows…

Sam knows who he is now. And he’s not sure that even if he tried…

He’d already had that, and the price had been so, so high, and Sam, as much as he wants something he’s never fully let go of, can’t trust himself with that.

But Dean deserves happiness and health and a future. He’s always believe that. He always hoped Dean would find his way through the maze life that thrown them in and he would see a new way to live his life, like Sam had, in his own way. And maybe his good fortune could stick where Sam’s couldn’t.

Another end of the world might be upon them, but he had Cas. If they get past this…

There’s potential, there.

They can hold on to each other and heal and grow. Sam’s always wanted that, deep down.

Certainty of conviction, of believing in a future, had always helped make things real for Sam, and while that itself is a double edged sword…

Sam couldn’t ever really give up on that. It’s a part of him.

Except that’s the precise wrong thing to say, the one question that sets Dean on edge, because then he’s thinking of all the ways he’s almost killed Sam, and Cas, and hurt them, not so distantly, and he’s thinking of Sam’s own attempts at domesticity, at Amelia and being trapped in Purgatory, and even worse, the façade Lucifer put up at Bobby’s, and how wistful Sam grew there, too, and the aftermath of Sam being underground, with Lisa and Ben and his attempt at an apple pie life and Cas being gone and Sam and…

“I'm sorry, have you met us?” Dean asks, voice tightening as he looks over at Sam likes he’s gotta make sure he’s not running a fever, but also slightly aggressive, and Sam blinks and looks away. “We're batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs.”

And Sam can see what set Dean off and can’t quite muster the energy to divert course. Just because Dean classified what he had with Cas as a mutual understanding, casual and not anything with marriage bells and whistles and a house…

Just because Dean is scared doesn’t mean he can’t fight for it.

Sam wishes he could fight for something like that.

One of them should get their dreams to be real, and not torn from them in the worst way possible.

Dean had a good angel who loved him just as fiercely and as much as Dean loved him back, and for him not to take that chance, to shy away because he thinks he’s not good enough…

Sam can’t just let it go.

One of them should be able to build something safe, and Sam’s not sure he’ll ever fit that bill.

“You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever.” Sam amends, brow crinkling, and the thought of engagement rings and the past rings hollow in his throat, not enough to make the panic settle back, because he’s too tired to feel anything, and he wants to reclaim this, so, so bad. “But... Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?”

And Sam thinks of ‘Jess’ accompanying Dean and Sam out of town when Dean first came rolling in, and all the failed times he thought he might just have that himself, even with the Apocalypse hanging over him all over again, and this time, it hurts less, only because anything else Sam won’t allow.

Just because the truth hurt doesn’t mean Sam can’t strive for something, can’t strive for what he’s always wanted even though he’d never get it from the one person he needed to and that person had almost ruined it all but Sam won’t let him, won’t let this rule his life, and while he still can’t talk about it he can’t stay silent and…

They’ve never really talked about any of this, not since Bobby’s. Dean doesn’t like thinking about that, and Sam normally avoids it like the plague, but right now, with the future dangling by a thread, and Sam being scared of what the visions might be trying to say…

“Have you not heard a single word Bob's been singing about?” Dean sighs, voice gentle and expression not giving ground, panic having once again thrown all the walls up. He knows what Sam might be talking about now, of what he isn’t saying, of the way he’s somehow both coping and failing to cope and there’s still whatever secrets he’s keeping unsaid…

So Dean trails off and pauses, just looks at the way Sam’s throat bobs, at the things he sees in green eyes, old and young and drained and still hoping for something Dean doesn’t understand, still…

So Dean turns back to the road and says the only solution he can think of, and his words run together too fast as he tries to derail this conversation and avoid it and keep things light and not make Sam feel worse all at the same time and he doesn’t like how unsure Sam looks, of how pronounced his exhausted gaze has grown, so Dean keeps talking because he doesn’t know what else to do. “You're tired. I can tell. You're exhausted. Well, I'm still wired, so I'm gonna pull over, get some gas. You hop in the back, get some Z's 'cause, buddy, you earned 'em.” And then Dean gives a real smile, but it’s still afraid, still honest, still full of everything he can’t say as he looks back at the road, as he tries to recognize that whatever happened Sam was trying to move on, and he can see that, but he’s still so damn worried and he doesn’t know what Sam needs right now, so he just throws support and brotherly jokes that aren’t funny into the wind because what else can he do?

“Proud of ya! Piper. Mmm. Man, she smelled good, too.”

Sam’s lips thin, and he gets smaller, and Dean wonders why he won’t sleep.

Sam needs to be okay.

He needs to.

He was doing so well…

And if Dean has to stay sharp and upbeat and protective for whatever is circling Sam all over again, he will.

He just wishes it felt like a solution, even though he knows he’s running from himself, too.

Sam doesn’t even make it to the back before Dean pulls over. He just drifts in the passenger seat, too tired to stay awake a few minutes after Dean voice kept on talking about whatever frivolous thing he could decide on, and he’s out like a light, pulled under into such a deep slumber not even Dean’s radio could wake him, although he keeps the volume low and the song quiet, soft rock, for Sam’s sake, just in case he isn’t sleeping as easy as Dean hopes.

\--

In Sam’s dream, Lucifer’s borrowed fingers tap and slide over the edge of the steering wheel like they always do.

Sam hasn’t come to yet.

He will soon, though. Lucifer can feel it.

The connection is still a bit rusty, sure. But the Devil makes due.

It’s a relief, feeling him almost so close again.

Lucifer had missed that.

\--

Judy Collins’ “Someday Soon” is playing on the radio. Sam doesn’t know that, though, Lucifer thinks wryly. Still, it fits, even if it’s purpose is altogether to make the act, if not convincing, then at least enough to throw Sam off from thinking it’s Lucifer speaking to him directly, or that if he is, he's a puppet of something greater than himself. Lucifer knows he has to play this safe. Sam always catches on too quickly, particularly in dreams. And he's already been stolen away or been avoiding Lucifer too long, and Lucifer is tired of the forced separation.

 _“A good word to say… Guess it's 'cause he's just as wild in the younger days, so blow you old blue northern, blow my love to me…”*_ The radio sings out, and Lucifer can feel Sam’s jaw working in his sleep, singing out in the real world with Sam none the wiser. It feels nice, having a few feelers active and wriggling inside him, even if it’s just Sam’s subconscious swept along for the ride.

“What are you listening to?” Sam asks as he yawns and pinches the bridge of his nose, not realizing it’s not Dean next to him. Red lights from oncoming traffic and the blue, false dusk wash over his face.

“Your mom used to love this song.” Lucifer starts in, John’s rough tones and delivery of words alien in his mouth.

Sam immediately flinches back against the car door and goes on high alert, dream intrusion realized, even if he’s not all there yet. Lucifer sees the familiar furrow of his forehead, the watery imprint of his slightly bloodshot eyes scanning for answers.

“Dad?” Sam asks, voice a thin whisper. He’s frozen and he looks more than just pale as a sheet. His pupils are thin slits and he’s trying not to hyperventilate but it’s all mostly just shock keeping him still and a fifty-fifty shot Sam will try to rip this dream apart and fight his way out, even if it’s useless.

Lucifer uses John’s young face to stare at Sam a little longer, motionless and not bothering to look at the road. It's convenient Michael took this form, too- meant he could push the signal of his grace, and down in the Cage, he buries his claws in his older brother's wings and makes Michael's grace signal twang, distracting Sam from his own recognizable chords through proxy. It's not like Sam won't recognize Michael's grace, either, but he would equate God's presence to something reminiscent, and similar. Michael always took after dear old Dad more than the rest.

“You okay, pal?” He asks, the throaty noise all breezy, and so soft, reassuring, almost like he’s trying to calm an anxious mouse. Lucifer can’t help but eye Sam up and down, drinking in the sight of him after he was stolen from him for so long, and he gives the smallest hint of a crooked smile, not one Sam would recognize on this stolen face, although the gentleness of it might be altogether too familiar. “You look a little spooked.”

That’s putting it mildly.

Sam doesn’t say anything for a long, long time. But he gradually remembers how to breathe and slowly loses the desperate, immediately panicked fight-or-flight response that he always gets when he knows his dreams aren’t his own. Lucifer lets the gradual not-quite-calm, the assessing, analytical fervor Sam latches on to so easily take root, and looks back at the false road, trying to remain as at ease and calm as he can manage, not excited or hungry or wanting. Just peaceful and the portrait of tranquility, so Sam doesn’t catch on…

When Lucifer looks back at the road, Sam blinks and glances outside the car window, eyes still darting as the gears whir in his mind and he tries to think his way to wakefulness, or to figure out why he’s having yet another invader in his sleep.

Any other time Lucifer would avoid John’s likeness, but Sam never would suspect him taking on the shape of someone Sam never really could reconcile with, considering his own conflicted, pained feelings, with trauma of his childhood, and quite frankly, Lucifer doesn’t blame him for that. The man was a drunken, opinionated menace- that’s how it was so easy for Sam to find Lucifer in the first place, and Lucifer can’t begrudge Sam his own similarities, seeing as that’s always drawn them together, and proven just how much they were made to be.

For this errand, the fact of the matter is, Lucifer needs his projected meatsuit to be as distracting and off-putting as possible. That, paired with Sam praying so much lately, means he knows what conclusions Sam might invariably come to.

It’s not that he won’t discount Lucifer’s involvement, not exactly. He’s too smart not to guess some meddling or interference, considering their long history. But John Winchester’s soul came out of the Hellgate to wrestle Azazel away, so he might think this is related as a failsafe against the world going haywire and some distant means of trying to protect him. Or he might suspect Michael sending something over, seeing as Lucifer’s elder brother always liked to wear that skin, and that would work to throw him off his game, too, seeing as Sam still shied away from the memories of just what he did to Michael under Lucifer’s tutelage.

If all else fails, well, one Father is as good a substitute for another. God speaking to Sam like he needs him to be his instrument, needs to make things right, because Sam’s denial is predictable insofar that he is too determined to pretend Lucifer is long gone and buried and his mind can’t take the alternative, can’t let this vision be him yet again, just when he finally thinks he’s won and moved on and all that rot. So God using his Father’s mouth as a messenger would almost not be a reach, with how much faith Sam’s been grasping for lately. Add in the parallels, Sam’s discomfort, and the fact that dear old Dad hardly made Sam’s life any easier than Sam’s own Papa did, and this con was almost too easy. John Winchester had been a violent, taciturn, and bigoted man with little patience or respect for his son despite any love he’d held or protection he wanted to impart, and God’s only reparations to Sam had been giving him to Lucifer, really, seeing as without him, Sam would be deprived of the body that was rightfully theirs, because God was too much of a sop to give Sam the right body at birth. Probably did that on purpose, to make Sam fit better, to make him an outcast and convinced of his own isolation just as Lucifer had been down in the Cage, if Lucifer had to guess, or maybe it was just supposed to make Sam feel grateful when they finally fit together and Lucifer eased all the hurt away.

But leave it to Lucifer to fix his Dad’s mess, and save Sam’s skin from the oncoming storm, the northeaster to wipe everything off the map once more. Lucifer was always prepared to haul Sam’s ass out of the fire if needed, provided Sam knew his role was to be grateful and to stay at his side where he belonged. Failing that, Lucifer would rescue Sam anyway, because Sam was his to keep and punish, and nothing else was allowed to lay claim to what was rightfully his to love and control and own.

Sam still remains dead quiet. Lucifer smiles wider, can’t quite help it, but doesn’t show teeth, and he uses John’s too-solid hands to turn the radio dial off.

“It's nice to be back behind the wheel.” John’s voice rumbles between them as Lucifer makes a point to audibly breathe, and the Devil chews the scenery like he prefers. Sam always was a good listener. It’s why they complimented each other so well. And Lucifer’s tone is more than wistful, rich and altogether too honest with that admission, because he had missed this, having Sam’s mind and body all his, and even his company itself, oh so much. Lucifer might be used to solitude, but Sam had promised he’d never be lonely, and Lucifer had promised him the same. He doesn’t get to be alone. Not after Lucifer made his home inside him.

Besides, you can’t catch flies without honey, and in this case, he can’t reel Sam in without some actual kernel of truth. Lucifer analyses the state of this dream-projection of the same damnable vehicle Sam had used a springboard to fight back, what had made him latch on to his memories and get all heartfelt and desperate and maudlin, to use his own love against the one he loved most and hold them both hostage as he cast them down…

Lucifer speaks again, tacked on additions altogether too careful, because he’s not letting any disturbed emotion get through, and keeps selling the hard sell, because every other attempt has been thwarted and Lucifer isn’t taking any chances, this time.

Sam’s already slipped through his fingers too long.

“Looks like Dean's taken good care of this old beast.” Lucifer ruminates, and then his voice turns a warmer, even though, for Lucifer, the truth is quite the opposite. Lucifer turns to look at Sam’s face, eyes still too wide and face too taut, and eyes the telltale bob of Sam’s throat, always so familiar. “Seems like he's taken good care of you, too.”

 _Got your brainpan all scrambled up, thinking you’ve got a life topside worth living without me,_ Lucifer thinks, but only to himself. _Still. He even made you miss me once or twice, even though that made you try to board me up even more. That takes a special sort of skill._

Lucifer keeps John’s eyes on Sam, expression kind, and Sam feels some jab of relief despite himself, Lucifer’s grace finding purchase because he’s always been able to send those impressions over.

“What is this? Another vision?” Sam presses, not exactly relaxing but looking less like he’s about to jump out of his own skin.

“Are you having visions, son?” Lucifer asks even as he can’t help but throw a wrench in as he keeps on threading the needle. Lucifer always had never cared whether the dream felt real or not, whether he was Jess or Nick or himself. It was still real enough. Sam’s world was his to dictate, and the emotions and company are what actually mattered. That had always been true, even if Sam was less keen to get with the program.

And as far as his gender went, Sam had always wanted that recognition of who he was from one of the humans who had brought him into the world. He’d fought his father tooth and nail for him to call him son, for it to be filled with honest respect and not scorn. To be seen, properly, by the people who were supposed to love him no matter what. Sam still hurt from that, even if he’s long since moved on from John and accepted what his childhood and life was, back then.

Still.

Lucifer can provide that. He had promised Sam peace and happiness, once. He still intended to give it to him, once Sam got what he deserved and then they finally fixed what went wrong.

And he’s the only one who can gift Sam the concession that he was right in one war of wills with his father who he’d never otherwise convince in reality, and it would have to be enough for both of them, seeing as Lucifer’s Father would never recant on his stance that most humans were unworthy and deserving of oblivion, the same age-old bitter argument that had struck him off the family tree and made Lucifer a homeless prisoner, at least before he found Sam.

But Lucifer sees the fight he’s always seen flare up in Sam’s eyes, the same look he gets in the careful way he deconstructs each dreamscape Lucifer ever provides, even when thrown in the deep end.

“Don't call me that.” Sam answers, voice raw and angry and bitter even as it stays soft and almost defeated, like he didn’t realize he was still mourning for something he’d never get.

He knows this isn’t real, and he doesn’t want to hear this mockery of what his childhood self had always wanted…

Not when he knows that much.

And whoever is talking to him, he knows it’s not his Dad. That much is certain. But there aren’t many candidates Sam can think of who would have reason to send him a line.

Lucifer smacks his lips together, blinking too much as he cricks his neck, but exaggerates the motion so it looks less angelic and more natural, and not tense. He knows this is the delicate part, the place he has to be careful…

Unless he just lays it on thick, to see if Sam’s denial truly runs so deep that he truly doesn’t think it’s really him. It’s a dangerous gamble that lights Lucifer up, and it endangers his entire plan, but the sudden rush of emotion and need for Sam to talk to him, to truly see him, to hear his True Voice and tremble from awe and love and fear and need, to remember his place, almost are too much for Lucifer to keep tempered and on lockdown.

Sam’s not stupid. Far from it.

And he has felt Lucifer up inside him enough that Lucifer is surprised he hasn’t demanded that he cut the crap.

Then again, Sammy is just so tired and desperate and not on his a-game. It’s completely adorable, like a puppy kicked too many times who only wants to be loved.

And Lucifer is pulling out all the stops. It’s not like he wants to make this easy, or that Sam has reason to believe Lucifer found some magic way to bypass the failsafes Sam and Cas had labored over for so long, all the long nights and desperate rituals and sessions to keep Lucifer’s residual grace less than a whisper under Sam’s skin…

And Lucifer doesn’t want him to pull away out of misplaced pride and fear and purposeful contrariness like he knows he would otherwise, even if Sam knows who loves him, who his heart belongs to. Lucifer really needs him to take the bait so he can finally fix the mess Sam made, particularly when he refused to come back down or at least let him out. The Darkness and Amara are just extra icing on the cake.

Truth is, even if Lucifer did reveal himself, Sam would probably come calling eventually anyway. There’s no one else strong enough to take God’s other parts on, seeing as Raphael is dead and Gabriel and Michael are also in Hell and far from doing too hot. But Sam would exhaust all other options first, and Lucifer wants to see him sooner rather than later, before things get too hot, and he has to give Sam enough of an outside push that he won’t think it’s Lucifer prodding him along. Hell, even if Sam rises to the occasion and believes Lucifer’s front off the bat, he’ll still drag his feet.

And time is of the essence.

“What? A father can't call his...” Lucifer asks, too innocent, but still baiting, nonetheless, as he inhales, voice a bit nasal from the conflict inside him. Much as he wants this to work, he prefers being honest with Sam. Sam always was easier to control and break and hold close when Lucifer gave him the hard facts of life.

Sam stops him before he can keep going, and interrupts, “No, my father is dead.” And Sam’s answer is clipped and furious and brooks no argument, even if the last note wavers, choking out from old grief he pretends isn’t there.

Lucifer has his fun anyway as a means to calm his nerves. He’s desperate, too. And he just wants Sam back. So if this smokescreen has got to work out, then he’ll just see how the chips fall.

“When has death ever stopped a Winchester?” He counters. Rhetorical question, really. Their lives are the property of the angels who had watched their destinies unfold, from the moment God made them and set the stage for all that was to come.

Sam is his, and his alone.

Sam shifts and rolls his shoulders, visibly uncomfortable, and if Lucifer had to bet, he’s thinking of all his own resurrections, and all the lives he’s lived, of all the times Lucifer brought him back, kicking and screaming and crying or gasping, Lucifer’s lips teasing out the life he’d flooded back into his lungs, and by all that is holy, he’s sure trying his damnedest not to.

“Look, I don't know what this is,” Sam answers, licking his lips, voice hoarser as he adds, “But...”

“What you said about relationships, wanting something more...” Lucifer starts in, not letting Sam spin his wheels longer. There is so much Lucifer wants to say, and doesn’t, but the fact Sam swallows at one singular, loaded word is more than reassuring, if nothing else. He's not too bothered by what Sam had just been up to either, pretending he could move on. He's done worse, before, sure, but if the last person he's fucked has been the mirror image of the first skin Lucifer used to wear, that's enough evidence for him that Sam knows who he belongs to and just because his conscious mind won't bite, his subconscious sure is picking up the slack. And if Sam was going to get an inkling of who he’s truly talking to, now would be the time. Lucifer can almost feel him thinking it, of guessing the truth because he’s done this dance so many times, but can feel the denial, just as strong, finding its way out of the woodwork, clear and reliable but mostly just desperate and worn. Sam doesn’t want to think about Lucifer gaining a foothold again, having a way in while he sleeps, because he knows what he still yearns for, and he was fighting that, not quite defeating it but moving forward, and he can’t take any more, not after he thought he’d cut that out despite the price Lucifer made him pay for fighting it, and even if he still wants what he used to have, he’s resigned himself to accepting the good and casting off the ghosts and scars that were left, surviving what he can’t erase and trying to live life anew, day by day.

He just wants to feel safe and calm and not like his own soul and skin is his enemy, and if Lucifer’s the one talking to him… That tears all his progress down again.

So denial wins out, predictable and familiar. Lucifer was banking on it, despite his own conflicted self, seeing as it’s the most convenient weapon in his arsenal.

Lucifer pauses, not letting his grace bleed through, even though it settles, wanting and cold, inside his actual cell.

_We were something more, you and me. You know that. You know it’s the best feeling in the world when we were good, that it was all you ever wanted. We had everything. We did. And I want that back. And you’re going to come back down here and I’m going to get you back, and you can have all that again. We can have us back, all good and proper. No need to settle for any pale, false substitutes, like you always do when you run. You hate being alone, Sammy. We’re both alike, that way. That's why you'll come back. Because you’re all mine._

Lucifer inhales, after a beat, tries to remember to breathe more so Sam’s unconscious doesn’t note his typical stillness. Lucifer doesn’t fidget, either, either all grasping, involved motion or all frozen, inhuman stillness with very little nuance in between. Playing John means he has to think back to being inside Sam, or even just watching him, and imitating all his little facial tics and all too human sensations that make him human as he is.

“I never wanted this for you boys. This life. Not really.” Lucifer settles on, because that’s true even if that’s not what he wants Sam to get out of this. Sam’s supposed to get derailed, thinking of his father and the life he didn’t quite live and all the chess pieces that were set to Azazel’s and Lilith’s and Lucifer’s grand designs for him, and Michael’s gambles for Dean, and God’s plan, and of Sam’s same old curse that made him feel unclean and responsible for the forces taking root in his life.

And it’s not a lie. Lucifer didn’t want this. Didn’t want Dean to have come back for Sam after he’d already lost, fair and square, or for Sam to have locked them up, or to have thrown him away, or for Sam side with Dean, or be a hunter and trudge along to a life he’s settled for because he doesn’t know what else he can do, or what he has left, because he doesn’t have anything else except the few people who latched on. And because, deep down, he must know Lucifer was all there is for him at the end of the line, and he’d only ever envisioned penitence for all eternity, so once Dean got him out…

Lucifer didn’t want to have to hurt him at all. Sam should’ve just listened to him.

Then they wouldn’t be here, in this position, with Sam’s loyalty to his short-sighted mess of a brother putting all of Creation at risk.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

But Sam never knew what was good for him. Always so quick to sacrifice his own happiness for others.

If only he gave Lucifer the same courtesy…

“We turned out okay.” Sam challenges. It’s not a concession, though. Sam has not forgiven one iota of the wrongs and abuses committed against him from his Father. But it’s a pointed omission. A safe sidestep that both defends Sam’s pride and doesn’t let the regret seep in. Sam regrets some of his choices but not the person he feels he is on the inside. That much is true.

Lucifer prefers it when Sam doesn’t lie to him, but he can appreciate this game of not-lies, of careful, indirect assumptions. Sam still doesn’t know who he’s talking to, and saying the most convenient truth is something Lucifer knows works very well when trying to avoid conflict. In that way, Sam mirrors his own self. That’s half the reason they trusted each other so easily- they could always tell when the other was throwing around half truths, and could fill in the blanks. It’s familiar, and nostalgic, but Lucifer doesn’t let it distract him from his endgame.

“You did, didn't you? But that was on you boys. You did that, not me.” Lucifer compliments. Because it’s true, from a character standpoint. If he’s acting as John, well, all of Sam’s virtues were in spite of him, as were Dean’s, even if Lucifer is less inclined to be charitable there. Sam was perfect in spite of everything and everyone that held him back, like Lucifer had been.

“Well, you played your part.” Sam answers. That’s a backhanded-compliment, seeing as it’s not even a compliment at all. All John did is teach them what not to do at all costs, except for in the case of fighting monsters, in which case, he’d done a decent enough job to make them survive as hunters. It certainly wasn’t foolproof, seeing how many times they’ve both died, but in the end, Sam will give some credit where it’s due. And there’s no point in slandering dead loved ones. Because Sam had loved him, despite what John was. He was still his Father, and not loving him would have made Sam feel worse, inside, even though he knows he doesn’t owe John that. Not after everything he did.

Lucifer goes quiet for a bit, and the need to be closer feels too tantalizing.

Sam’s earnest need to be kind and loving and pathetically endearing in all the worst ways always makes him want that back for himself.

And Sam is so warm, and he feels so close and yet so far, and Lucifer misses the heat of him, misses the taste of him, and wants to reach out, to ditch this skin and to make the dream change into something Sam would recognize, would send this all toppling down into something not purposeful and planned at all, that would ruin the ruse immediately-

But as sentimental Lucifer is, even more than that, he’s patient, and he has had that very same patience drilled into him from long years stretching on and on alone… And if he’s going to get Sam back forever, he can and will exercise precise control.

Despite that, Lucifer knows when he can say two things with altogether different meanings. He always has, even when things were good. And while Sam would feel it, would pick up on it, he’s already proven he wants to be led and to take the bait, because any other truth would break him.

Lucifer, despite everything, isn’t as in control as he wants to be.

“I did my best, anyway, for what it was worth.” Lucifer says, and despite all his careful plans, he’s not in character and not thinking of John at all.

 _I do love you. I did try for you. But you were made to love me just as I am, just as I love you for everything you are, Sammy… Even if I hurt you just as much as you hurt me_.

He wants Sam to give some ground here, to hear the truth even if he won’t really go for what he knows this is. He has to know on some level. He’s lived too many lives with Lucifer, felt his presence for too long not to.

He should just let himself break apart so Lucifer can put him back together and make everything right again, no need to live in the past.

Lucifer just wants him to come back on his own. He knows he would, given the right push, if he would just stop pretending their relationship wasn’t fine with Lucifer taking care of him and Sam not calling the shots…

Sam’s running in circles, and he knows he is. He should run where he really belongs.

And if Lucifer had to give some ground and make Sam see that he could make this good again, if he’d just let him love him, let him in…

Sam blinks and his eyes narrow.

Lucifer looks back at the road, and lets Sam collect his thoughts.

“This isn't real.” Sam breathes. It’s all too much, and while part of him feels the truth…

Sam will not accept it. Lucifer can’t touch him, and his father can’t hurt him, and whatever this is…

Sam will make himself move on.

But his eyes never stop moving, scared to look back at the driver of the car, and Sam feels unsafe in the passenger seat all over again, because he can feel some kind of regret that isn’t his own washing over him, some kind of love being pushed on him, and he doesn’t want to feel any of it.

Lucifer gives a small smile, sad but fond.

“I never could fool you, could I?” He asks, turning back towards Sam, memorizing the look on his face.

Sam looks stricken and off-balance and altogether too knowing, because he knows that smile and that wistful, hungry, nostalgic look and the words because deep down, he always knows who seeks out his dreams, who holds his heart. But his levee of impenetrable, unconquered denial holds the line anyway, reliable in the way Lucifer needs it to be.

Sam wants to believe that even if this is Lucifer, that Lucifer is a tool for something more, and that he’s not the one running the show. An instrument of a God that has so far left Sam out to dry, who handed Sam over to his very son that Sam could never fight head on, the angel who knew every yearning pang of Sam’s heart and almost gave Sam that, and Sam wants to believe he’s finally got God’s attention, has burned this curse out of him, because why else would God send visions of the Cage if he wasn’t making up for all the lies Lucifer claimed? Why would God send Sam back if it wasn’t going to fix anything, if all of God’s creation was truly on the line…?

And the memory of Lucifer’s whispers seep in despite it all, ones Sam knows all too well.

_God doesn’t care about anyone, Sam, least of all you and me. He’s cruel and doesn’t give a damn and told you he didn’t care what happened. You can’t say I’m wrong, Sammy. Joshua had no reason to lie, and I’m just working with what I know and the memories you gave me. Face it. He’s left you here with me. It’s just us, keeping each other warm, so I’m the only one looking out for us. I’m the only one you can trust to pull through and count on to go to bat for you, baby. So why don’t you use that mouth to pray for what matters? Use it to show me just how much you love me. And I’ll answer those prayers, Sammy. And don’t you worry, I’m not one to hold back. I’ll make you feel holy and pure when I’m through with you, all mine, every bit what you were meant to be._

No. It has to be God and only God calling the shots this time and finally getting off the bench, because surely he wouldn’t settle for the Devil proving that God wasn’t looking out for anything?

Surely the gravity of the Darkness being released and Lucifer’s lies and the consequences of the Mark had to get his attention and make him see that Sam had done his best and all he’s asking for is to go along with his plan and just fix things without Lucifer ruining it, for once?

And Sam had prayed while infected, with the taint of the darkness inside him, and the holy fire burning the rot out and setting alight the rest of the grace under Sam’s skin.

It had to have been God. Lucifer had become too twisted, too vile, for him to get a line in, with holy oil involved and all the grace extractions they've done and every other set of Enochian Cas added to the carvings on Sam's ribs. Even if Lucifer's claims and Enochian was still etched on there, too...

But he’s still a damn angel.

There had to be limits, or breaks to his control, as cut off and far away as he is, with all the Cage interference...

And Cas had felt it all go dormant.

There's no way it's just Lucifer all over again.

There has to be something more at play.

“I prayed when I was in that church,” Sam whispers, swallowing, his nose crinkling as his face twitches, his voice still so very soft. “And I saw...”

He trails off, the flashbacks more vivid now that he’s in a dream, and that Lucifer is right next to him, even if he doesn’t think he is.

Sam remembers chains and hooks and knives and flaying and the way Lucifer would nick and cut under his skin, tendons and the sharp burning ache of it as Sam bit his tongue and tried not to scream, or how Lucifer would slide his hands over Sam’s bare skin, or would rip his eyelids and make him bleed and would break him, would ruin every cell in Sam’s body and bury his fist in Sam’s abdomen, bloody and sticky and squishy, Sam too winded to cry out… Or how he would make him feel so helpless, or like a ragdoll, limp and so wanting, so blissfully aware of every soft, gentle touch Sam had always protested before he broke, and Sam saw the rough invasion of hands and fingers and could feel whispered words ghosting over his neck and the mouth brushing his earlobe and can always see the relentless stare of his many red, burning eyes, unblinking as they observe Sam’s every tiny flinch and shudder and twitching muscle. And can feel the endless caresses of his wings, and the way everything burned, and Lucifer’s throaty laughter, but more than that, beyond it all, Sam remembered Lucifer demanding, begging that Sam love him and how he’d make Sam so cold from the inside out, how he’d clutch his frozen soul and breathe it in and hold it close and make Sam feel something so beyond pain or terror or ecstasy that Sam barely remembered anything at all except the feel and taste and weight of the Archangel, or of the True Face pressed against his own.

“Something.” Sam settles on, all the emotion laid bare for the Devil to see. “And now, here you are, whoever you are, whatever you are.” Sam snarls, nostrils flaring as his voice grows rougher, but he doesn’t acknowledge that this entity inside his head is anything he doesn’t want it to be. He’s the one with the power over his mind now, nothing else, and he would get his fucking answers and stop yet another Apocalypse he had a hand in causing and that was that.

And he can’t let this be Lucifer.

It’s not him.

It’s can’t be him.

It has to be anything other than him.

“What the hell is this?” Sam demands, fight giving way to exhaustion and the need to believe in something, because he meant to move on, really, and he had finally been getting somewhere.

Lucifer finds his patience waning at Sam’s skittering need to run still, when the only person he should be running towards is right there, next to him. He’s always running from himself, too. He should know that, by now. But Lucifer channels that impatience into determination to make Sam fall in line.

No one can say Sam’s not a practiced masochist, even if it’s unintentional. Sam’s just bad at being good to himself that way. Just another reason why Lucifer has to walk him through this and be patient, to give Sam the nudge and reassurance he craves.

“Dream. Vision. Call it what you want.” John’s voice is flat and gives nothing away, blank expression the perfect mask, and Sam stares him down, unblinking as he memorizes every ridge of that face for deception, even though the words are all too similar to Jess and the way she’d blow off his dreams, too.

Maybe whatever entity is using Sam’s dreams as a sounding board is piggybacking on Sam’s mess from Gadreel and the things he brought back to the surface with Lucifer, all the raw reality of it, and the things he’s familiar with in his dreams. That makes sense, in some twisted form. Sam’s used to his dreams being unsafe, being not under his control. Maybe his neural pathways are just shot and whatever being in on the other end is using the path of least resistance, using Sam’s long patterns of trauma long since burned into his memory, and Lucifer’s methodical body language and manner of speaking and feeling of grace, and John’s skin and Sam’s haywire emotions to make the transmission stick and come through all the clearer.

Dream projections are always more vivid and effective the more they draw out strong feelings. Lucifer and Cas had both told Sam something similar, for entirely different reasons. That’s why dream-root was so dangerous in copious amounts, since you can get too much of a feeling and your heart can stop or your lungs with freeze. Sam had done his research while trying to keep Lucifer out when he slept.

Not-John keeps going as Sam tries for logical ways to calm himself, to keep himself following along for the main event, for a message that might finally makes sense…

Lucifer changes his intonations, keeps his voice gruff and taking breathier, shallow breathes, sentences more cut off as he imitates John’s manner of speaking and halting emphasis, “The message is still the same.” And Lucifer looks Sam head-on, all intensity, as he says, “The Darkness is coming...”

And Sam raises his eyebrows and his lip twitches and Not-John looks away again. Let’s Sam keep thinking too hard to try and keep the self-blame at bay, at the fear, because Sam and Dean and Cas let it out and there’s no going back…

“And only you boys can stop it.” Lucifer tacks on, looking back at Sam directly again. That’s the hook Sam would latch on to, just as planned. He’s sees the message take root and Sam’s over-developed sense of responsibility and weakness eat him alive.

This is almost too easy.

Poor Sammy just wants to fix things he can’t fix on his own, and to win a fight and feel like it sticks, no extra baggage necessary, and to pretend he can live and move on and not be who he is, what he is, what God made him…

Sam gets angry, then, loses patience. Like he always does when he’s scared and struggling for answers and that mythic third option he always wants to fucking take.

It’s a quiet, accepting anger, though, because he has swallowed the pill of his own denial, his own need for this to be the universe looking out for him and not throwing him to the wolves and back into Lucifer’s waiting arms, and that need takes root and gets ready to bloom. And with it, Sam will accept any mission, any price save the loss of Cas and his brother, any sacrifice save one he’s already made, so long as it means he fixes things and remains this pale imitation of free…

But he’s never been free, not so long as he doesn’t accept Lucifer and his connection to him for what it is.

“Okay, fine. How?” Sam’s voice is steely despite how hoarse and rasping it’s become. “We need help, not…” And then the weight of his emotions grows too much, and Sam’s voice turns vicious and cold and snarling, his mouth twisting and his nostrils flaring as he spits, “Visions of dead people.”

“God helps those who help themselves.” Lucifer answers with a lazy shake of his head. It’s real advice. You only get what you want in this world if you take it, if you don’t wait around for permission but take initiative and priorities your goals.

Sam should’ve learnt that by now. Lucifer had tried to teach him so often. He’ll just have to try harder, he supposes. Once Sam seeks him out and sets him free, they’ll have time to work that out.

_Come find me, Sammy. You know what the visions are telling you. You know, deep, deep down._

“Who are you?” Sam begs, scared to feel the grace flaring beneath his ribs and beyond desperate for any kind of answer to his prayers.

A truck horn blares loudly inside his skull. It’s headlights flood through the windshield and glare into Sam’s wide green eyes. His pupils become pinpricks, like they did when the sun hit the edge of the car and he remembered those plastic figurines and took back control of his own bloodied hands and demanded Lucifer back down, and just like they did when the truck mowed him and Dean and John down after he failed to send Azazel downstairs the first time. Somewhere, deep in Sam's chest, he feels phantom hands gripping his soul, and it feels like he's falling into eternity all over again.

Lucifer helps him wake up, but tastes the overwhelming presence of Sam’s raw fears all the same.

He’s lived too long not to be wary, Lucifer supposes.

But Sam’s still young in so many ways.

\--

Sam jerks awake, breathing harsh and ragged and his fists clenched too tight.

Dean’s parked the car in a parking lot and is researching on the laptop. Sam’s nestled in some blankets and is laid out in the backseat of the Impala.

Dean had carried his nodding head and gangly limbs from the front seat to the back, not wanting to wake Sam up but wanting Sam knees to get a break from being in the same position all day.

Sam needed proper rest.

Dean doesn’t look up at the moment, and his tired voice deadpans, “Welcome to the Winchester Motel.” Then he gives a small glance upwards at Sam’s face, and his voice grows warmer and higher and louder, “We don't have cable, but we do...” And Dean bites his lip as he rummages in cooler and grabs a can, handing it over the seat as he adds, “Have room service.”

Sam takes the soda, pops the cap, and chugs.

Dean looks back down, but his eyes aren’t really glued to the page. His voice gets softer again, it’s usual low baritone, rougher thanks to sleep deprivation, but there’s a curious note lingering there, all the same.

“You were singing in your sleep.” He announces. Normally that knowledge and its implications would be enough to make Sam swallow too fast, but he doesn’t choke on the soda. He holds it out, taking in too heavy breathes that make his chest rise and fall, and Dean’s eyes go faraway and nostalgic, his expression losing some of the stress even if Dean’s voice turns a bit too melancholy and nostalgic as he looks back up at Sam, the set of his mouth and the crook of his elbow leaning on the seat as the open set of his palms clutches the leather, body language all speculative. “That song Mom loved that Dad used to always play for us. I think I've actually still got the tape.” He adds, looking down at the glove compartment and back.

Sam doesn’t want to think of singing and sleep and dreams in the same sentence and suppresses a shiver.

And he can’t hide anything anymore. All his attempts to cope have all been shot to Hell like tissue paper overnight.

\--

Sam inhales sharply and glances out the window, unable to meet his eyes.

“Hey, Dean, um...” Sam swallows the words for a moment, forgetting how to speak English despite it all as he still feels too much sweat on his brow, and inside his chest hammers too quick a heartbeat, just from seeing Dad’s younger face, partially in the shade and the red glare of oncoming traffic that was too close to the red pulsing of the cage or the cold blue shadow of its scooped-out desert-like storms and the lightning and…

It’s the same face Michael wore downstairs when… When Sam…

When Lucifer held on and whispered in his ear and they sang out and everything was sharp and the vacuum of the cage was so heavy it felt like gravity would drive Sam to his knees and…

_There’s sparks and ash and bloody feathers and waves of burning light and so much screaming, tears streaming down Sam’s face only his skin is breaking apart, peeling off like an orange peel and dust combined from the force of the angels fighting, only Lucifer grabs him, holds him tight, and weaves him back together, so cold Sam’s breath fogs and his heart turns to ice and he feels lips so soft press against his and a tongue inside his mouth and the edge of a smiling as the laughter rings, too, except the contact is beyond zero kelvin, and Sam is so, so cold he never wants to feel anything else and it’s the only thing keeping him from breaking into shards of skin and marrow and nothing, the hands gripping him, and the ringing of his teeth so cold they feel like they should shatter from the sound of the screaming, of the singing grace, so much the roots and the enamel feels like glue and concrete in his mouth…_

Sam forces himself to keep going, “You said when you saw the Darkness, you weren't sure whether it was, uh...” And Sam doesn’t want to think about visions and headaches and Azazel and all the things this could be, has been before, because it has to be God this time, not just because Sam needs it to be, but because God abandoned everyone and this is bigger than everything this time, and Sam is so tired of everything dragging him back down to Hell when he thinks he’s gotten out, or having the world end so completely, and this is the only lifejacket he can grab, “The real thing or a vision, right?”

And Sam looks at Dean then, forces his eyes to meet his as the tendons jump in his throat and he tastes something bitter and fruity and sour.

“Mm-hmm.” Dean grumbles and nods, and he blinks as Sam as his eyebrows rise, but his expression still turns peaky and tense and wary because they’re talking about visions, and his hand clenches tighter over the seat into a fist, but he tries to hide it, he does, because Sam’s finally about to speak his mind on whatever he’s been keeping a lid on all day.

“I think I've been having visions, too, lately.” Sam says too quickly, voice too tight and soft and dead.

Dean leans his head back and eyes Sam directly now, unable to stop the involuntary movement.

Sam overcompensates by almost rambling but loses the words halfway through, stumbling his way through an explanation that both doubles as an apology and a fearful need to pave the way too gently, because Sam can’t think about everything he’s gone through but all of it is just roaring at once, how Dean once called him a freak, even that phone call he’s never brought up, and after the mess of the Mark and the vision that still feels too close to recollection, to close to a nightmare, too close to an invasion that happens all too often and it’s eating Sam alive as fast as possible, “I mean, it's just images. I mean, more of a…” Sam breaks off and his face scrunches, brow furrowed and eyes darting side to side, looking at nothing. Sam can’t hide his torn expression, the tried-and-true exhaustion of his bones and body and muscle memory sending all the danger alarms on high alert while his brain tries to look at this like a lead, like a solution, like something he doesn’t have to be afraid of because Sam is tired of being afraid… “Feeling, really. But I just had one right now, and...” Sam’s eyes twitches as he tries continue, tries to reconcile the peaceable innocuous nature of the dream itself and his desperation for God to answer him for anything, not just him but anyone, and the constant fear that this was going to go bad, again, and the memory of Lucifer Sam thought he’d flushed out and kept at bay _from the shadow of his wings and the afterglow of his eyes and the smile of teeth as he ripped into Michael after Sam had long collapsed at his feet, one hand still rustling in Sam’s hair as he soothes and hums and ices away the damage so Sam can try again, can mangle Michael further in his name…_

Sam keeps talking, voice almost dead but not, because the only way he isn’t going to flinch back and become mute and absorbed in something that isn’t the present is if he doesn’t focus on his words, doesn’t measure them, doesn’t try to make sense of this, “And Dad was in it.” Sam settles on, conflicted anger and old wounds and disgust at whatever creature took on that face breaking through as Dean eyes him blankly, absorbed but lost, and Sam stammers and stutters and stumbles but keeps talking, full on rambling now that he’s got himself grounded, is picking at his skin and holding himself so still against the backseat, leather sticking to the back of his neck, “But it wasn't Dad like... Like... The Dad that ... That I grew up with. It was Dad when he was our age. And I-I guess it wasn't even really Dad. It was someone pretending to be Dad and...”

**And it was calm and bizarre and measured and I’m freaking out from how mundane but real it felt, because whatever that was, it wasn’t Dad, it was something distinctly NOT-**

“Okay, what makes you say that?” Dean cuts in, impatient only because demanding answers might keep Sam grounded and he see the signs that Sam is starting to spiral.

Sam snorts and almost laughs hysterically but throws his head back and manages to say, voice as level and cynical as possible, “For starters, he told me everything I wanted to hear.”

And Sam glances out the side window at the parking lot, not at Dean, because there’s always one person he can count on to tell him what he wants to hear even if it’s a lie.

“Yeah, that doesn't sound like Dad.” Dean cuts in, just as sure, but he looks down at his feet, and his mouth ticks up in the tiniest, fearful scoff because he still remembers what the exact opposite of that is, how angry and demanding John could get, and how things keep creeping inside Sam’s head and his sleep and how the last time their Dad was nice, it was fucking Azazel himself-

“No. Anyways, whoever it was...” Sam’s higher pitched voice finally dips to not-almost losing it, Sam’s every word measured as he counts his breaths in silence, and Dean looks back up as Sam adds, “They had a message to deliver. They said the Darkness is coming, and... only you and I can stop it.”

Because it’s always them, always that great big destiny somewhere over the rainbow, except this time, it’s on Sam properly this time, and he almost would deserve it, he thinks, if not for the Cage and all that happened there. And even if Rowena and Cas were the ones to activate the spell in the end, Sam felt this was his fault, because Sam needed that Mark off of Dean and even if he accepted Dean killing him in the end and Dean had chosen the third way out, hadn’t lost Sam completely, but then again, it was on Dean too, for taking the Mark to regain control of what he felt was spinning out of control without consulting anyone, just chasing solutions that lead to problems because he jumps headfirst into self-destruction and the illusion of self-sacrifice when all he wanted was control to make him feel like he could justify everything he did and keep Sam in his life.

Sam doesn’t blame him for the Darkness, though. He blames Dean for not being who he knows he is, for betraying him so thoroughly, and it’s the betrayal that set this off…

Sam blames Crowley for setting this up, and Gadreel, for Dean letting him in and believing in him, and John, and Dean’s fear of abandonment, and Sam’s inability to get ahold of himself because he hasn’t been fully there for anyone, not even himself, no matter how hard Sam tries to throw himself into helping Cas and being with his brother and saving people, because he had already accepted eternity and torment and he’s almost accepted he’s nearly broken free but none of it wants to let him out of it’s clutches, and Sam can feel the ghost of the weight there breathing down his neck, love and hate and the want to rest and only finding peace in forced, trained submission, something Sam cannot allow because that is all too easy to fall into, it’s why he fights back like his life depends on it, because it does, and for too long it’s been pulling him away when he doesn’t want to let it-

Sam’s anger has never fully left him. It’s just in hiding, directionless, trying to find a nebulous target it can aim at and defeat through pointed acts of kindness and giving people choices and their lives back, and it still hasn’t saved Sam from the worst things inside himself, because as angry as Sam is, as much as he wants to reclaim himself, he still isn’t sure how.

“Did they have him give you any helpful tips on how to do that?” Dean asks, voice flat with sarcasm and disbelief, his expression bitten off and his cheekbones suddenly sticking out in sharp relief with how he sucks in air between his teeth, all whooshing silence.

“He said, ‘God helps those who help themselves.’” Sam says, quieter now, the words tripping over each other in haste again as he latches on to the one thing that might be able to fix him and this because Sam doesn’t know how he’ll ever feel safe inside his own skin, and the world might be on fire, soon, and his dreams are once again not blank sleep but sentient, with an agenda behind them, “I mean, maybe these visions…” And then Sam trails off, almost mumbles, “are coming from God.”

Sam needs it to be God.

**Please, God. Please. I’ve been praying for so long, and this is for everything. Surely you’ve heard people screaming long enough? Surely this is big enough, this time?**

Only Sam tries not to be bitter. He isn’t too good at it, seeing as he’s panicking, but he’s much more charitable when calm because good people, people like Cas and Dean and everyday people, they deserve their lives, their happiness.

Sam can’t be the one to usher in the next Armageddon to wipe everyone off the map. It nearly destroyed him the first time. He can’t let this go, and part of him would go back downstairs if it would fix anything, would pay the price, but that ship has sailed, and Sam had finally thought he’d paid his dues, and Sam still feels too cold…

“Whoa. Pump the brakes.” Dean jumps in, immediately thrown and not liking the way this is going.

“I mean, Dean, the first one happened after I prayed.” Sam insists.

Sam has only ever prayed to a few angels and God itself, and since two angels were the only ones to respond from past precedents, Castiel and Lucifer, but mostly Lucifer.

Sam needs a miracle.

Sam will take anything else inside his head, really, as long as it isn’t Lucifer.

Dean gives Sam a pinched, blank look of shock and nerves. He knows Sam prays. But lately, scratch that- every time he’s prayed since coming topside again, it’s been to Cas, or been to _him_ , praying on his knees, muttering in his sleep, begging and crying and sobbing, legs held to his chest as he doesn’t see Dean and Cas or anyone in front of him, praying for forgiveness and kindness and mercy and love or pain if it will make him happy, for anything, anything at all, if it means Lucifer will stop or the hurt won't make him lose himself, and Dean remembers every second he’d ever seen of Sam praying to the Devil when he thinks he's back there, because Sam had tried to hide it too much for the attempts not to fail, and it had all been too much, hearing Sam speak a language Dean still doesn’t know, as Dean begged Cas to help him, to tell him what Sam is saying so he can reassure him he’s not there, that he’s okay, he’s safe, he is never going back-

“You prayed? When was this?” Dean asks the question with a calm that isn’t soft or calm. Not really.

Sam tenses, doesn’t meet his eyes, face stony and clammy and he finally turns his head to look at his brother, his neck cricking from the movement, the same brother who’d nearly taken off his head from his shoulders only a few days ago.

“Back in the hospital.” Sam admits, grudging Dean every word. He immediately looks away again.

“Why?” Dean asks.

Sam blinks and inhales and adds, thinking too much of the Apocalypse again, of the Croatoan virus, of not being infected when he thought he was, because of Lucifer, and being infected, feeling the darkness inside him, feeling its own tainted undoing unraveling inside his DNA like mercury poisoning, and Sam could feel how that had burnt out the grace already there, similarly tainted with the same off-notes Lucifer held but with no clear ringing, no brightness, no cold, only rot and decay and madness-

Sam looks at Dean, eyebrows raised as he says, altogether too contained, “Because I was infected.”

Dean’s mouth closes, and his eyes turn stormy and most of all he just has that look where he is so thrown by what Sam admitted it’s like the anger or fear or need to protect him hasn’t set in because the shock is the only thing brewing before it all breaks.

Sam adds, stronger now, every syllable betraying no emotion except certainty, “I was infected. I'm not anymore. I-I-I never went full rabid. I...” Sam stutters again as Dean’s expression hardens, sharpens, and Sam’s fingers twitch and gesture at himself to try and bring the point home even though Sam’s grow so antsy he doesn’t know what to do with himself or how to weather the too-familiar, too-betrayed look in Dean’s eyes, condemning and too much like too many years ago.

“You get infected and you didn't even tell me.” Dean starts in, voice smooth and syllables gliding over each other, as he closes the laptop with a click.

“Dean ...” Sam pleads.

And Dean’s voice turns bitter and sour like it did after Purgatory, or before the last trial when he didn’t trust Sam, not quite mocking but not kind.

“What did you pray about?” Dean asks.

Then his expression and body language, still as it is, eases into the brotherly attempt at pushing that knee-jerk reaction back, and turns into actual listening intensity as Dean waits, patient but not taking no answer for an answer.

Except Sam can’t give that kind of ground again by being specific. He has his reasons. Half the reason is he can’t indulge Dean when he thinks he owns the show, because giving ground there never led to anything good.

And Sam can’t say them now, so close to Dean nearly giving up on them both and not, so close to Dean turning into something that made him not Sam’s brother, so close to Sam needing it to be God and demanding his brother have a good life, that he has a chance to heal and get better in a way Sam feels he’s never been able to, because Sam is still thinking of Lucifer and all the times he had proven that God was never there, that it was just the two of them, forever, and Sam grows too overwhelmed as his voice grows raspy and soft. 

“I guess I was just looking for answers, you know?” He says.

Dean nods and his lip curls as he reels himself in, and finds the only thing he can latch on to that doesn’t scare him senseless.

“Well, I'm sure whatever is kicking around in your head right now is a side effect from the infection that you failed to tell me about.” Dean says, all dismissive and sure and still trying to be the one driving, except that last line is bitter as the time Dean got angry Sam knew about the demon blood dripping in his mouth, the same blood Dean had blamed Sam for, the same anger at Sam demanding he knows what concerns his own damn body and how Dean had kept that from him, just like he kept the fact Dad wanted to Dean to kill him under raps, just like Dean always got when he fell into the worst of the habits John trained into him, all that which made it easy for Dean to take for granted Sam’s willingness to go along with this and fall in line.

“You know, I don't think it's that simple.” Sam argues, tired of Dean’s defense mechanisms and accusations and blame and hypocrisy about secrets because apparently, he’s allowed to have them, but if Sam keeps a secret it’s a mark against him forever.

That’s what started this and made the two of them fall apart.

Sam can’t let that be the norm again. Sam can’t encourage this self-destruction and lashing out where Dean justifies everything again when Sam obfuscates and doesn’t say everything because he knows the worst of what he’s in for when things go wrong. Sam has to keep himself safe, and Dean has not always been that.

Sam needs his brother right now, the brother who loved him and respected him and understood what safety means for Sam himself. Sam needs Dean to be the brother he had chosen to be earlier, when they had been themselves, and he needs the brother that saw him as an equal, his brother that had grown, not the mockery of what he had been, of all the times he went backwards from fear and anger and trauma and then used all three as an excuse. Sam needs Dean to be the best version of himself because not being that wasn’t only a danger but only hurt Dean too, because that’s what led to him self-destructing to begin with.

Sam can’t let this cycle keep going.

Dean finally throws the mask off and shows the exhaustion keeping him hostage, but at least he’s listening, and with that change of fact, Sam can see just how much Dean is trying to give Sam his brother back, as much as he can. How much he’s clawing his way back to where he had been before everything had gone so horribly wrong…

He’s not being blanket dismissive and authoritarian now, not discounting Sam’s words, just saying his counterargument to try and ease what he knows is throwing Sam back into the deep end all at once. But it’s also to ease his own consciousness, because world ending evil and Sam getting visions all over again…

That just makes Dean shiver and makes his blood ice in his veins and makes the air constrict in his throat and makes him taste blood from all the paths that led down before.

Because deep down, he knows he started them down this path, just like he broke the first seal, and he can’t let Sam travel down a road where he tries to fix this like he always tries to, because they all know what happened when Dean starts something and Sam finishes it and there’s the worst monsters out there involved.

It’s too similar to the past, and Dean doesn’t want to think of all the promises Lucifer made to him in secret, all the jibes, all the weight of the words that they’ll “always end up” back where they started, even though it’s been beyond five years, because Dean can’t be the one to give Lucifer any means to get ahold of Sam, not again, not ever, _please_ -

Dean had prayed to God so many times, and God hadn’t protected Sammy from any of it. He’d possibly raised Cas again and again, sure, but Cas was stumbling along with the rest of humanity without any guidance and had paid for his mistakes…

While God just handed Sam over and left him in the pit with the same evil he’d let Sam carry inside his skin, the same evil Sam loved and whose love made Sam feel like he would never be safe.

“Come on, man. That quote? ‘God helps those who help themselves?’ God didn't say that.” Dean insists.  
“That's not even in the Bible. That's an old proverb that dates way back to Aesop.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, intrigued that Dean’s throwing out all the stops.

Dean’s voice turns almost into cavalier jest again as he adds, voice still gruff and challenging as he makes a face, “I read.” Then his voice turns into a flat growl again, expression all business as he adds, “And more importantly, when was the last time God answered any one of our prayers?”

Dean doesn’t know that’s the exact thing Sam doesn’t want to hear.

Doesn’t know why that detail matters so much.

Doesn’t know he’s only mirroring Lucifer’s arguments, the same ones he used to prove Sam wasn’t going anywhere or getting away.

Sam feels the ice clawing at his chest and the light beneath his eyelids and breathes in the memory of that face, that face he would never unsee, that face that held him close and promised him he’d keep him forever and there was nothing coming for them, because God didn’t care, and even if he did, _he still made you for me, what makes you think he won’t let me keep you, Sammy? He made you mine, and even if his word ain’t law any more, well, that’s one promise I can get behind_ -

Dean carries on, oblivious, “It's not a vision, Sam. All right? It's just some ...Some fever dream. That's all.” He tries for finality but can’t hide the fact he’s mostly trying to convince himself.

Except Dean sees Sam’s expression, and knows he has to do something to get him back from whatever precipice his mind has flipped off of. He’d been doing so damn good, too…

No wonder he hadn’t been sleeping. It’s like he knew the moment he did, everything would go pear-shaped-

Dean’s voice turns gentler, more thoughtful, as he tries to get through to Sam, to give him something to latch on to, “And as far as Dad goes, I dream about Dad all the time.”

“You do?” Sam asks, taken aback.

There’s a lot of emotion there. A lot of things that could mean. Sam’s not sure where this is going.

But it got his attention. Distracted him. Which was something.

“Of course I do. It's usually the same one, too. We're all in the car. I'm sitting in the driver's seat, dad's sitting shotgun. But there aren't any shotguns. There's no monsters. There's no hunting. There's none of that. It's just ... He's teaching me how to drive.” Dean’s voice turns faraway and wistful before he pauses, and Sam watches the shadow of the tree flit back and forth over his palm, hypnotic as Dean’s voice lulls him, even if he’s stumbling through, saying, “And, uh, and I'm not little like I was when he actually taught me how to drive. I'm 16, and he's helping me get my learner's permit. Of course, you're in the backseat, just begging to take a turn. We pull up to the house ... The family house ... And I park in the driveway, and he looks over and he says, ‘perfect landing, son.’”

And then Dean is looking out past the windshield and doesn’t see Sam’s face glued to his expression, doesn’t see how torn Sam is because he knows Dean is just trying to open up, to make dreams less ominous and normal, to connect, to feel like his brother, because their Dad had been nothing like that calm ease Dean was latching on to, and Sam knows the reason Dean is pointing out that gentle calm is to prove that he wanted that for them, that all he wants is for them to be okay, but all Sam can think, in the back of his head, is how the reason they don’t have that is because Sam was promised to the Devil and the Devil wouldn’t let go. He had brought this on them, by being tainted. By Mary being dead. And while Sam knows it’s not his fault, that Dean can’t know what he’s thinking, Sam has never forgotten the words John had said, of how he had blamed Sam for Mary’s death and told Sam he’d killed her. Dean wouldn’t be thinking that, right now. He’s too lost in wishing what he wishes could be true, in the dream itself, in the need to distance himself from old fears that make him lash out, and he finishes, softer now, “I have that dream every couple of months. Kind of comforting, actually.”

Sam inhales quietly and licks his lips. “I always, uh ... I always dream about mom.” Sam admits. He sees the pain light behind Dean’s eyes along with the understanding that Sam is trying to be on his level as he turns back to him, as he sees Sam trying to connect, but there is still that memory jogged as Dean remembers all the times he wouldn’t talk about her, or how he’d have to protect Sam from John’s anger around it, and how he’d have to promise Sam John hadn’t meant what he said, but he had… “Usually the same kind of thing, though.” Sam adds, moving his hands, voice halting but persistent, keeping the past at bay by making dreams what they are.

Ideal, and not what Sam knows them to be. Dreams are dangerous. Dreams are battlefields.

Dreams are how they find you and try to numb away all the arguments you try to keep alive because the dream feels so good and so right and so undefined and hazy it could steal you away.

“Normal life?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. Normal life. But, Dean, this wasn't just a dream.” Sam’s voice turns serious and drained and it shakes, but it’s grown determined again. He can’t let there be cracks in his resolve just because Dean isn’t at full capacity either. Sam can’t afford to fall apart or give ground or deny the raw memory of just how dreams and visions are different and just what that means, where it leads to… Sam insists, “I'm telling you.”

“Why would somebody dress up like Dad to give you a message?” Dean says, and he waves his soda with gusto before he puts it down, can crushed underfoot as he waves one open hand. His voice turns more certain as he adds, “I mean, Dad.” Dean half-laughs a shallow noise as he adds, “You don't exactly have a history of listening to what he had to say.”

“But you said the Darkness is… Is sending messages to you.” Sam counters, voice higher from strain, and he throws an arm out with too much force and gestures back at himself, all careful, as he tacks on, “Maybe whatever is the opposite of the Darkness is sending messages to me.”

Except Sam curses his slip of the tongue, at his mouth’s own betrayal of the fear worrying at every corner of his mind. Sam’s tongue prods at his gums and roof of his mouth, remembering Lucifer, the Lightbringer, inside him, crushing and pressing against and caressing every part of him, the being of Pure Light, so bright yet Sam had to behold it and was not allowed to look away-

“And you think that this thing is God?” Dean’s voice turns incredulous.

Sam shrugs.

Dean wheedles, but it’s the tired kind. “Come on. How many... How many opportunities has God had to crack this piñata, and I don't see any candy on the floor, do you?” Dean’s voice turns exhausted but more annoyed, and Sam cuts him off, interrupting before he’s even down.

“Okay, then maybe it's not God.” Sam counters with fervor, not buying his own concession out of sheer need to survive. “But uh...” Sam’s frustration leads to the words pealing off as all he can do is try to remember to breathe.

“I know what you're trying to do here.” Dean finally concedes, too knowing, finally seeing the light in Sam’s eyes and the set of his face for what it means. Dean voice turns as haunted as Sam’s expression, at everything Sam isn’t saying. “You're trying to find some... Some greater meaning to it all. Right?” Dean reaches out, fidgeting, eyes burning too much and throat itching from what he doesn’t want to contemplate. “Some...” And Dean’s voice fails as he thinks of Sam falling, and the ground swallowing him up, and all the things that came after Sam’s memories of Hell came back. “Fate to what went down.”

Sam wants reassurance here, wants to feel like this isn’t the same thing all over again. Except Dean is afraid of the same thing. And Dean can’t go any further than that, can’t believe in anything because who can they trust except Cas and themselves, and that’s even a crapshoot on a good day. No, Dean has to keep his focus on the here and now because even though Dean understands Sam’s angle, he can’t let Sam get into danger because he’s being thrown back into the past. “But I'm telling you, Sam. The Darkness? It's on us.”

Sam raises his eyebrows in challenge, not speaking his mind or utilizing the rebellion Dean can see there.

Dean keeps going, pressing the point that he really wants to make,“And no one's gonna help us, certainly not God, so we'll have to figure this thing out, like we always do. But until then... We hunt. This case for starters, course this case is...”

“It's just probably nothing.” Sam manages, whispering, all the fight drained out of him. He keeps glancing around but not staying still or settling.

“Yeah, probably nothing.” Dean agrees, looking down.

And they can’t leave this night off kilter like it’s gone so far...

Except Sam beats him to it.

“Goodnight, jerk.” Sam sighs, glancing sidelong at Dean.

Dean licks his lips and keeps his head down and his mouth clicks from how tired he is and how much he is still afraid to look in Sam’s eyes, because not so long ago, when he’d been a demon, Dean had almost ruined this, too.

But Dean won’t let himself ruin what he needs to uphold now. He will make this right, he has to…

Sam needs him to.

“Night, bitch.” Dean answers.

They both try to sleep, but it doesn’t come easy.


	75. Flag of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by witchcraft

“Because it’s crazy, okay! And it’s not going to happen. How many times do I have to say that this is a horrible idea?” Dean starts in. He’s already in overdrive.

Sam knew it would be a fight the moment he brought it up again. Doesn’t even blame him.

Ever since the Mark, Lucifer had traumatized the both of them. Well, more than before.

Dean still thought whatever Lucifer was whispering was a product of the Mark and nothing more, even as a demon didn’t realize Sam’s whole connection to Lucifer thanks to the True Vessel bonds and grace.

Sam doesn’t need to give him another reason to panic.

He already has enough reasons to panic of his own, and quite frankly, he’s too tired to go that route.

“About as many as I have to say, okay then what else have we got?” Sam counters, modulating his responses and breathing so he’s as calm and definitive as he can get. It’s not like this is a thrilling prospect. Lucifer practically telegraphed that this whole outcome would be the bees knees for him, and Sam is trying his best not to panic despite the fact that the visions are coming in crystal clear. “Listen, I’m all ears. Dean, ordinarily I’d agree with you…”

 **You know that**.

“But the visions only happen when I reach out to _God_.” Sam stresses, because that’s what matters. That’s basically the only thing he’s able to hold on to, aside from Dean and Cas, in this mess. Well, that, and Sam doesn’t think Lucifer actually thought Sam would manage to get the Mark off Dean. He’d seemed pretty confident in his earlier plan, getting Dean to listen as a Knight of Hell and throw Sam downstairs before letting them both out again.

It just… Doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards as a contingency.

(Sam can’t let it be in the cards. Lucifer has already ruined everything, has already nested too closely so that on the bad days that come and go, Sam hardly holds on to every day he’s lived…)

Sam ignores the nagging memory of, _I’ve always had the utmost confidence in you, Sam. Even when you fail me, you’ve always been perfect. All you need is someone to draw the best parts of you out…_

Because, stronger than all the selfish pride and possessive preening Lucifer always reserved for Sam, he always staunchly thought Sam was helpless against him where it really mattered.

Sam and Lucifer both know that isn’t even a lie.

But that’s what Sam is counting on.

It has to be God sending the message, because Lucifer wouldn’t believe Sam would ever manage to get the Mark off, and now that he has…

Lucifer might even play ball, if Sam just can get this under control in all the ways it never has been.

Lucifer doesn’t want the end of everything.

He just wanted to level the world his world, and rebuild it in his image.

Sam knows how to convince him, and if God’s there running interference…

Sam can finally feel like there’s a balance to it all.

That his long dive down and removing the Mark and all of it wasn’t for nothing.

Sam adds, “I asked him for a way to beat the Darkness and the visions got more specific… And I was in the Cage.”

“Yeah, with Lucifer. The biggest monster ever hatched. Fan-freaking-tastic!” Dean yells, and some of it might just be to deflect from all the other things they've never brought up since Sam became topside again, Bobby's most of all.

“You know, Lucifer was the biggest monster ever hatched, until you and I hatched one that’s even worse.” Sam admits, and isn’t that a bitter pill to swallow. Sam continues, trying to be objective about this, even though internally, detachment is about the last thing he can achieve. “Listen, in the vision, Lucifer…” Sam pauses and huffs in a breath, “touches me and I feel calm, like things will be all right. And that’s not something I would ever come up with.” Sam stresses, “I mean that is the last thing that I would ever feel.”

Things hadn’t been calm the moment Lucifer got out of the fucking Cage, and Sam would never feel calm around him, not after everything that was done to him-

Dean’s mouth twists into a snarl as he growls, “If Lucifer touched you, it would be the last thing you think. Ever.”

And Dean tries not to think of all the other things he knows Lucifer has pulled, all the many times he reeled Sam in and tried to keep him forever.

And with that happy thought, Dean can’t sit still and pours more whiskey, other hand jittery as it rises from his side. “Why would God even ask this of you?” Dean presses. “What proof do we have that any of this is actually real?”

Sam sighs. “There was a burning bush.”

“A burning bush?”

“Like in the Bible.” Sam clarifies, the symbolism not lost on either of them.

Dean still isn’t playing ball.

He’s seen where this all goes, and it ends absolutely nowhere freaking good!

“You were in the forest. There are bushes there and sometimes they burn!” Dean exclaims.

Then Dean sits, and tries to calm himself, “You know what man? Maybe there is something to it all, maybe, and maybe there’s not.”

Stop looking for answers. He means, because there aren't any.

“Dean, doesn’t it make sense? I mean, Lucifer would know how God ended the Darkness. He was there.” Much as Sam hates to admit it.

It’s not like he wants to do this.

It’s about as far down as his to-do list as pretty much anything in the entire world.

_Oh, come on, Sam. You can lie to yourself all you like. But you know where you belong…_

Sam gets those intrusive thoughts on lockdown.

He has to be controlled about this.

This is the world, they’re talking about.

Sam’s already gone downstairs for the world once before…

 ** _And look where that got you,_** Sam can see projected clear as day on Dean’s face.

Dean shakes his head and downs more whiskey, each sip still tasting bitter as it chugs down his throat.

“Whatever is going on here, Sam. It’s playing us. You don’t need to go back down there.”

 ** _You don't even know it's not him._** Dean doesn't say, but the expression is clear on his face. **_He could just be playing you again._**

And that's exactly why Sam thinks it's God using Lucifer as interference- any thought that Lucifer can get his claws back in his head to this degree and that Lucifer orchestrates this is more than Sam can handle.

He needs a win, just the once.

That's all.

Sam slouches, and gives Dean reassurances that don't meet his eyes.

Dean isn't sure what he's trying to prove to himself, except maybe he's just trying to convince himself he's not a caged animal pretending at freedom.

And maybe... Maybe that's exactly Lucifer's game. Goading them. Playing Sam's hopes and prayers like an out of tune fiddler fishing for a new song.

Maybe this is exactly where he wants him.

But he can't say that to Sam, because Sam has those same fears, he knows he does.

And it's the fear that's making him so obstinate about this, because accepting this might be going according to plan with no way out is just another net Sam's failed to claw his way out of.


	76. Baby Come Back, You Can Blame It All On Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S11E9 and S11E10
> 
> chapter title a song by player

Lucifer’s eyes glow as he arrives from the Cage and into his temporary holding cell.

He falsely breathes in, inhales. Like freedom is something he can taste...

Lucifer talks to Crowley because he hasn’t yet realized Sam is there, hiding. Waiting.

Sam can’t feel the Devil’s grace because of the spell, and thanks God for small mercies, and tries to summon his courage to face Lucifer again. After all, he was around for the Darkness. The other angels might not know exactly what it is, but he does. Sam knows he does, that it was the crux of the matter, and knows that Lucifer will wield that knowledge like a scalpel. Precise. Pointed.

The only question is at what price.

This meeting was always in the cards, after all. Sam has known even before the visions, deep down. They wouldn't be here if Lucifer didn't want out, because whether Dean kept the Mark or not... Lucifer knew Sam would have no choice but to come running.

Sam can only pray that God knows what it's doing, and that whatever force created everything is on his side, for once.

It has to be God. The alternative is too much for Sam to even consider.

And sure, it's wishful thinking that Lucifer wouldn't chance the Darkness consuming everything. Maybe he'd even entertained the thought Sam wouldn't manage to get the Mark off, that he'd get out and maul Dean's demonic mind for his own purposes before Sam ever found a way out.

Except he knows Sam's track record for weaseling out of his grip, and has trawled through every inch of his mind, and knows it as well as his own.

Sam can only hope he knows Lucifer just as well and manage to out-choreograph the Devil again, and having God on his side is the only edge he feels he has.

The light shimmers on every harsh angle of Lucifer's stolen face, the reflection of flames drowning in the depths of his eyes.

“What do you want of me?” Lucifer demands, cold, and Sam resurfaces from his thoughts.

Breathes in.

Steps out.

Lucifer looks as if Day had just been created in front of him for the first time all over again.

Sam stops a foot from the beginning of the wards. Meets his eyes.

Lucifer smiles, whispers, “Sam Winchester.” Tilts his head and beams at him, eyes not leaving his face once. “My old roomie.”

A muscle twitches in Sam’s jaw.

“Hug it out?” Lucifer asks, and readjusts his grip on the bars of the cage.

Sam stays frozen. Can’t quite get the words to come out, although he knows he will say what he has to.

Lucifer engages anyway, paces back and forth on the edge of the not-Cage, one hand trailing on the bars like he could reach out any moment.

“I gotta say, I’m a little in the dark about this meeting.” Lucifer adds, stops to grip the bars right in front of where Sam is standing, still a statue. “Am I up for parole? Time off for bad behavior?” Laughs, and Sam gulps, but doesn’t step back. And the Devil finally looks down, continues, “I don’t really get visitors.”

He looks back up at Sam, all coy.

He knew they'd end up here, one way or another.

Sam finally finds his voice. “If it weren’t for the crisis topside, you wouldn’t be getting one now.”

“Crisis?” Lucifer feigns concern.

Sam shifts, answers, “You’re aware of the Darkness?”

Lucifer inhales sharply, makes a harried face. Like he didn't know something would happen the moment Sam tried to take the Mark off of Dean.

“Yikes, that doesn’t sound too good. Um, I’m aware of what it was, but that was eons ago.”

Sam nods, clarifies, “It’s been released,” And Lucifer props up his jaw, as if in deep concentration.

“So now it’s somewhere. Or everywhere on earth.” Sam continues.

Lucifer bites a nail, still staring. Asks, all too lightly, “However did that happen?”

Sam looks down, closes his eyes, but doesn’t confess his culpability.

Except Lucifer knows. Knows, because if Dean didn't take the Mark on the first place, if Sam had just let him out instead of trying the third option, like he knew he would-

“Point is, it poses a threat to all that exists, including you.” Sam says, keeping it together as much as possible.

Lucifer can smell his graceless evasion from a mile away.

“Hmm. Well that leads me to my next question.” Lucifer points, turns, clasps his hands behind his back, all too familiar as Sam tries not to draw parallels to Jess when she pretended to be a lawyer. The comparison sticks, no matter how much he tries to banish it.

Lucifer opens his arms, all mocking supplication. “Where’s the big burrito himself? Where’s God in all of this?”

“All current indications of his presence are that there are no current indications of his presence.” Sam admits grudgingly.

“What?” Lucifer exclaims in mock-surprise as he turns back towards him. “Caught the fun bus out of town?” Then his voice lowers to a growl, “Figures.”

“Mm.” Sam assents. Yeah, God wasn’t a very popular topic when Sam ever brought Lucifer’s past up. Never led to anything good. Although, not much good even came from Lucifer, if Sam's completely honest. Sam hesitates, then adds, “But, recently he has reached out to an interested party.” He doesn’t meet Lucifer’s eyes.

“Who?”

Sam looks up.

“Me.”

The Devil’s mouth opens into a wide O, and Lucifer prowls closer again, pointing.

“You?” Lucifer asks. Disbelief clear as day.

“He answered my prayers.” Sam replies. And there’s a hidden challenge there, one that Sam knows Lucifer has picked up on, even if Sam hadn’t meant it. ( _I’m the only one you can pray to, Sammy. No one else is listening. They don’t care what happens to you._ )

Lucifer perches on arm higher as he leans against the confines of the not-Cage. Bites his lip and asks, “Did he now?” Gives an amused shiver, and Sam doesn’t want the memories crawling back, not now.

“And what was Dad’s suggestion?”

Sam takes a deep breath, feels his shoulder’s rise and fall. Tries to ground himself, whatever good it would do.

“To seek out you.” Sam admits.

“Get outta town.” And Lucifer is grinning again, chuckles, “Seriously?” And Sam can read the unspoken words, the “I told you so, Sammy,” clear as day.

(And the whispers come for Sam again, _I always knew you were made for me, Sam. After all, God made it so. You’re a devout man. Would you go against the will of God? Would you deny our perfection?_ )

But Lucifer changes the subject, lets Sam stew in his own neural mess.

“Now that the Darkness is out, God’s not the only circus in town.”

“Is it equal in power?” Sam asks. He can see the expression beyond Lucifer’s façade, the ancient, primal memory of the time before creation.

Lucifer still indulges the curiosity, all light and airy, practically bouncing on the soles of his feet.

“Raw power, sure.” Lucifer answers. Clasps his hands, then gestures. “But it’s got none of the experience. God is a master strategist. That’s why you’re here.”

“And why is that?”

Lucifer doesn’t look at him, tries to look as casual as possible.

“Well, cause God needs me to help put the cat back in the bag.” Lucifer laughs, adding, “Can’t do it by himself.”

Sam crosses his arms. Not buying it.

“Seen that movie,” The Devil notes, eying Sam’s expression.

“And?”

Lucifer stops, tilted sideways, gives Sam a knowing look. Either that or he was checking him out, and neither was preferable.

“And I need a ride out of here. I mean, I look swell in here and everything,” Lucifer goads, lets his hands slip past the bars. “But I’d be so much smoke topside.”

Lucifer stops with that same inhuman stillness. Doesn’t take a single breathe.

And Sam is slipping, starts to hyperventilate. Looks down and uncrosses his arms.

“You want a vessel.” Sam states, voice flat again from the itching antifreeze he remembers beneath his skin.

Lucifer covers his mouth with his hands, figuring out the best way to twist this. One hand is still looped around the bars.

Then Lucifer just nods, one finger pressed to his lips, because he knows how Sam copes, knows it all.

“One who’s strong enough to hold me,” Lucifer croons, hand resting at his neck, “Handy. And available now.” He finishes and winks.

Sam swallows. Silent.

“Catch my drift?” Lucifer hints. Lightning flashes, thunder in tow, an everyday Hell distraction.

“Did you really expect me to agree to this?” Sam chokes out, half-baffled by the machinations of the Devil. It's not that he's surprised. It's just that Lucifer's so boldly unbothered, as if, after all this time, after Sam's been fighting Lucifer ever getting out, gaining purchase over him, and Lucifer dares act like...

Like it's nothing.

Lucifer raises his eyebrows and nods. As if Sam will fall, a domino on a chain, like he'll cave at a glance- like he'd once trained Sam to do- and Sam promptly forces himself to forget.

Sam scoffs, and starts again, voice rougher and faster and far more heated, “So, what, I just disappear, while you take my body and get set loose on the world again?”

And the feeling of too-fullness, of bright burning joy and love and agony still haunts him, the rubbery blooms of too-cold effervescence and breathing tongues and teeth and eyelashes gliding over his every piece of soul feels like sandpaper on his tongue, and Sam wants it, wants it so badly, just as much as he wants to never be a slave to that perfect, contented, inflicted union between the two of them ever again. He can't afford to, knows its steep, twice-damned price. He had banished that love under the threats, the pain, his own tormented history under the thumb of Lucifer's less-than-tender care. And all he lets himself have is the lump sum of loss and rage and fear because anything less would destroy him, would let the Devil finally win.

Lucifer nods again. Then he tilts his head in that angel fashion Sam hates, and reads the unspoken thoughts Sam has buried alive, even without the grace entwined between them.

“I know, I know, Sam. It’s a lot to ask." Lucifer admits, although Sam knows its a forced sacrifice the Devil doesn't regret for a second, and Lucifer adds, (as if the battle's already won), "But desperate times require desperate measures.”

“That’s not desperate, that’s certifiable!” Sam shouts, but his breath chokes off all on it's own when the Devil hold up a hand.

“Okay. Hold on there a second, cowboy. Take a breath.” Lucifer starts, crouches lower, knuckles white from digging into the bars. Then announces extra slow, “You have been working with Crowley.”

Sam looks back at the offending demon in question.

“You passed certifiable three off-ramps ago.” Lucifer continues, pacing, “And look, I’m no fan of the ruler of the universe, but here I am, ready to pitch in.” Then modulates his tone, entreating, “Sam why do you think God sent you to me? To get my help,” Lucifer gestures to the floor, antsy, “Which I only now just offered.”

Sam lets the Devil go off, doesn’t reward him with a response.

Lucifer leans against the bars again, emphasizes, “Sam, your visions were the word of God. You can’t say no to that.”

And Sam won’t look at him. Until he is, sees the possessive glint in Lucifer’s eyes. Looks down again and gulps.

“So have you thought about it, Sam?” The Devil cajoles. Inhales, small smile not leaving his face. “Do I have an invitation to look forward to?”

And Sam considers for a moment, hates himself for it, but he doesn’t want to be a part in another end of the world. Decides.

“No.” Voice clear as a bell.

The grin melts off Lucifer’s face.

And Sam looks down. Walks away. “I won’t do it,” Sam calls back, can feel Lucifer’s eyes boring into him, “There has to be another way.”

Doesn’t see the warding as it starts to fail, all according to Lucifer’s plan.

But he can feel the tendrils of grace now when he couldn’t, know something is amiss.

Turns around right as the flames of the trap recede.

Lucifer beckons him closer with both hands. And Sam can’t breathe, fear like a lightning strike up his spine.

He’s back in another Cage with Lucifer, again, who turns to look at him with the same shit-eating grin.

Sam backs up as far as he can. Can feel the wings caressing his face, too gentle. Knows how sharp they can be.

“Together again,” Lucifer rejoices, opens his arms in welcome. “Hey, Sam Winchester. You miss me?”

_I sure missed you._

Sam holds out a hand as if that would ward him off, would keep him from attacking him immediately. But he knows he has no power here. And Lucifer is not a kind master.

“I bet you did,” Lucifer growls. And he’s closer again, closer, just like he always likes to be.

The grace is a pressure that builds and builds and builds, and Sam, overstimulated, closes his eyes and breathes, like he can pretend this is yet another a bad dream. Opens his eyes. Knows it’s real, because he can feel Lucifer’s grace, knows it like the back of his hand, like nothing else in all of creation.

 **You would like that, wouldn’t you?** Sam manages to pray in reply, and Lucifer pauses his advance.

_I would expect nothing less, kiddo. I would hate for you to disappoint. I mean, don’t worry, I’d forgive you. I always do, don’t I?_

Lucifer starts talking, though, when he digs in and feels the muted taste of Sam’s forced lack of terror. Almost surprised, but Sam can feel a catch, knows something dire is coming.

“I have to say, you’re extraordinarily calm given the circumstances.” Lucifer notes. Stops a few feet away. _You finally accepted my companionship, Sammy?_

**In your dreams.**

“It’s pretty much exactly how God told me it was gonna be.” Sam reassures himself, tries to smile.

Lucifer raises his eyebrows. Nods, but there’s a restraint there, and Sam’s stomach churns.

“Guess I just have to go with it and play my hand.” Sam keeps going, tries to keep it together. (He doesn’t fully succeed).

Lucifer clicks his tongue, turns his face away, and replies, “And that would make so much sense if it was God that was doing the talking.”

And there it was. Lucifer’s fish hook dangling on a string, ready to reel in Sammy like a fresh special of the day.

Sam's breath is stolen from his lungs.

“You see, Sam, when the Darkness descended,” Lucifer explains, raised hands falling to shoulder-level to demonstrate, “The impact on Hell was massive. The Cage was damaged. And through the fissures,” Lucifer waggles his hand around, like some especially unfortunate salmon, “I was able to reach out.”

Sam’s breathe catches again as his eyes dart around. He can feel himself being pulled back into Lucifer’s orbit, into one of his many games. 

“It wasn’t God inside your head, Sam.” Lucifer turns, gives an especially smug, electric smile. He admits, “It was me.”

And Sam can’t quite hold it together anymore. The floor of the Cage feels distant and hazy and far away, like it might just turn to nothing beneath him.

Lucifer continues on, pointing, “So you see, he’s not with you. He’s never been with you.” And Lucifer steps one step, two steps, three steps, closer and closer and closer.

_Oh, Sam, my Sammy._

“It was always just… Me.”

Sam’s head can’t stop shaking, the pulse pounding in his throat.

_Were you really expecting anything else, Sam? With your life? Did you think I would let Death just steal you away?_

Lucifer shakes his head back and forth in imitation, derisive, his teeth bared in a different kind of grin.

“So in a way, Sam, I guess I am your only hope.” He adds.

_I'm your Han Solo to your Luke Skywalker, ya get me._

(The joking memory doesn't land.)

And Sam can’t stop the tears, tries to choke the tightness in this throat down. Tries not to whine, to be as quiet and unremarkable as possible. 

“It’s never going to happen.” Sam responds, and tries to convince both Lucifer and himself.

_Sam, your denial is so pathetic it’s almost endearing._

“Ah, well… Settle in there buddy.” Lucifer says, turning. Suggests, hands punctuating for emphasis, “Upper bunk? Lower bunk?”

And he’s right in Sam’s face.

“Or do you wanna share?”

_Wanna keep me warm, Sammy? For old time’s sake._

And Lucifer is kissing him again. Has his hands twisted in the hair against Sam’s neck. Again.

Sam had finally thought he was free. But he was wrong, always wrong. And this time, the Devil had lured him back as if it were nothing. Didn’t need anything but Sam’s own blind faith that somewhere the scales of the universe would balance out for him.

Sam goes numb. Doesn’t want the attentions of the Devil, doesn’t want to process any of this.

**Please, please, stop. Please. I’ll beg if I have to.**

And the Devil withdraws and steps back in a way he rarely ever did. Gives Sam some space to heave up his guts, then waves all the evidence away.

_Don’t say I never looked out for you, Sammy. I’m still trying, and you did come back to me on your own. Took some convincing, but still. A for effort. So you get a break. Just for you._

Sam doesn’t have any energy for a rejoinder. Holds a shaky hand to the bar and rises from his knees.

“You.” Sam mumbles.

Lucifer smiles, indulgent, one knuckle pressed against his lips.

“The visions. Everything,” Sam adds. You could feel the hope leeching away. “It was all you.”

“Impressive, right,” The Devil brags in quiet delight. Sam doesn’t waste time, but still shifts from foot to foot.

“And Rowena?”

“Did as she was told.” Lucifer inhales, gesticulates. _What else did you expect?_

Sam’s eyebrows raise, but Lucifer doesn’t pause, “Groupies, they’re always so… Eager.” Cocks his head inviting, sends Sam a look with implications he doesn’t want to dwell on. _Just like you used to be, Sammy. Wanna have another go of it?_

Sam ignores him and asks, “So you did all of that just to… To what? Jump my bones?”

“Literally.” Lucifer eyes him, grace purring in unison.

“Well, you wasted your time, then. ‘Cause, see, I know how this ends.”

“Oh, do ya now?” Lucifer taunts, and the edge is back.

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, and the two of them are circling each other now, in a too-familiar orbit. “You’ll taunt me…" (And Sam pauses, mind going places it shouldn't, thinking of all the ways Lucifer has long since broken him, and how all the gentleness in the world was the worst of what was coming, of what would happen, just like it always does-) And Sam somehow stops his voice from breaking, and continues on, "And you’ll torture me, and I’ll say no.” Sam holds on to the word like a lifeline, even if it means nothing here, and adds, “And eventually, sooner than you think, my brother’s gonna walk through that door and kick your ass.”

Lucifer smiles and laughs, “Dean?” And the mocking hilarity never leaves his voice, even as Sam can feel the supreme hate Lucifer feels, can taste the sourness on his tongue, but Sam nods anyway, resolute.

“You’re betting on Dean?” Lucifer repeats, still wheezing from his own laughter, but this time the mocking is reserved for Sam, as if he’s silly and clueless. _You really think he’s got anything on me, sweetheart? Really? After all these years? After everything?_

“I always have.” Sam admits, bares his teeth a pursed lip grimace. Knows he cannot win this alone. And for all the ways Lucifer tried to take Dean away and ruin him, he hadn't won. He'd come close. But they'd gotten out, even if the price got them right where they are now.

Lucifer’s laughter peals off. “Mmm, Sam,” Smacks his lips, and draws out the vowels of all his words, “Oh, Sam, you got me all wrong.”

“Ha, yeah, I doubt that.” Sam bites out, surprised by his own daring, but he can’t help himself. That was the most absurd farce in the history of anything the Devil has ever said. **Aren’t you the one always claiming we know each other inside and out, because we’re made to be?**

_Easy, Sam, easy._

Lucifer is all faux-innocence, lays it on thick, “Oh, no. I’m not here to torture ya.” Sam’s eyes narrow as Lucifer’s grace swarms all over, ravenous like a pack of locusts, all the rage and possessiveness pooling too deeply under his skin, “I mean, I could.” And Lucifer’s tone deepens.

Lucifer stalks closer, and Sam starts to back away. “I could inflict pain like you can’t even imagine.” And Lucifer’s tone deepens, starts to show the Archangel’s true voice bleed through. Sam’s backed up as far as he can go, trapped against the bars of the cage. “I could inflict such delicious, perfect pain.” The last word an expectant growl. Sam feels everything again, knows what the Devil wants so badly. Can’t stop the jagged breaths from bursting out of him, betraying his true fear.

_You left me in here all alone, Sammy. Did you even think about my feelings?_

The tide changes, sudden enough to give Sam whiplash.

“But that was so five years ago.” Lucifer reassures, sends a playful poke of grace out that isn’t all anger, all want.

 _Relax, Sammy._ And Lucifer reaches out, strokes a strand of hair off Sam’s face.

“No, I’m not gonna harm a glorious little hair on that glorious little head.” And Lucifer’s admiring him again, like Sam is some super-special eye candy putting on a show. _I did so miss you Sammy. Why would I spoil all this when you came back to me?_

Internally, Sam flinches, knows the implications. And Sam doesn’t buy Lucifer’s schtick, but knows the Devil’s moods, knows the Devil wants something, wants Sam to willingly join in. Which means Sam gets more leeway, can press whatever frail advantage this is. The cage bars are still ice cold at his back, an ever-present warning.

“Then what do you want?” Sam asks, plays ball.

“To make you an offer you can’t refuse.” The Devil promises. “You see Sam, you need me.” Lucifer adds with a shrug, as if this were just a fact of life, because for him it was. _We both need each other. Always have._ Ends with, “And I’m going to prove it to you.” Sam gasps as the grace caresses every inch of him, a promise that’s the opposite of pain. Doesn’t trust it, not for a second.

Lucifer presses a hand to Sam’s forehead.

And then they are transported away at the Devil’s leisure on a makeshift vacation through Sam’s psyche.

They arrive at a park Sam knows well, green trees and birdsong, and Sam looks around, searching. Genuine bewilderment clear as day.

Lucifer sidles up to him, smiles, asks, “Recognize it?”

“What?” Sam looks down and back, can’t stop his suspicion or the involuntary swallow. Nothing good ever came of Lucifer traipsing down memory lane.

_You’re so cute when you’re nervous._

“We’re in a memory Sam.” Lucifer elucidates, still joking.

**Yeah, I gathered that, thanks.**

“One of the few good ones from your childhood,” The Devil adds. _Not as good as your time with me, but still. Credit where it’s due._

Sam looks up and away, pretending to observe, as if that would make it easier to ignore him. In a minute, returns to stare down the Devil out of ingrained habit once his eyes are off him, not wanting to be caught off guard.

“By the way, I thought I had daddy issues, but, uh, you?” Lucifer says, takes in a derisive breath. “Wow. Anyway,” Lucifer points, “I think you recognize that dashing young beanpole over there.”

Sam looks over, recognition lighting up his face. Catalogues short brown hair (almost buzzed) to make him feel better inside his skin (Sam still loved long hair but not then, not in that skin) and to protect himself while hunting, two pairs of gaudy plaid school uniform skirts, and his past self is still trapped in that female teenage body that never fit him right. He didn’t miss it. And now he’s really uneasy as to why the Devil thinks this is somehow important.

“That’s me.” Sam grudging notes. Lucifer liked him to react, but his heart really wasn’t in it.

Lucifer doesn’t move his gaze from Sam, raises two eyebrows suggestively. _You were a catch back then, too, kiddo. Like the day we first met. Although, not quite a bombshell yet, too young for my taste._ Sends a sentimental smile Sam’s way as Sam’s eyes dart back at him.

Sam listens to himself talk to Lily, his second girlfriend before they were an item even if he wasn’t in town for long, notes the irony of the subject matter. Worlds ending, indeed. Doesn’t like how Lucifer perches, arms splayed to take up all of the bench behind him, but doesn’t want to tempt fate or cause a change in his mercurial moods by turning away.

 _We almost took a trip to Mexico, Sam, you remember?_ Lucifer jibes.

 **Please shut up and get to the point.** Sam tries for politeness, hopes maybe that will placate Lucifer enough.

Lucifer obliges. _Just for you, Sam. Just because I love you._

“Look at that, Sam. A simple girl from a one-stop-light town, and you, the worldly, handsome-ish Sam Winchester.” Sam starts, hates the compliments, but lets the Devil keep going. “No, she didn’t stand a chance. You remember?”

Sam cuts across, tone dead. “Yeah. Why are you-”

And Lucifer leans forwards, shushes him, “Here, shh shh shh. This is the best part.” Lucifer exclaims, then sets his hands on his knees.

Sam listens and lets the memory of Lily’s words wash over him, but the Devil keeps up a string of unwanted commentary anyway.

_See, you’re smart and funny and cute. Girl has got your number. Bit of a shallow consensus for my taste, but she’s practically a baby and human to boot, so I guess it’s the thought that counts._

Sam ignores him best he’s able. Freezes when Lucifer jumps to his feet, pointing and yelling. “Boom! That’s it, that’s what I’m talking about right there, man.”

And then he’s back, inches from Sam’s shoulders. Sam’s brain is almost on auto-pilot, blanks out from too many other memories, because whenever the Devil is focused on kissing, nothing good comes of it.

“Kissing?” He manages to keep his voice flat, tries to discourage whatever the fuck this is, although he still feels his throat bob involuntarily.

“No, Sam.” The Devil reassures, and he’s been trying for that feeling a lot lately, “This is the Sam Winchester that I remember. Bold, decisive,” And then Lucifer ruins it, “A solid “B” on the tongue action.”

_We could try for an A, if you’re up for it?_

Sam blinks, eyes a bit waterier than usual, and hopes that ignoring him keeps working. “What is this about?”

“You used to be a hero, Sam. Hell, you beat me,” _And despite our disagreements, that still took chutzpah. There’s a reason I love you, after all. However,_ “Now?” Lucifer sighs, “I don’t know. I look at you and I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

_You’re so tired and wary Sam. You didn’t fare so well without me in the world, whatever you might think._

Sam wants to punch him. Doesn’t. Lucifer feels the trepidation and rage and reluctant agreement anyway.

_C’mon, Sam. I know you. I’m not trying to knock you down, just saying what I’ve noticed. Don’t take it to heart, because that’s why we’re having this conversation. I’m trying to help you._

The next memory they walk into is Stull Cemetery, and Sam can’t stop the terror curling tight in his chest. Doesn’t want to go further.

_Buck up, kiddo. I’m not going to get angry._

And Sam says the words, as insurance, because Lucifer wouldn’t talk to him like that now if he didn’t want some kind of validation. “Stull Cemetery.”

They both stop short at the entrance. Sam swallows and starts to spiral anyway.

“Bingo. Where the title fight went down.”

It’s almost worse seeing it all from afar, because Sam didn’t remember much before he fell into the Cage except for glimpses, of punching out Dean and Lucifer’s endless jealousy and rage. The only difference was he could see Adam ascend to Heaven after the Molotov, can feel that one return of relief that he didn’t get dragged in, too, but it’s not enough to quell everything else.

Lucifer tries for levity, as if he isn’t enjoying Sam’s persistent fear. “Ass-butt, I still don’t get that.”

At the words Sam refocuses, knows he has to stay in the moment.

“I appreciate the stroll down memory lane, but-” **What do you want I don’t know I don’t know I’m sorry**

_Sam. Just listen and breathe._

Sam obeys, swallows, doesn’t want to draw this out. Figures the Devil will get it over with if he just keeps trucking on. Lucifer's tone lowers, gentle in all the ways he isn't.

“Sam, have I ever told you how much I respect you?”

And that stops Sam’s train of thought dead in its tracks. The hysterical thoughts keep looping on backburner, **Backhandedly, or when you’re hurting me, or when you try to make me love you, or when you’ve got me so strung out I can’t feel anything but you, yeah.**

He blurts out, “What?” Just to stop the Devil from responding and capitalizing on his unintentional slip-up.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I don’t like you.” Lucifer sasses back, _What we have goes far beyond that_. Continues, to cover the moment, “I’ve never liked you, you’re sort of prissy,” _and self-righteous, and I’ll admit your worst human failings annoy me_ , “But in this moment, when you stood toe-to-toe with me and won, I got to say you had balls, kid.”

_And while you betrayed me, Sam, I know you still loved me, even then. So while I resent your decision, as you full well know by now, you were brave. You did what you thought was the unselfish sacrifice, even though you should have really picked me, and you knew exactly what I would do to you once we fell in the pit. Plus, I’ll admit it, you did attempt to not to leave me alone, and I value that, value you, Sammy. I really, really do, even though your decision was ultimately, fantastically stupid._

Sam doesn’t know what to say to that. They’d had that conversation too many times to count, and it never changed the consequences.

Sam hears his past self say, “Its okay, Dean, it’s gonna be okay. I got him.” And then the flood of memories is too much and he’s not sure how much more of this can take.

“You were willing to do the hard thing if it meant saving the world,” Lucifer says, punctuates his words with his typical sharp movements, although his words are too soft, too gentle. Too knowing.

And then Sam’s falling all over again, clutched by Michael, hurls the three of them down, down, down for the rest of forever. Remembers every screeching bit of agony and blame and fear and love and desperation igniting across his brain as the Devil tried to claw his way back up and out, to bring them to what he considered safety. To freedom that would condemn the rest of humanity, devils, and angels alike. Hears the echo of the Devil’s words as they fell, _Sammy why why why_ , feels the pang of not-regret but total apology.

And Lucifer hears it, knows he’s got Sam right where he wants him. Shakes his head.

“That’s not you anymore. You’ve gone soft, Sammy.” He remarks, not really disappointed. _If I pushed you enough, Sam, you would crumble and break apart. No matter how hard you fight it, fight me… You don’t have it in you anymore. I made sure. I promise._

Sam can’t meet his eyes and holds back tears.

And Lucifer whisks Sam away again.

The next stop is on his front porch with Amelia and their dog. And Sam doesn’t like where this rabbit-hole is going, he never has, but after the memory before he’s knows the Devil isn’t going to make this one any easier.

“This is where it all changed, Sammy.” Lucifer says, then bristles, “This is the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

Sam is actually taken aback, because he knows how furious Lucifer was when he imprisoned them both. “Really?”

_You really thought you could move on from me, hmm? And that’s not the only reason, oh no._

Then Sam knows his angle. Feels the pit form in his stomach, because this subject was definitely the worst.

“After the Leviathans, when your brother was trapped in Purgatory,” And Lucifer’s voice is all bitter, all malice, the bones stretched too-tight over his skin like it was a physical strain not to have his true form lurch on out, “You were here with a girl. And a dog.”

_That was supposed to be us, Sammy. And you even left your brother, too. Now, leaving me, I can sort of accept, because you are just that much of a masochist. But Dean? Really, Dean? As much as I would tear him apart for infecting your mind and turning you against yourself and me, for being that vital ingredient that led back to the Pit, I know you’ve always been pathetically glued at the hip, always stuck by him when he’s treated you like shit. And then you left him, like it was nothing._

“You didn’t even bother trying to find him,” Lucifer finishes, and Sam lets the fight bleed through, because when you’ve exhausted the fear and are running on pure fumes, that’s always what was left. (And Lucifer knew he was already winning, burrowing doubt deep under his skin from the fission of shame he knew so intimately rested inside. Sam knew, because he could feel his own weakness, his own doubt almost doused in agreement, and he had to fight this anyway he could manage.)

“You know what? Not that I have to defend myself to you,” **You jealous, possessive liar,** “But Dean and I promised we wouldn’t look for each other.”

“Right,” Lucifer blinked, not patient any longer, “And if he never came back, you’d be fine.” Nods tersely, holds back the need to shake Sam because he’s knows he’s being difficult on purpose. “But he did, so you’re not.”

_Why are you always fighting me, Sam? You know I’m right!_

**Shut. Up.** Sam doesn’t let himself outwardly react, just looks down and away, as if he could ignore the Devil and make him disappear.

But Lucifer isn’t done. “Whatever happened to the Sam Winchester who was bold, decisive, and ready to sacrifice for the greater good?”

“Right here.” Sam argues. Even if every limb feels like tissue paper. Even if he knows exactly how breakable he is.

“And so why did you let Dean talk you out of closing the Gates of Hell?” Lucifer presses.

Sam falters, looks down again.

“Cause the old Sam never would’ve done that, not ever.” Lucifer adds, every word quick and easy and furious.

Sam rallies again. “I didn’t-”

“No, wait, here’s my personal favorite,” and Lucifer drowns him out, arms flailing in an effort to hold back on grabbing Sam by the throat, “Is you doing every stupid thing you could to cure the Mark, even after you knew it would go bad.”

_Really, Sam. I was giving you a free out, and you dropped the ball completely._

**You-**

_If you were just going to fuck off and let yourself be limited and miserable to appease what you think you owe your pathetic civilization, and then you go and aid in another end of the world, then what was the point of sacrificing yourself to save Dean and the rest of the world in the first place? I mean, way to rub salt in the wound._

**I said SHUT UP.**

“My brother was dying!” Sam shouts, and he can’t hold the rage in any longer. This was Lucifer's fault, and here he is, acting like Sam broke the world again. When Lucifer orchestrated this whole damn thing, like he always does, having played Crowley's need for power to his advantage, and here he is, acting like he didn't almost destroy Dean, like he didn't try to rip away the only people Sam cares about, the one tether preventing Sam from going under, just to drag Sam back.

“Yes, and you’d do anything to save him, and he’d do anything to save you, and that is the problem!” Lucifer emphasizes, growing louder and louder as he doubles down, “Because of this, you’re so overcome by guilt that you can’t stand to lose Dean again, and he could never lose you. And so instead of choosing the world, you choose each other, no matter how many innocent people die!”

Sam raises an eyebrow, nostrils flaring.

“You’re gonna lecture me about hurting people? You?” He roars. Prays, **How dare you! You did this! YOU! I begged you to change and I wanted us to be happy and you don’t get to throw this in my face you selfish evil vile manipulative son-of-a-fuck–**

“You know I’m right, Sam.” Lucifer’s voice is all flat, all danger, all intensity. _You may have thrown me away and tried to forget Sam, but the reason you’re so angry is because you refuse to see the truth right in front of your face. Like you always do._

Sam reels in, swallows, and recognizes he’s gone too far. The Devil can see he’s a desperate castaway grasping at straws, and both Lucifer and Sam know it.

“You know it.” Lucifer adds, “And I know that if you’re going to beat the Darkness, you have to be ready to die. You have to be ready to watch the people you love die.”

They both pause with the weight of their joint history igniting between them. _You have to be able to watch Dean die,_ Sam hears, even though the Devil doesn’t voice it.

“A long time ago, you could’ve fought the good fight, kid. But not anymore,” And Lucifer’s words are all poison hitting too close to home, “You can’t win this one, Sam. You’re just not strong enough.”

Sam, calmer now because he has to be, because it isn’t a choice, asks, attempts skepticism, and fails, “And you are?”

“Hey, snapping necks and cashing checks, that’s what I do.” Lucifer assures, altogether too casual as he shrugs his shoulders. As if it’s nothing. As if he can defuse the moment by pretending he isn’t what he is. But there’s a seven-thousand year backlog of threats keeping his joke too real, too honest.

Sam thinks, shifts, turns back to Amelia as if he doesn’t feel the Devil staring at him, intent and drawn and hungry. Expectant.

There’s a snap! And Sam freezes, but all Lucifer does is make the memories melt away. And Lucifer gestures for Sam to sit down, and Sam listens because he has too, and without the veneer of memory the pseudo-Cage’s claustrophobia is too much.

“Now, Sam, I know this is a lot to take in,” Lucifer starts, sends him a wave of calm and reprieve as if that counts as an apology, _Look, let’s see if we can smooth this over, okay? I’m not trying to make you angry, Sam. I’m not your enemy. I’m really not._

**Could’ve fooled me.**

Lucifer keeps talking anyway.

“So if you need to,” Lucifer clears his throat, “Take some time and noodle on it, that’s cool. But, uh, the world is ending,” And he cracks a smile, can’t seem to help it, “Clock ticking and such, ha, if you follow me.”

Sam looks up, isn’t playing anymore. Knows this is going to be how it always goes, because Lucifer doesn’t quit, and Lucifer doesn’t change.

“What do you want me to say?” Sam asks, drained.

“A little world, uh, starts with ‘Y,’ ends in ‘E-S’.”

Sam looks away again, tensing.

“Okay, you don’t like me.” Lucifer sighs, breathes deep.

 **Is that a question?** Sam prays in silence.

“I get it. I get it. Sometimes I don’t like me either.”

 **Oh, really.** Sam can’t stop the bitter thoughts from rising, has no other coping mechanisms left.

“But Gabriel and Raphael are dead.” Lucifer continues, starts to walk away as if space is what would fix this, as if he’s being reasonable.

 **Because you killed Gabriel, remember?** Sam doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t have any energy left to try. And Sam knows that Devil’s main sore spot (aside from Sam himself) has always been his family, and the barb hits true.

Lucifer turns on his heels, immediate, vicious, as if he could pretend Sam didn’t say anything, “God went out for a pack of smokes and never came back. And Michael?” Lucifer rubs his hands together, eager to disabuse the notion that there’s any option aside from him, although Sam knows Michael was already out of commission, saw Lucifer rip him apart (and that scene would haunt his nightmares forever), as if Michael’s despair and denial didn’t break him enough already. “Well, let’s just say prison life really hasn’t agreed with Michael.”

And that veiled threat lands, too.

_Look, I know it’s hard, Sam, that this hasn’t been easy for you. I know, and I can understand why you’re freezing me out, why you’re angry. But I really am trying to help here, and I miss you, don’t you see? And it’s not like you have a lot of options on the table. You sought me out, even if you thought the messenger was different. You believed in me. No need to let grudges fester. We can be better, let bygones be bygones. I can change. I can help you. Just let me have another chance._

Sam just stares blankly. Pretends he didn’t feel all the cajoling, all the choking ecstasy and closeness as the Devil’s wings and claws reach out.

“So you’re it.” Sam says, voice flat.

Lucifer laughs, although it sounds nervous (and Lucifer is never nervous and that scares Sam more).

“I’m it!” The Devil assures, eyes not leaving Sam for a second. Stutters out, “And hey, I’m not the good guy. We, we both know I’m not,” _I can’t help what I am, Sam, but I love you, would try for you._ “But, uh, the Darkness? She’s the end of everything.”

_And I promised you, Sammy, no one is allowed to hurt you except me._

The Devil crouches down at eye level, knees almost touching Sam’s. His fists coiled around the bars of the cage, closing Sam in, ready to lean in for the kill.

“But I can beat the Darkness.” Lucifer whispers, motions between them, “We can beat it. You and me.” Sam jerks backwards, but Lucifer doesn’t touch him, knows it will spook Sam and ruin the calm and cosmic, ethereal love he’s trying to squeeze back Sam’s heart.

_We can bring back the dream team, kiddo. We can be whole again, put all of this behind us. We can start over. I know it’s a little late, but please. Believe in me. Trust me. I love you. Let me try again._

And Sam knows that’s the Devil’s playing the long game, that his real angle is that he wants what he always wants, to keep him and own him and devour him until he’s too absorbed in Lucifer to crawl his way out, until he can’t leave anymore.

“So, come on, Sam.” And Lucifer is closer now, close enough to kiss. “Make the right choice. The big sacrifice one last time, man. It’s time to save the world.”

And the grace is rising around them, keening, louder than church-bells and shofars and a hurricane drone, brighter than the sun or the imprint of a black whole’s corona when the light escapes, brighter than a supernova, and frozen, chills Sam beyond ventricles and bone, neurons and marrow.

“Sam.” Lucifer prays. _My Sam, come back to me._

And Sam feels like he’s being filled, not with unbeing but the opposite, with everything, can feels a thousand eyes and eyelashes and lips and fingers invading and stroking underneath his skin, reaching out as if this would change his mind.

But Sam knows, breathes in, and braces himself. Knows that the fallout, the rejection, would never be forgiven and that he’d never get another chance for reprieve. Doesn’t let himself care.

Finally, Sam meets the Devil’s bright burning eyes, the face behind Lucifer’s improvised human mask.

“No.”

And everything stops, silent, Lucifer still paused in shock.

“No.” Sam repeats.

Sam expects Lucifer to attack, to tear into him with everything like he has so many times before, to make him beg forgiveness and force Sam’s yes out like thousand lifetimes stretched too far.

He doesn’t.

Sam takes back his assessment. Knows he hadn’t felt real fear, not really. Not before right now.

Lucifer rises to his feet, turns away, his moment a flurry yet still much too human.

“What do you mean, no?” Lucifer demands, turns back to Sam.

“You heard me.” Sam answers. (And still, Lucifer grace is silent, withdrawn, Sam can’t feel a single speck of any of it. But he thinks he knows what it would say, can hear the echo of it sing, _Sammy, I won’t let you say no ever again._ )

“Ok, now, Sam. I gotta tell you, this is selfish, man. Everything that-” Lucifer starts. And Sam doesn't need to hear it, has heard it all before. How betraying the Devil is the worst crime he's ever done.

“You are done.” Sam declares with a shake of his head. “It’s over.”

**We’re over.**

Lucifer pants, looks like he’s about to cry or scream or tear something apart. Like he’s holding too much back.

Sam rises to his feet, can’t sit still and vulnerable like this when he knows the worst is near. Takes his one last chance to face Lucifer head on because he probably wasn’t going to be able to once it all snaps. Let’s the weight of all his love, all his pain, infect every single particle inside him, burn in every one of his words. Decides to deconstruct every piece of Lucifer’s argument, like Lucifer once helped him learn so many lifetimes ago.

“And you know what? You talk a good game. You do.” Sam admits, points directly at his tormenter, at someone he once loved like nothing else, who he still did and hated it, “Hell, you almost had me sold a few times, but then I thought, what if you’re right? What if you’re telling the truth? What if you can beat her?”

“I can!” Lucifer snarls. _We can,_ was left implied. Sam can see it on his face, even if the grace around him has flat-lined, like a tsunami before it breaks.

“Even though, last time, it took you plus three other archangels.” Sam shouts, “Oh, yeah, and capital ‘G,’ God!”

“Oh, okay, what, you mean the dead weight?” Lucifer slings back, enunciating every word.

Sam knows what Lucifer is thinking there, too. _We’re stronger, you and me, Sammy. We don’t need them or anyone else._ Doesn’t mourn the loss of feeling, doesn’t care about the dead heaviness burned into his limbs from the sharp cutoff of ice and lust and promise and ancient, endless love. Let’s the rage keep burning on and burning, like an inferno. A controlled slash-and-burn for every torture and violation he’s ever endured.

“But let’s say you gank her. Then what?” Sam asks rhetorically. “Then you go about starting the Apocalypse. Again.” His next words are more punctuated, more pointed, “Because you’re an old dog, and that’s your old trick.”

**And you don’t ever want to give that up, not for anything and certainly not for me.**

Lucifer growls, “Okay, first off, you don’t know that-"

Sam raises his eyebrows, automatic, too stunned and bitter and furious at the lie.

**Oh, I don't? Me, when I know you better than anyone?**

"Second, even if I did,” Lucifer grounds out, mouth a rictus approximation of a grin as his excuses trip over themselves, “That’s better than what she has planned.”

“Is it? Really?” Sam doesn’t waver. 

Lucifer shifts from toe to toe, looks ready to tear Sam’s throat out with his eyes. Sam can guess at what he hasn't said. That the Apocalypse was supposed to be their reward, their new beginning, their new life, only now it's just another punishment for Sam choosing Dean over Lucifer, for remaining upright in the face of all the love for the Devil he wishes he didn't still feel scratching under his skin. For the love that damned Sam every second of every day.

“Because this is what I think,” Sam adds, “I think that whoever wins, you or the Darkness, everyone else **loses**.”

Lucifer inhales, and Sam can see the monster uncoiling beneath his skin, ready to strike. And Sam knows he’s thinking, _You wanna bet on that?_

“So, no.” Sam asserts, then bares his teeth, all human animal ready to end this. “My answer is no.”

Lucifer starts almost-laughing, but it’s shallow and promises pain. Yet Sam isn’t finished.

“This isn’t because of Dean or the past,” Sam goes on, “This is about me having faith in my friends, having faith in my family.”

**Not you. No more.**

And then the Devil stands up to his full height, eyes burning inhuman slits.

“We will find a way,” Sam continues.

**Without you.**

Lucifer looks away and nods, as if the abortive motion and lack of eye contact would deny it all, would make Sam quail. (It doesn’t.)

“I’m ready to die.” Sam states, and Lucifer cricks his neck as he looks back up at him, skeptical. (Because dying always leads Sam straight back into Hell. Into the Devil’s waiting arms.)

“And I’m ready to watch people I love die.” Sam promises.

Lucifer is completely motionless, doesn’t even breathe because he doesn’t need to, has never needed to, only pretends to try and mirror his intended victim.

Too still. Much too still.

“But I’m not ready to be your bitch.” Sam finishes, unwavering.

**Never again.**

Lucifer closes his eyes, grants Sam a thin smile. Pretends to breathe, as if his next actions pained him, as if his disappointment wasn’t going to tear Sam into tiny pieces all over again.

Sam waits, knows he’s in for it. Doesn’t flinch away. Not this time.

“Okay.” Lucifer murmurs, gives a single laugh. “Plan ‘B’.”

A fist strikes against Sam’s face, throws him back, and all the fire and ice and fury of the fallen Archangel comes screaming back, sets every part of Sam buzzing and flayed alive with only pain.

_Did you think I would let it end like this, Sam? Do you think I’m really going to give you a choice?_

The Devil, still half-housed in the imitation of a Nick’s human skin, jumps keeps punching Sam, again and again and again and again.

_I'm your family. Me. And you aren't going to do this to us. I won't let you._

All the sound roars in Sam’s ears, and he can’t breathe again, topples. Lucifer kicks him in the ribs and sternum and face until they shatter, the skin practically sloughed off. Heals him. Does it all over again. Invisible strands of grace slice into Sam until he’s so cold his skin and muscle and bones burn, the few pieces that remain swell, blistering and oozing until they blacken.

_Why do you always insist on doing everything the hard way, Sammy? Haven’t I been generous? Aren’t you tired of doing this over and over again, simply because of your own ungrateful pride?_

Lucifer heals Sam again, then hauls him to his feet. Throws him up against the makeshift cage’s bars. Punches him, kicks him again. His claws dig deep inside Sam’s soul ready to shred it pieces.

And then Castiel’s voice echoes, and Dean and his angel arrive.

Lucifer stops, turns, waits expectantly. This was his dominion, after all.

“Dean, and, ah, the other one.” Lucifer says, thrilled. Ready to rip them apart right in from of Sam as punishment for his second betrayal.

Lucifer snaps, and Dean and Castiel are trapped in the Cage. And Sam, still collapsed on the not-Cage’s floor, can’t get enough air.

“Welcome to the party,” Lucifer proclaims, and Sam is spitting up blood as he struggles to stand, still pinned by the invisible tendrils of Lucifer’s true form.

_You so ready to watch them die now, Sam? Because I still don’t believe you._

“Scared?” Lucifer asks.

“Not even a little.” Dean retorts.

Castiel unsheathes his angel blade.

“Ah-ah-ah, moments like this, it’s all about ambience.” The Devil quips, snaps, and winks as “Heaven Must Be Missing an Angel” to starts play, off key and muffled. Sam doesn’t know why but he knows the Devil is hiding something, is trying to throw Dean and Cas off their game.

Lucifer lunges at Cas first, and Castiel rams into his shoulder before throwing him backwards against the bars of the not-cage.

“I can beat the Darkness,” Lucifer hisses in Cas’s ear as he holds him in headlock. “They’re just a couple of apes, they aren’t strong enough for this alone. You know I’m right, Castiel. You know it.”

_Watch as they both fail you, Sam._

While the Devil is otherwise occupied, Dean runs over to Sam, says, “Hey,” as he cradles his face, but Sam is still trapped.

Cas squirms out of the Devil’s grip and throws him back, his grace and wings tearing into the Devil, just enough to wrench Sam out of Lucifer’s clutches.

But Lucifer is stronger and catches Cas by the throat. “You want to play that way?” He asks, beats Castiel bloody, and his grace surges back around Sam, possessive and hungry and circling. He doesn’t unleash the holy vestiges of his being against Cas and Dean. No, Lucifer wants to take his time, make his case, get his way. And if that doesn’t work, he wants to make this slow.

“We can’t win.” Sam gasps, tries to make Dean understand. They’ll be trawled back into the Real Cage, all of them, once the time runs out.

“We don’t have to.” Dean assures him. “We’ve just got to last a few minutes.” And Sam knows they have a plan, and let’s his mind go blank. Doesn’t pray that it works because then Lucifer would know.

All the while Castiel is thrown back to the other side of the not-Cage, falls to the floor only to get kicked down over and over again.

Sam struggles but manages to drag himself to fight Lucifer, because his grace isn’t holding him back anymore, and it’s bound so tightly into him by now that it’s almost easy, like following the current. The brothers flank the Devil, both get punched at for their troubles.

And then Sam finds an opening, holds the Devil back, Sam’s arms linked under his.

Dean gives the Devil a punch with all his might.

“You hit like a human,” Lucifer mocks, then he kicks Dean into the other side of the not-cage where he falls to the floor.

_No mercy, Sammy. You’ve spit in my face for too long. Know your place._

And Lucifer rams his head back into Sam’s, staggering him. Punches Sam down and then kicks him until his ribs fracture again, one bone puncturing a lung. Sam heaves, wheezes as he gets thrown back to the floor. Millions of icy coils of grace perforating his skin.

And then Cas leaps back into the fray, tries to throw Lucifer off. Lucifer hits him so hard he falls to the floor, his vessel’s nose shattered.

Lucifer goes for Dean, but Sam lurches up with the rest of his remaining strength. Lucifer notices, elbows him in the face. Turns and backhands Sam, then kicks him until he’s downed on the floor. Sam’s still half-out of it from the Grace numbing every piece of him, buzzing and breaking as it howls against his soul, tries to find an opening.

Dean tries to rise, but Lucifer grabs him by the throat, and pins him to the other side of the Cage, feet dangling.

Sam is barely holding on, flailing with adrenaline and desperation, but he’s too injured.

And then the Devil turns to look over at Sam, untouched by a single a shred of mercy. _Look at you, flopping around like a gasping fish._

“All right Sam,” Lucifer starts, loses his fist around Dean’s throat tighter as he raises him higher off the floor. “I’m going to make this real easy for you. You say the magic word,” He pauses, Dean grasping at Lucifer’s arm, trapped and suffocating.

“Or your brother dies, and we both know you won’t let that happen.” Lucifer adds, and heals Sam’s perforated rib, but nothing else, so he can say what Lucifer has needed him to say for so long.

 _You can prevent this easy, Sammy. Now give me what I WANT._ And Sam feels the claws and wings of the archangel reach out and embrace him.

Lucifer looks back over at Dean, a burden lifted. Thinks: You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this day. You primitive sack of filth, not fit for Sam, not fit for anything. Payback’s such a bitch, isn’t she? But now you’ll never take him from me again.

Lucifer doesn’t even smile, because he doesn’t need to.

Dean starts to fade.

Castiel finally manages to break free of the force holding him, and tackles Lucifer away. Dean falls to the floor, gasping, then crawls over to Sam, who feels the frissions of Lucifer’s grace pull away, ready to murder another angel.

Lucifer bests Castiel easily and keeps punching, grace ripping into him with every particle of hatred in his body. Castiel falls, and Lucifer pins his hand with the angel blame to the floor.

“So, last words?” Lucifer asks, rears back to strike the finishing blow. But he tries, one last time, to appeal to his other fallen brother. For convenience and old time’s sake. Looks him in the eye.

_C’mon, Cas. You want to save them. You know I can do it. What use is all this if the universe all ends? And for all our differences… You know how we are the same? We both have humans we want to protect. Sam’s mine, Dean’s yours. Would you really let them fight a fight they absolutely cannot win? We both know what the Darkness really is. Would you really leave them at the mercy of the shell God cast off to hide from us? Would you really let them be devoured by the ineffable and implacable awe and might of the unknowable, endless, unspeakable wrath of our Father, their flawed creator? There is no coming back from that. And it will devour every piece of creation, the lump sum of everything we’ve tried to protect._

At that moment, a bright light blinds the Winchesters and starts to tows everyone out of the almost-Cage.

And Castiel –Angel of Thursday, young and war-torn and almost human, ready to die for his love for humanity– says yes.

Lets Lucifer in.


	77. When In Rome

Sam knows something is off about Cas, but he attributes it to his own jumpiness after being held captive, doesn’t want anyone paying the price for his own naïve stupidity. What he thought was well-placed faith. (Shows how much he knows.)

 _Sure, Sam, sure. Of course God sent you to fetch me. What a lark! He hasn’t cared for all these years, but now he’ll send you, of all people. And you came running back into my open arms, just like **that!**_ (Sam flinches, flinches at the proverbial, too-familiar snap! Inside his head, but doesn’t let it overwhelm him. He’s grown used to his own weakness.) _You must have missed me so much, Sammy. I’m so proud. I might just kiss you._

Sam inhales deeply, readjusts his grip on the files he’s indexed from the library, and makes his way over to his favorite red chair.

You’re fine, you’re fine. He soothes himself, automatic, robotic, but then the echo still reverberates, _Oh, Sam, look how fine you were made for me._

Sam’s grip slips, fumbles, and the amalgam of books and grimoires and papers slams down on the table much too fast. The sound brings Sam back to solid earth, even if it’s just for a second, if it’s too loud, like thunderclap. (Like a smack to the face.)

Sam takes one breath, two. Forces himself to think of anything else.

Cas isn’t exactly one to always be involved in things. He’s part of the family, sure. But his ease and familiarity waxes and wanes with his priorities, like he hasn’t fully figured out what he can accomplish yet, how to fit back into things after Naomi and the angel tablet and… well, everything else. Cas gets more withdrawn when he’s struggling. Sam could definitely relate.

But whatever this is, Sam knows, it’s not that. No, it’s almost as if Cas is… latching on more? But he’s sharper, abrasive, more cynical, still snide, yet less blunt, and Sam doesn’t know if that’s because Cas is struggling with something, or because he’s gotten more comfortable inside his skin after being on earth all these years, after he finally realized he was a proper part of Winchester Clan.

All the other weirdness… Well, Sam knows that that’s all on him. Sam Winchester, broken down into his smallest components, with nothing to show for it except too many wincing responses. And the ever-present baggage, _Poor, stubborn Sammy. Aren’t you something to see?_

Sam can’t help it, he’s too trapped, too stir-crazy cooped up in the bunker. To not be reminded of _all the places you’ll go,_ where he’s going to wind up once endless sleep comes a-calling.

Only it’s not sleep at all, waiting for him at the end of the line. No.

 _You’re looking a bit peaky there, Sam. Here, let me help._ The Devil’s laughter brands itself inside his brain. _There, all better, see? Oh, no, wait, look here, that doesn’t look too good either. I’ll take that, it all needs to go. Doctor’s orders._

It’s the Cage, it’s always the Cage, and no matter what Dean or Cas or anyone has ever said to reassure him, Sam knows he’s only got one final destination. He’d do anything to just blink out of existence instead, because Heaven wasn’t going to let him in.

Although, right now Sam would settle for sleep. It hasn’t been too keen on creeping up on him, these last few days.

 _You’ll never be free of me, Sam. You’re only going to hurt yourself, if you think otherwise. And I’m the only one with the privilege of hurting you, remember?_  
\---

Lucifer can honestly say he’s having a wonderful vacation topside, thank you very much.

He can build up his strength, use all the Winchester’s prized resources, borrows them from right underneath their grubby, danger-seeking noses. He learns their every eventual stopgap, because those will be especially useful. Particularly for when Sam catches on, and the jig is up, and Lucifer has to re-teach him and his insufferable, codependent leech of a brother their proper places all over again. (Compliant, struck beneath his heel, praying at his feet.)

Yeah, sure, rebuffing Dean’s advances and suspicions isn’t the most engaging activity in the world, Lucifer admits it. But it is somewhat amusing, if not outright sufficient insurance. And Castiel… Well, he isn’t strong enough to take on Lucifer now that he’s got him under proverbial lock-and-key, and the lesser seraph learned real quick not to try anything too sneaky.

Lucifer can threaten Dean and Sam, can smooth over any _misunderstandings_ easily, just by mentioning, off-hand, that right now they are not his priority, not this exact second, but he could _make_ them, if he has to. Could make them writhe and cry and scream. Could choke and drown them with Castiel’s own bloody fingertips.

But he and his fellow angel have a common goal, are all on the same team, now, after all. There’s no need for hellfire and bloodshed, so long as Castiel keeps his big fat mouth _shut,_ and keeps providing enough spurts of habits, of needed neural input with all its reflexive body language.

 **After all, Castiel, they don’t need you, not really. Never have.** (Castiel doesn’t engage, doesn’t rear back and spit and snarl until he’s been beaten bloody like Samuel. He pretends to tune him out, pretends he’s static and solid and composed, that the words don’t ring too true and the unwanted, honest evaluation doesn’t make him crumple, just a little.)

Not to mention, those memories of Sam’s time in the Cage were dead useful, if the Devil did say so himself.

Lucifer prides himself on his masterpiece, on his perfectly orchestrated handiwork. And while, yes, he knows the intimate, kaleidoscopic facets of his true vessel from the inside-out already – for he has maimed and sucked and carved and sheared and flushed and claimed and gummed up every nook and cranny of his Sammy, wouldn’t settle for anything less – it doesn’t hurt to know where he is still wounded, what’s keeping Sam still trucking on. And it’s useful, dead useful, to find what has shaken him most.

What lessons stuck with him the longest.

Because say what you will of Sam Winchester, even when beaten down, broken, sobbing, meek, at whatever state of ruined vulnerable Lucifer has long since whittled him down to, he nonetheless is implacable, always gearing up for a fight. Sam is a warrior, would never be anything less. Just as it should be, as was proper and fitting for a vessel of his station.

Lucifer could never train that entirely out of him. Didn’t really want to, despite how annoying that habit had long since become.

That bold, insubordinate fire may have ballooned into a loftier problem, once upon a time, when Sam fed them both into the Cage’s waiting arms, (as if that would save him, would spare anyone, and the Devil would flay him for the insolence).

Yes, it was inconvenient. (Was completely and horrifically terrifying, the Devil didn’t admit.) And the excess of it all filled Lucifer with the desperate need to strangle him, to bite and maim and drown the one and only human he would ever consider worthy.

But it was nostalgic, too. Completely base in its bodily functions, in its primal, raw desires. Lucifer could appreciate that, on an abstract, carnal level. (It certainly wasn’t unattractive, didn’t hide Sam’s many assets. One more piece of what Sam was good for, after all.)

But Lucifer knew it was always a potential roadblock, when given too little supervision. He’d just… prune it back, when necessary. (Or simply when it served to further his amusement.)

No, clueless, stubborn Sam didn’t need to change. He just needed to learn when to call it quits. His thick skull had no sense of self-preservation, had never learned when the game was long since over and lost. But Lucifer was a generous teacher, and so very good at reminding him, would do so as much as Sam needed.

Lucifer just needed to provide enough incentive for Sam to remember his rightful place.

And in the silence of the bunker, Lucifer stakes Sam out, scoots over nascent, scheduled reminders through cloaked strands of grace. Easy-peasy.

Lucifer only wishes he could touch him like this, could claim him like he was accustomed. The lack of contact is frustrating, but it’s a necessary sacrifice for the cause.

 _He’ll beat you,_ Cas pipes up, uncharacteristically brazen. Lucifer sends a wave of hurt, and then shoves him back down, cutting their invisible link loose, like a stray marionette.

 **Sam may be good at winning,** Lucifer concedes. **So I’ll have to convince him to play himself, or make him beg to lose.**

Castiel didn’t have much to say after that, oddly enough. Most likely, didn’t want Sam to be brought low for his troubles.

As if Lucifer would relent.

\---

Cas seems to be running into Sam a lot more lately. Or he’s avoiding him. Or he keeps on… staring. It’s an uncharacteristic mixture of the three, unsettling but not enough to feel like something Sam can just bring up.

Sure, yeah. That would go over real well.

Cas, why the Hell are you acting slightly off lately? Why have you been avoiding Dean? Do you know something we don’t? Sam thinks, and the premise is so absurd he almost starts laughing.

( _Wanna bet on it?_ , flits on through, and Sam brushes off another faint echo of the Cage like it’s not a harrowing malediction.)

Maybe it’s guilt. Or maybe he’s disappointed? Sam wouldn’t be surprised at either. Cas never really got over feeling bad about the Leviathans, for what happened with Sam and the Wall and his memories.

And being back in the almost-Cage, trapped with the Devil again, probably wasn’t a good reminder of that, probably dredged up things _(it burns, it burns, and his lips and fingernails are blistering, and it’s so cold, so freezing)_ for the both of them.

No, Cas was never one to pry.

Sam didn’t really want to push it. It’s not like he wanted to be as haunted by those memories, _(a sob as a nail is driven through his palm, and there’s so much blood, and no please, please don’t)_ either.

**(Prove how much you love me, Sammy. Do it all for me.)**

But who was he kidding? He didn’t have a choice. _Never did, kiddo._

Sam stops himself, clutches the arm of the chair until his knuckles have turned chalky white.

Or maybe Cas and Dean had some domestic misunderstanding? That happened sometimes, and Sam always kept out of the way for those. The two didn’t really like interference with that kind of thing, and whatever they have have changes on a dime depending on the week, if only because Dean gets spooked, isn’t used to being constant, and Cas vacillates in his arrivals and departures and in his confidence.

At that echo of one heated arguing thrown in half-whispers from the kitchen, another whisper sneaks through. _Come out, come out wherever you are. There’s no getting away from me._

Sam wants to scream, wants to break something, but he keeps rifling through the yellowing papers and old manuscripts to pinpoint the location of the Hand of God, hoping the echoes start to fade, don’t morph into a full-scale hallucination-fest like they used to.

_Don’t want a retread of all our greatest hits?_

Leave me alone! Sam thinks, knowing it will do absolutely nothing, and he jumps out of his skin when Cas taps him on the shoulder.

“Sam?”

A sharp intake of breath, and Sam’s shoulders heave, wincing at the contact.

“Sam, are you well?” Cas gravelly voice is drawn with concern. His eyes don’t leaving Sam’s face, not even when Sam’s face falls, eyes glance down and back.

“I’m managing.” He admits. Cas would understand, wouldn’t press for more. “What do you need?”

“Dean found something. He’s waiting for us, the usual place.” (The main hub, then, next to the kitchen. Sam could make it that far without stumbling, or tripping over his own shadow.)

Sam settles himself, pops a genial smile, though it retreats, fast and easy. “Ok. I’ll be right there…” Pauses, and when Castiel doesn’t move, adds, “You can go on ahead of me.”

Cas still lingers, brows furrowed. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

_Anything at all?_

His hand hasn’t left Sam’s shoulder, propped up there to keep him steady.

“No.” Sam forces brightly, too brightly, thinking, _Cas please don’t push this,_ (ignoring the echoes, _I promise I’ll be good I promise_ and **Not good enough, Sammy.** ), but Sam is dealing. He is. Really.

_Well, I suppose I can give you points for trying._

“Ok.” Cas nods, withdraws jerkily, shoots him a reassuring smile.

We’re almost there, Sam thinks. I can hold it together ‘til them. I can. I will.

Unbeknownst to the youngest Winchester, the Devil has ducked behind the doorway, overwhelmed with silent laughter.

_Don't hold your breath._


	78. West Coast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s14e11
> 
> originally this had another chapter title but i couldn't find it so...
> 
> chapter title a song by imagine dragons

Ever since Dean left, Sam has been nigh insufferable. It’s been harder to ignore him, to ward off the blips of too-acute-concern, and its giving Lucifer a headache, accelerates his foul mood after being derailed once already.

Spell ingredients clatter into the bowl, more forcefully than usual.

“Hey.” Sam starts, and “Castiel” stops, looks over. Lays the knife down on the table. (Although Lucifer would prefer not to.)

“Cas, what is that?” Sam asks, officially starts his interrogation.

“Cas” resumes throwing the items in the bowl, “It’s your spell of gathering.” His hands don’t shake, although the temperature of the room drops a few degrees. Sam, still half-convinced he’s a hot mess from their rumble in the almost-Cage, doesn’t suspect a thing.

“Are you nuts?” Sam accuses, draws himself higher as if that might steady his already haywire nerves.

 _Got it, Sammy. Course you wouldn’t be onboard. How very predictable._ Lucifer internally rolls his eyes. (Watch your tone, Lucifer doesn’t say, although he really, really wants to.)

“You’re not strong enough! Cas, you could get hurt!” Then all the hurt and concern are bleeding through, and Lucifer quells the urge to strike him. (Castiel doesn’t feel it, because only Lucifer is keyed to Sam, only he has that right, and he would sooner rip out Cas’s eyeballs than let anyone sift in as an intermediary, floating aimlessly between them).

“Cas” inhales, keeps his irritation light. Carefully twists it into skepticism.

“You find a better option?” Lucifer lets resigned doubt creep in. Starts chopping. Deliberate. Slow.

Pictures sawing off pieces of Sam as if that makes this any easier to bear.

Inside, Castiel remains silent, pretending he’s not observing this from the periphery. As if Lucifer can’t feel his strained attentions, his piqued interest in the Devil’s plain and obvious jealousy.

 _He just thinks you’re a self-sacrificing, love-struck moron,_ Lucifer assures him, attention still laser-focused on Sam.

“No, but,” Sam stammers, gestures forwards, “Without a serious boost to your angel power, that spell won’t even work!” Disbelieving and indignant.

Figures.

“Castiel” doesn’t waste a monotonous breath, deadpans, “My strength my surprise you.”

Lucifer notes Sam’s eyes darting downwards, clearly doubtful, or at least confused.

Then a lightbulb comes on, illuminates Sam’s face with the frenzied need to be useful. Lucifer can feel that selfless timbre buzzing through Sam’s mind, whirring full steam ahead.

 _Stop trying to be helpful._ Lucifer grumbles to himself, then lets the petulance flit by. He can be patient. Sam just was being so… Sam, but it’s the worst part of Sam, the part Lucifer vehemently hates, because Father forbid Sam ever offers that same sympathy to him.

Sam starts pacing, distracted, much like he always does when concentrating. Like he used to in their old room lifetimes ago, when they studied law textbooks. Or when Sam tried to convince him the end of humanity wasn’t worth it. Memory lane.

Lucifer shoves those sentimental feelings down. Doesn’t move Cas’s body an inch out of place, even though blowing his cover is so very tempting. Something tells him he’s putting too much verve in his movements, too much force behind the usually fluid and slow gestures, but Lucifer manages. He does.

The bitter jealousy, the omnipresent want, still grows. (Castiel notes it, but doesn’t laugh, instead becomes afraid, because the small fry knows what Sam knows, and those feelings never lead anywhere good.)

_That’s right, Castiel. You just sit tight and keep quiet. Or I’ll give you something to scream about._

Sam keeps going, finds his solution. Circles closer back around. (Not close enough.)

“Remember, Bobby told me when you needed strength to retrieve us from the past, you used him to power up, you touched his soul, right?” Sam revs up, infectious in its barebones intensity.

Another ingredient chucked in the bowl. Lucifer, still distracted, manages, “Yeah, that’s right, I did that.” Inhales, continues reaching, “But, uh, that procedure, it can be fatal.”

 _Take that, Sammy._ But Lucifer knows the excuse failed to convince him, can feel the gears turning in his head. Such a thorn in his side.

There’s a beat, and Sam’s breath quickens. Lucifer feels a sharp pang! The echoes of all Sam’s elastic fear, some dredged up remnant of their time together setting off his radar, easy.

“Use my soul.” Sam decides.

Lucifer stops dead. _Excuse me?_ Doesn’t say. Sam never willingly volunteered that up. Never, in all his long, long years.

Oblivious, Sam keeps going, adds, “In a way, maybe you’ll have enough power to wield the spell.”

 _I don’t recall giving you permission to loan it out like that. It’s mine, you’re mine_ Lucifer’s thoughts trail off into incoherence as he wrestles away pure wrath. Keeps his eyes down, off his True Vessel, but it is a close slip-up. Too close.

“That isn’t necessary.” He answers, the sainted portrait of calm.

But Sam doesn’t quit. “It’s worth the risk.”

Lucifer knows he’s starting to careen, can feel the blood boiling in his bones. Sam’s words ebb and flow, each an ignorant affront. “Castiel’s” jaw clenches, set just a tad too tight.

“Cas, Dean needs our help.” (And Lucifer has never hated Dean more except for one specific other moment). And Sam stops, swallows. Utters three magic, reviled words.

“I trust you.”

Lucifer’s patience snaps. His grace starts wailing, goes berserk; he’s surprised to he’s held out for so long.

Sam’s trust in Lucifer had waned far too long ago, and he missed it, yearned for it, would kill, disfigure, defile for it so bad, but what was prized even more was Sam’s delicious, bright splinters of soul. Lucifer would spit at the many faces of God, just to have it caught, stretched taut in the palms of his hands like putty. And Sam knows how much Lucifer would give, would take, would massacre for even a taste, but Sam doesn’t know who he’s engaging. Who reigns beneath Castiel’s skin.

Just like that, the opportunity is just too much to pass up, a decadent sacrifice offered up on a silver platter, already ordered to go.

_If you insist, Sammy. If you do so insist._

Sam’s unconscious alarm bells start going off, a ringing siren left unheeded. Castiel tries to warn him, tries to send out his own signal of grace, but it’s completely cut off at the source, shielded by Lucifer’s own interference.

Lucifer loses it, laughter bursting out like a faulty hydroelectric dam. Uncontrolled. Unplanned. Jig’s up, cast to the wayside. Lucifer finds he doesn’t mind.

“What?” Sam asks, still flying deaf and blind. Lucifer’s knuckles press to Cas’s forehead, and he reels himself back in.

_We’re going to have so much fun._

“It’s just… I don’t want, I don’t need you anymore,” Lucifer wheezes, rubs the lie in, flashes a beatific grin. “Dean’s the one with the link to the Darkness. Why have I been trying to spare you?”

And Sam freezes, eyes narrowing, as his brain starts to catch on. Lucifer lays it on thick, lets the summit of his rage shine through.

_That’s right, bitch. Get with the program. You ready to welcome me home?_

“I mean, maybe it’s because,” Lucifer continues, one hand waving around for emphasis, “You’re like the girl who keeps turning me down at prom?”

Lucifer yanks Sam by the collar and slams him into the opposite wall.

Sam cries out, winded. Lucifer’s True Vessel radiates perfect clarity, paired with a mouthwatering serving of dread. **No, no, no.** Lucifer picks up. Silly Sammy, it’s not like he’s listened before.

Lucifer keeps Cas’s hand pressed up against Sam’s windpipe, but doesn’t pause his spiel.

“So I will touch your soul, since you asked so nicely,” He continues, “And I’ll use your spell to blast through the warding and retrieve Dean, and the um,” Lucifer pauses, snaps, appreciates Sam’s involuntary flinch response that he’s ingrained in him so well, “Hand of God. And then when Dean comes back, and he finds this place decorated with your guts, I’ll will tell him the truth, Sam.” _And after I’ve had my fun with you,_ “I’ll just say, Dean, no.”

Stops, twists the knife a little deeper, because it was just so worth it. Lucifer carries on in Castiel’s grave tone, “Dean… He knew the risks.” Keeps his eyes wide, brow furrowed. Concludes, “He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Rubs the irony in.

“Lucifer.” Sam gasps out.

Lucifer blinks, bats his lashes, face breaking into a slight grin.

“In the flesh.”

Sam starts hyperventilating.

Cas has been frantically battling Lucifer out for the last few minutes, but he’s iced out of the game easy, not quite the favored team in this ballpark. And Lucifer wouldn’t give this tearful reunion up for anything.

Sam’s eyes dart to Lucifer’s unoccupied hand as it slinks closer and closer.

Never gets old, Lucifer appreciates, and lets his gaze linger.

Strikes, thrusts a hand inside Sam’s chest.

The light of Sam’s soul sparks and flares out in waves as it buckles against Lucifer’s own. And Sam’s screaming is so very loud, forbidden music to Lucifer’s ears.

_Oh, Sam, don’t you know by now? You’re not getting away from me._

Lucifer grabs the piece he needs, isolates it for later. Sam’s knees quake and he almost keels over, but Lucifer keeps him pinned, breathless. Can feel two tendons tremor beneath his skin.

_Don’t worry, Bunk Buddy. I’m not giving up on you yet._

“Psyche. Oh, Sam, you should’ve seen your face.” Lucifer chortles, and Sam ducks down as much he’s able. Swallows, makes himself as compact as possible, as if that would help with anything. “I mean, sure, I will redecorate this place with viscera galore. Eventually. But we’ve got some extra time, Sammy. Time for just the two of us, if you don’t count Cas’s attempts at trespassing.”

Lucifer tries to draw himself to his full height, realizes Castiel’s comparative limitations, then the slams Sam down, splays him across the empty half of the table, hands still wrapped round his throat.

“So what do you say, Sam? Fancy some catching up?”

 **No, no, no, no.** And Sam struggles so hard against his grip. Tries to turn his face away as Castiel’s mouth kisses him.

Lucifer takes his other hand, guides Sam’s face back on trajectory. Sam’s lips are chapped, pursed, and Lucifer jams a bruising fingertip into Sam’s jaw, pressure half prying Sam’s mouth open.

Lucifer catches an opening. Takes it. Draws blood, sucks in, slides a tongue between Sam’s teeth. And with all that lack of air and all the old habits between them, Sam can’t keep up the fight, responds, complies, obedient.

The sharp tang of combined disgust and want permeates the space between them, partial courtesy of mangled soul blending with icy electric grace, contaminated by Sam’s own hatred of himself, Lucifer, and betrayal directed at the meatsuit he’s wearing.

 **Why, Cas, why would you let Lucifer out? Why would you let him in?** Sam prays too loudly, flinches as the Archangel himself cuts in, growling, _Eyes up here, Samuel. Don’t forget who you’re with._

Sam lets out an involuntary whine. Lucifer feels every frantic, fluttering heartbeat as he presses against Sam’s chest, and only relents when spots begin to dance across Sam’s vision from a dangerous lack of oxygen.

_Not going to kill you yet, sweetheart. Don’t you worry your pretty head._

Lucifer disengages, withdraws all physical contact. Keeps Sam pressed against the table with persistent wave of grace. Murmurs, “You always play so hard to get. Makes me feel so unwanted.”

 **Gee, I wonder why** Sam’s hysterical sass trickles in, even after being choked out and everything. Sam doesn’t speak, but Lucifer’s hands make contact, light down. Tighten against Sam’s hips.

Not a warning, though. A promise.

 _Let’s tango, you and me._ Lucifer suggests, starts wrenching open the stitches of Sam’s jeans. _Huh, Bunk Buddy? You’ve been stringing me along so often these days._

Yes, Sam’s homebrew of kneejerk panic and spun-out arousal is definitely something the Archangel missed.

Sam bucks, tries to throw them to the floor, but Lucifer holds them in place.

 **Fuck off.** Sam curses, spiraling as Lucifer grace uncoils and fans out around him.

 _That’s the idea._ The Devil retorts, laughing. _That’s what I have you for._

Cas rallies all his strength, catches Lucifer by surprise. A vacuum of space takes the place of Lucifer’s vaporous grace as the Devil is thrown back, and Sam is released. Sam crumbles to the floor, skitters back across the tile as far as he can.

“Sam, Sam it’s me, I’m so sorry. I can’t hold him for long.”

 _What the actual ever-loving Hell, Cas?_ Sam’s prayers scream at him, even as Sam gasps, tears streaming down his face, “Cas, why?”

“Sam, there’s no time. I don’t have enough strength. And we need him!”

“No Cas, no,” **What are you saying? Get him out!** “Eject him!” Sam begs. Make him stop. He pleads. But Sam knows once Lucifer has wormed his way inside, that it isn’t so easy to cast him away.

“We need him to save Dean. I can’t-” Cas answers, shudders, as Lucifer hurtles back. Sam can’t stop him, can’t bear the cost. But he has to save Dean, he has to.

There’s a twist, a convulsion. And Lucifer resurges. Shakes his head and tsks.

_I do so hate interruptions. Don’t you, Sammy?_

“Will you save Dean?” Sam wails before the Devil can start anything, pressed so close against the wall his shirt fabric sticks. Doesn’t back away anymore, can’t, knows he is caught whether he runs because otherwise Dean is gone. **Please, please, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I won’t run. I promise.**

_You bet your ass you will. We’ve wasted enough time already._

Lucifer walks over, takes his time. Pulls Sam up from the floor.

“Now, by my count, we’ve got a half hour until we need to recover Dean.” Lucifer calculates, mostly for Sam’s benefit. Can’t have him being distracted, after all. “I expect your full participation.”

 _Or I’ll leave Dean to sleep with the fishes. Capice?_ Lucifer eyes him, idly threatens as he rubs half-circles over the small of Sam’s back.

Sam flinches, bobs, swallows. Gives a nod of his head. Doesn’t pull away.

_I’m not hearing a yes, Sammy._

Sam’s meets his eyes, dazed, voice shaky but unmistakable.

“Yes.” He looks about ready to faint. (The only small mercy is a yes has to be specific, isn’t a blanket invitation for possession unless asked for specifically.)

_Again._

“Yes, yes, ok!” Sam sobs, and Lucifer hugs him closer, nestles his chin in the crook of Sam’s neck.

“See, was that so hard?” Lucifer whispers, grace emanating. Wings curled around his prey like a net.

Sam doesn’t move, wracked with shudders. He takes in a deep, quavering breath.

_Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable, shall we?_

Sam shivers, stumbles, doesn’t meet his eyes the entire way, let’s Cas’s arms propel his body forward as Lucifer hauls them to Sam’s room.

\--  
The Devil makes good on his promise, as a “reward for good behavior.” _(Sammy, my sweet Sammy. So very good to me._ And Sam’s not thinking about it, he won’t. _Think big brother will mind that I borrowed his boytoy’s body?_ )

Sam dry heaves, gathers himself, tries to find anything that can be used to stop Lucifer before he comes back. But he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to banish him without endangering Dean or… no, he can’t think about Cas right now.

The only asset he has is that Lucifer didn’t bind him, left him loose, because, “If you try absolutely anything, Sam, I’ll rip out Dean’s intestines right in front of your face.”

_You get two options, buddy. Keep my secret, play along, and Dean will never have to know who helped defeat Darkness. Or you can say yes, the other yes, and we’ll go on our own hunting trip. Your call._

And Sam is scared, so incredibly scared, now that the Devil’s been set free. His life’s one crowning accomplishment, undone with one simple word.

But Sam can’t sit idle. He can’t. He has to do something.  
\---

“Dean, that’s not Cas.” Sam cries, points in warning, tackles him out of the Devil’s grip and out of the way. Dean starts to make a sound of confused protest, but Sam barely registers it. His eyes don’t leave the true enemy in the center of the room.

 _Sam, we talked about this._ Lucifer snarls, and starts to unfurl his wings.

Sam leaps towards at him, doesn’t think about anything all.

Is one blank slate.

Lucifer is thrown off guard just enough from Sam initiating that this plan might actually work, but Sam doesn’t allow himself the hope.

Sam kisses him, bites down, hard, sucks the drops of angelic blood as it falls. Infused with enough of Lucifer’s grace that it yields just enough of a kick.

Sam doesn’t waste a second, kicks the pre-arranged chair back, and _pushes_ Lucifer with all his might. Prays for a talent hasn’t practiced since before he cracked the cage wide open.

Off-balance, Lucifer topples, smack dab into the newly lit angel trap. It wouldn’t hold for long.

The rest of the floor has been cleared, scribbled on in Enochian, and Sam starts to Sing like one Archangel once taught him. The floor glows as he tries to rally Castiel to the forefront, to lend him enough aid to scrub the Devil out.

 _Do you really think you can use my own tricks against me, Sam?_ Lucifer starts, but Sam is resolute, doesn’t let the fear paralyze him. It’s all for nothing anyway, if this one shot fails.

 **If you don’t get him out, Cas, I’m banishing you both,** Sam promises, projects. Hears something distinctly not-Lucifer reverb back. It sends a query about the Darkness, but Sam stands firm.

**No. We’ll find another way. Any other way. Now help me!**

Then Castiel’s grace is cut off, and there’s only one singing at Sam.

 _I will say, I am proud. Thought I’d never see that eagerness again._ Lucifer cuts in. _Although I guess I’ll just have to re-teach you why this isn’t a good plan._

And Sam’s struggling, fighting the current, tries to keep Cas drawn to the surface. Tries not to feel his newly renewed ties to Lucifer pull him under. Feels himself start to give, with blissed out waves of _Glory._ and _Mine._ and _You can’t run from me._

 **Now.** Sam screams at Cas, and there’s one moment, suspended, and then the Devil is seperated, precipitates out like poison drawn from a wound.

Sam slams his hand into the Angel Banishing Sigil as fast as he can, panting.

And Lucifer’s gone, gone, gone, as Dean rushes towards him.

Sam’s vision swims, and then he hits the floor.


	79. Mercy Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by fever ray

When Sam comes to next, Dean's helping him up with a glass of water out of his bed. Sam wonders if Castiel tried to tell Dean not to put him in his room, or if Dean shut him down before he could answer, or if Cas was too scared to say anything.

Some latent sense tells Sam Cas is standing outside the doorway, out of sight. He knows why Castiel is avoiding him.

And then Sam's thinking of hands, and tongues, and lips, and whispered words and-

Sam wishes he wasn't in his room, all things considered. Brings the worst of it back.

"Sam-"

Sam doesn't want to talk about himself right now. He needs to get out of this room as soon as possible.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks, voice drained. He sips the water and walks towards the door. Doesn't pay attention to the scratches on his arms he used to cover the floor with blood for the sigils. Sam probably lost too much...

Dean stares at him.

"I'm fine, but Sam-"

"Not now, Dean. What happened with Cas?"

Dean's anger shines through, but he forces himself to stay calm, for Sam's sake.

Sam looks far more than out of it. And Dean doesn't blame him even if he doesn't know what Lucifer did, but based on what Cas implied, what he won't say, how he says he needs to talk to Sam first...

It had to have been bad. Really, really bad.

"Lucifer stole his grace on the way out, thanks to whatever mojo you pulled. You gotta tell me what that was," Dean stutters as he tries to change the subject, to distract Sam from that tired closed-eye look he knows too well. When Sam's eyes open, expression demanding, Dean goes back to being all business. "He's drained all of it, enough so Cas is basically human. Doesn't matter, we can find a way to fix that later. Look, we shouldn't be talking about Cas, he should never have said y-" Dean's voice starts cracking, so Sam cuts him off.

"I don't care, okay. It's done. He's out. We need to be ready if he tries to come back. Help me ward the rest of the Bunker. Lucifer... He probably undid all the wards and sigils I put up." Sam mutters as he walks to the door. He's not sure if he said that in English or not, doesn't care. Castiel can tell Dean if it matters so much. "And if Cas is out of rotation he's just as vulnerable as the rest of us."

Sam hears footsteps recede from the doorway, but Sam totters to the door before Castiel can hide.

"Cas. If... if you can ward the other rooms while me and Dean cover upstairs. Don't go downstairs yet, we need to be within yelling distance is something is broken and... and... You know, in case he..." Sam inhales. "Look, when we're done... Meet me in the kitchen. We... we need to talk."

Sam can't quite look Cas in the face, but the brief glimpse he got was long and sorrowful and scared and Sam doesn't know how he feels about that, he's so tired and angry and terrified and he knows Castiel would never hurt him, would want to fix this.

But Sam can't trust him. Not after...

Not right now.

And it's a shame Cas had his grace stolen, it is. But Lucifer is predictable, and there was no way he was letting Sam win this one without another Pyrrhic victory, as always. So Sam isn't surprised. Just bone-dead tired.

 **Cas should have known better. He has my memories from the Cage, he knows what Lucifer is** , Sam wants to think, although he doesn't, because Sam knows he's the last person to be blaming anyone else.

He should have known better, too. Look how much it matters.

Besides, Sam's not sure if Cas consciously remembers all the memories Sam had, or if they just warped into general Hell flashbacks or something. The whole process isn't exactly something anyone had experience with.

Hell, Sam doesn't know how he didn't see Lucifer possessing Cas right out the gate. He should have known. He's lived with him for over 7,000 years, he knows him, he should have realized... 

Sam starts painting the walls. Dean hands him a blood bag Sam didn't see on the table and starts opening on of his own.

"Got extra from storage. Can't have you losing more blood."

Sam grants Dean a thin smile and takes the offering for what it is.

Sam is amazed he's even able to stay upright, right now. He just wants to rest, but rest isn't safe, it never is...

But he needs to keep going, has too much energy because Lucifer could come back any time...

Sam tries to focus on the symbols to stop his head from swimming. It's a bit too easy, because Lucifer always wanted perfection. Otherwise, Sam finds the movement almost soothing in its repetitive familiarity.

\--

Cas still won't look Sam in the eye, nor will Sam look at Cas head on when they do finally re-emerge from painting the Bunker room by room.

Sam can see Castiel's shoulders slumped over, the edges of his trench-coat and tie slightly askew. His fingernails are bitten, and Cas never bites his nails, and it probably sets him off kilter, but then Sam's thinking of what those hands did, and Sam freezes.

Sam lets his gaze drift elsewhere, anywhere but Castiel himself. Dean isn't nearby. Sam won't let him be involved with this, won't let him say anything else, because it's counterproductive, and it's clear whatever he's said to Cas has already compromised everyone's emotional state further, which is liability Lucifer will use, and Sam wants to handle this on his own.

He needs to. He needs some sort of control over something...

Sam's going to have to find a way to get the smell of Cas away from him, too. He hasn't figured that out yet.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I failed you." Cas starts in right out the gate. His voice is low and broken, like rocks in a garbage disposal.

Sam doesn't correct him.

"Why did you let him in?" Sam asks instead, because maybe there was a good reason. Maybe it's not as bad as he thought.

There's a long, long pause.

Sam shudders under the air vent. He still feels all the bruises Lucifer carefully dished out, can feel the imprint of a hand choked around his neck...

"Lucifer told me the Darkness would kill everyone. He showed me that it is a remnant of primordial creation. We had, and still have, nothing to fight it with. Lucifer said he could win, and I knew enough as an angel, and from your memories, that he wasn't lying... At least, not directly, or more than he always does. Lucifer can fight the Darkness. And he didn't want it to devour everything or you, even if it was for selfish and vile reasons... While that is more than double-edge sword, I thought I had it under control, since we had a common enemy. Sam, I didn't want you or Dean or anyone else to die. I made that call because I was expendable and useless. And I thought... Once it was over, that by now, you had enough ways to destroy angels that you could take us out, if I couldn't overpower him. If that's what it took, when you needed to. And before we defeated the Darkness, I thought Lucifer would refrain from trying anything. I thought he'd have to, out of self-preservation. I was wrong. Very wrong. I am so, so sorry, Sam, I know that won't fix anything, that it doesn't change-"

"Cas. Just stop. You aren't expendable. You shouldn't throw your life away. And we're never going to use you to sacrifice yourself to stop him or anything else. You're family, Cas. You need to talk to us about this, when you feel like you don't matter, because you do. But that doesn't explain one thing. When you said yes... You knew I said no. Why would you let him in, after everything I did to stop him from getting out?"

"Because there wasn't another way to fight the Darkness. And because you had more than every reason to say no. No one can ask you take on that burden. But if Lucifer was what was needed to win, then I could... If that's what was necessary. But I thought I would have more control, as an angel, and in this vessel. I was very wrong there, too."

Sam sighs, then makes his way to the fridge, anything to keep moving. Sam tacks on, hesitant, "Are you... Doing okay, after-"

"He didn't keep me aware, Sam. He just... left me in there, trapped inside my head, no matter how hard I fought. I... don't know what he did with my body, except for... For what I know he tried to do when I broke out. And knowing what he has done to you before..." Castiel's voice is quiet whisper. "Did he, did I-"

"It wasn't you, Cas." Sam keeps his eyes to the floor. Feels his hands shake.

Inhales, exhales, one, then another.

Castiel's voice is a broken husk of itself. "It might as well have been. I'll... I'll go, you deserve peace. You rescued me, Sam, and I-"

"Cas. If you want to do anything for me, right now? I need you to keep it together. Please." Sam answers, vehement and raw.

Sam can see Cas nod out of the peripherals of his vision. Sam's eyes still focus on the sink, on the water dripping from the faucet in the background.

"Okay." Cas sucks in air. "But you shouldn't have to be the one comforting me right now, Sam. You-"

"Too bad." Sam interrupts as he chokes out a laugh. 

"I owe you-"

"Cas. Don't. We're all here for each other, no matter our mistakes. Let it lie." Sam sighs, then rubs a hand to his forehead. His head hasn't stopped pounding since he woke up. He's probably going to have it bad, later. But his body is still in shock now, so he has time.

"Very well. And Sam... Thank you, for setting me free. You deserve so much better than this. I'm sorry for what I did, for what I let loose, and for... Everything, Sam. Everything. I promised I'd protect you and..." Cas' voice chokes, and Sam flinches.

"I never wanted to hurt you." Castiel finishes, voice breaking off as he makes his way to the door. He can see talking is only making this harder, and that's the last thing Sam needs. Castiel's footsteps loud and heavy in ways Lucifer's never are.

"I know Cas. I know."

Sam keeps staring long after Cas left.

Dean's head pops in a few minutes after to make some food. He asks if Sam wants something for his head, almost goes for a bag of ice before Sam freezes and Dean stops, eyes wide and horrified. Then he hastily shuts the freezer. Makes sure it doesn't slam.

Sam cranks up the thermostat extra high after that, as if that will help anything.

Sometimes, that only makes it worse.

Today is not one of those nights.

\--

After their talk, Castiel avoids Sam for the rest of the day.

It's like he's a ghost, less than that because ghosts leave traces. Like he's less than a gust of wind.

He doesn't want to cause Sam more pain. And right now, his face was enough to do that.

Sam is still not sure if Dean said something.

And Sam really wants to forgive him. Cas hasn't come out unscathed, no one ever does with Lucifer, and they are friends. Cas wants to look out for them, that's half the reason he did what he did. And now Cas thought he deserved losing his grace, thought he didn't deserve to be near either of them...

But Sam can't do it. Not right now.

It will happen when Sam can stomach it. Cas won't expect he deserves it, but Sam will set him straight, when he can look at him without wanting to recoil or run out of the room or cry or yell or beg or...

When he doesn't hear Lucifer using his voice, doesn't hear the drawl of, " _Oh, Sammy. You always know what I need,"_ and, _"You just let me take care of you. That's it, there you go. See, I knew you missed this, missed me,"_ ringing in his ears, using Castiel's hands and lips and mouth...

Cas had more than good intentions when he said yes. In spite of his better judgement, of what they all know.

Sam can't... Sam has fallen for the same trap before. Can't hold that against him, not really.

But good intentions never matter with Lucifer.

Sam learned that the hard way, firsthand.

It still hurts. You would think it wouldn't, after so much time in the Cage...

But it does.

Sam wants to wash himself clean, but can't quite go near to the shower.

Too many shadows to jump at.

Too many chances to take.

\--

By nightfall, Sam decides to settle himself in the main room of the bunker. It's got a good line of vision, is near everything in case someone needs to yell for help, has all the wards and sigils set up already.

Castiel has decided to stay holed up in a room nearby, just in case. Far enough away and out of sight, but close enough for an emergency.

Dean sets them up camping by the couch, then stops in the kitchen.

Sam thinks he and Cas are whispering again. Maybe discussing what they can to do protect the Impala, in case Lucifer tried to sabotage that, too. They can't be sure, Castiel wasn't kept aware the whole time he was possessed. Lucifer could have done a lot of damage.

Then, sooner rather than later, Dean is back in the doorway holding two beers. He offers Sam one.

Sam turns him down and wraps the blanket tighter around himself. He stares at the table. Memorizes its every grain and streak of paint.

And then Dean says something Sam has never expected him to say.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asks, too quiet, eyes not looking at Sam.

Sam freezes, lets his words go into the typical autopilot refusal.

“I thought we went over this, Dean. I escaped, I don’t want to-”

“Sam. That was when you didn’t have a soul. And I mean, look, man, at everything that’s happened since.” And Dean is pleading, and he does look at Sam now, and it’s Sam who looks away, “You really want to try and pretend I can’t see how not okay you are?”

Sam keeps his eyes to the floor.

“Dean… I don’t know how to talk about it.”

“That’s fine. I have no plans for the night. We can figure it out.” Dean answers, tone blunt. And Dean sits, deliberately hunches smaller over the couch, because he’s seen how Sam flinches when other people drape themselves with their feet propped up and their hands behind their head, or how he pointedly looks away when people perch in chairs, or clasp their hands behind their backs. And what Dean hasn’t caught on with, Cas has told him in an aside, whenever Sam grows too out of it to focus, whenever his memories flare and he thinks Lucifer has him again, and keeps running his mouth in Enochian with words Dean can't quite comprehend, not even as sounds. It’s not perfect, but it’s not nothing, and Dean can’t pretend he can’t see all the pain Sam has kept buried inside.

“Dean-” Sam stutters, and still keeps shifting uneasily on his heels.

“Look me in the eye, Sam, and tell me you really don’t have anything to say. And I’ll let this go. I will. But if you have anything, anything at all that you want to say, well… I want to help.” Dean’s voice brooks no argument. Gives Sam a one way ticket out.

But it’s almost too similar to the options that aren’t options, the options that say: this will always come up later. That, this is not a choice, not really, and Sam flinches.

Still, green eyes meet green.

And despite the similarities, despite the almost Catch-22, Sam finds he can’t lift the refusals from his tongue anymore. Too much emotion is left over to choke him. Too many memories careen out of control, so much so that Sam doesn’t know how to even begin. It’s all to close after they’ve last visited the Cage, after he’s seen Sam again.

 **It’s not the same it’s not...** Sam reminds himself, because trauma makes you distrust perfectly healthy exchanges of trust, but it doesn’t feel safe, it will never feel safe…

But God, does Sam want to pretend someone understands. Someone other than Cas or Lucifer or Sam, because Cas was, well, Cas, and for all his help he is still an angel, and he let Lucifer in, and that isn’t the same, it isn’t…

And Lucifer is always Lucifer.

Fire and whips and chains and meat and ice and claws and lips and too much skin, too many whispers lighting across Sam’s frantic haze even after he was supposed to have escaped…

Not human at all. Only as human as Sam made him.

But Sam doesn’t know how to articulate everything Lucifer was, is, had been and will continue to be, because even if Sam beat the Devil, even if he’s made the only peace he’ll ever have with the bed he’s made, Sam doesn’t know how to quite move on from it. Not really.

Dean can see the expression on Sam’s face, lets the tension in his shoulder’s loosen. Puts the beer on the table, glass circle over wood, nice and slow and exaggerated so Sam doesn’t get spooked. He can see he’s started backsliding, eyes far, far away, and Dean will do anything to draw Sam back out. He needs this, Dean knows Sam does, but Dean doesn’t know why he’s been so intent on avoiding it. (Or he does and he hates the fact he might have too much of an inkling).

“Sam. I know sometimes there are no words. I was in Hell. Not your Hell, not like that. But you got me to talk about it…and I owe you, Sam. Let me be there for you, like you were there for me.”

And Sam starts laughing. Sits, because he can’t stand up for this.

“Dean, no offense, but you have no idea at all.” Sam can’t hold that in, and then he sobers up, regrets the words, “I mean-”

“No, it’s okay, Sam. I believe you. You and Lucifer… you had history. Alastair and everyone else on the rack didn’t have that with me, not in the beginning. This isn’t a ‘who’s-Hell-was-worse’ competition. It’s all shit, Hell is _shit_.” And Dean winds up, realizes his rage, flinches because Sam flinches, and goes back to placating calm when he sees that maybe he isn’t okay, either, but he has to be right now. “But yours was a different kind of shit. I know that.”

And for a moment, Sam wonders if this is real. Lucifer would pull something like this. Would laugh about it later.

Still. Stone number one. Sam presses his hand into his palm, and starts to let the words flow out. Loosens the tourniquet around his throat so all the venom can drain into sound, not shamed, afraid silence where Sam pretends he didn't let it all happen.

“Dean. I was down there, with him, longer than I was ever alive.” Sam breathes, and the light in his eyes is too bright. Too filled with too many _things_.

Dean sucks in air, but doesn’t speak. Let’s Sam say what he needs before he changes his mind.

“And…and I was with him, have been with him, for so long. I don’t know…” And then Sam chokes on. Collects himself with a breath, and changes tact.

“Dean, what was it like when you spoke to Michael? What… what did it feel like, for you?”

Dean stills, then fidgets uncomfortably. The beer tab flashes in the light as it moves back and forth from one palm to another.

“Like fire.” Dean admits. “Not like Hell, like the opposite. Like the sun, only something older. Like I was just an insect under a microscope, in over my head from something too big and bright and burning. Like a pillar of fire that saw everything. All I had to do was go along for the ride, let all my time in Hell be left out to dry because he’d just… handle it all. He had his orders and his destiny and he made it seem so clean and easy and right…” And Dean had more to say than he thought, because he could see that Sam needed him to give something more, more than he had ever said or admitted out loud. He trails off, “And all I had to do was fall in line and go with the bottom line. Like Dad if he kept watching out for us, but only if I threw you away like trash. Like that.”

Dean doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes for a while. Sam wonders what would have happened, back then, if Castiel had never become their friend.

_It was always me, Sam. Just me. Do yourself a favor and don’t pretend._

Sam swallows. Closes his eyes, lets them flutter open as the words lift from his tongue. The coffee table is a piece of wood he can’t shear his gaze from, a circle of moisture long soaked into the grain.

And the words he expected himself to say morph, become something entirely different.

“It was the opposite for me. It’s like… I had all the answers _he_ was ever looking for. Like I drew him to me. And if I just let go, gave him what he wanted, he’d give me everything. But I had to say yes. I had to go numb and want him, I had to, and once I let him in to lock him up, it’s like that yes signed me up for… for everything after.” Sam chokes off, voice growing too tight, too high, “And Lucifer… He’s always so cold, Dean. So cold like he could just freeze me and keep me right where he wants me, keep me suspended, frozen, like he could just… cryogenically keep me in love with him, no matter what he did. And then he let the hellfire have me whenever it wasn’t good enough for him. And… and…” Sam chokes off, keeps going, “And he hurt me, Dean. He hurt me so bad I didn’t know I could feel that much pain, didn’t know I even had a threshold for it, and it never ended, only got worse and worse and worse and… It was my fault, only I know it wasn’t but it _was_ , because I asked for it, I did this,” Sam weeps, and his throat burns with sharp stab of needles. The words don’t want to come out again, but Sam says what he has been so scared to say. “He said he loved me, Dean. And I ask myself why, why would he do that if he loved me? And then I look at my face in the mirror and I know he deserved it, that there were no other options, but, Dean, if I loved him how could I do that to _him_? And how could I still love him? What is wrong with me, Dean?” And Sam sobs, and his chest racks with shakes, as he breaks down, tears streaming down his face. “What is wrong with me?”

This isn’t everything he needed to say. Hell, this isn’t fully in the ballpark of all the things Lucifer is. But it wasn’t nothing. There might be no way to fix it but Sam still survives.

But Dean doesn’t quite know what to say. Tries, anyway.

And Sam doesn’t know how or when Dean got next to him, gives him the gentlest hug he can because too much contact would be too much, they both know it.

“Sam, Sammy, listen to me. Please. There’s nothing wrong with you. There isn’t. I don’t know how many or what kind of head-games Satan tried inside that Cage, but I know, I know, it wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Sam whispers, “Why does it hurt so much?” into Dean’s shoulder.

“Because he hurt you, Sam. He hurt you. And you love him, even if that son-of-a-bitch doesn’t deserve anything, from you most of all. Hell, I’d throw him back down to Hell myself in a heartbeat.”

“But it’s my fault-”

“No it isn’t-”

“I let him out!” Sam keens. “I only let him out once but it was enough, Dean. It was enough.”

And a feeling wells up. Not guilt, not really, just raw pain, because Sam has paid, and he had moved on long before Lucifer asked him to say yes, not perfectly, but moved on enough, enough for Sam to keep hold of himself and take back the reins. But it turns out that didn't matter because moving on was only temporary, because once Lucifer busts his way out and bursts back into your life it just all comes racing back, because there are no choices. All roads lead back here, back to him, no matter what Sam tries.

“Sam. Sam, look at me. Lucifer being freed was not your fault. Not yours, not mine. I broke the first seal, yeah. You killed Lilith after Ruby lied to you. But the Angels and Demons unlocked all the ones in between, and they did their damn best to pretend like they didn’t set us up from the get-go. This on them, hell, this is on _him_ , not you. Never you. But you don’t need to pretend he’s your responsibility ever again, Sam. He isn’t. Everyone tried to pin him on us. But that’s not ever... He's not ever what he is because of you, you hear me?”

Sam hugs him back and sobs. Dean smells of leather and alcohol, and he’s warm, human warm and soft, nothing like the ice cold chill or too gentle violence of Lucifer, or crisp linen feel and clean aftershave Cas always wears like a shroud.

“So…Did that help at all?” Dean grunts, tone too deep, not hiding his desperate need to fix whatever it is he can. To look out for his brother like he needed to. To keep Sam safe.

Sam chokes out a shallow laugh and nods a bit too sharply.

“Somehow. I don’t know how but somehow…”

Because saying it made it real, and if it was real, Sam could keep fighting, somehow. Maybe not right now, but maybe… maybe when it counts.

“But Dean… He’s back now. What are we going to do?” And Sam’s voice is so full of heartbreak and despair and pain that Dean almost would summon the Devil himself to damn him back to Hell, and banish him, one limb at a time.

“What we always do, Sam. We fight him, and we win.”

“What if I can’t fight him, what if I _can’t_ -”

“Sam… Sammy, this is not on you, remember? You don’t have to face that fucker down ever again if you don’t want to.”

Sam’s haunted eyes meet Dean’s. He holds his arms around him, crosses them, too tight. To try and keep warm.

“He’s going to come for me again, Dean. I can’t pretend otherwise.”

“Okay, fine. But that responsibility… that... He’s still not on you.”

And they both lapse into silence. Two brothers hunched over a battered couch.

They both stay awake and watch reruns of old shows they used to follow as kids past the early hours of the next morning. Because sleep wasn’t coming easy, was not wanted. (Sam was too scared to sleep, because he might just find _him_ , because he knew he would, and Dean wasn’t going to let him face the night alone.)

Dean downs beer after beer.

Sam doesn’t drink at all.

\--

Unheeded behind another doorway, out by the trees, Lucifer listens. He remains pressed against the door-frame, an invisible shadow burning too brightly after being flushed out from beneath Castiel’s skin. No way in, not yet, because of the wards Sam bled into the walls and floors in a frenzy, all specifically to keep Lucifer from coming back in.

But Lucifer is patient. And the Devil and Sam have played this game before.


	80. Elastic Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title by sia

It's four weeks before Cas and Sam can even look at each other head on, never mind hold a conversation. Sam still doesn't meet Castiel's gaze, and Cas isn't much better, but at least they aren't flinching away from each other and stammering every time they almost brush too close.

Castiel won't stop apologizing. Eventually, Sam yells at him for it, and then they hug, and then they both can't quite handle the hug and start crying, and Cas is reminded of why he matters to Sam as a friend, and then gets reamed out by both Sam and Dean for his betrayal of himself, seeing as Dean loves him, and Sam loves him, and Castiel has the right to live for himself and love himself without having to feel worthy. Dean tries to remind him of that more, even though he still agrees with Cas that Cas has to do something to make up for this one, even if Cas meant well, because the price Lucifer sets is just too damn high. Sam, meanwhile, journals sigils with pens, tries to improve his drawing skills by sketching out the things they hunt each week. It still looks like scribble, but it's his scribble, his handwriting, the controlled and intended movements of Sam's own hand. He can't ever put his other experiences into words, not even if he tried, and Sam doesn't want to, because what if Lucifer finds it, or even Dean? But wards and sigils you can always practice, can always improve, even if that improvement bloodied Sam's fingertips until his nails broke off and the pads of his fingers blistered back down in the Cage. Whatever keeps Lucifer from coming back inside, whatever can be done by rote memory, Sam will take, even if Lucifer's the one who gave him that knowledge in the first place.

Cas has long since changed his outfit, has started doing so after day three, so he doesn't wear the trench-coat and tie or button down shirts (he doesn't for two whole months until Sam wants him to again, wants to re-acclimate, and then Cas regains his usual style and goes clean-shaven again, for which Dean is more than grateful, so much so he even prays). In the interim, Cas instead borrowed one of Dean's jackets and got his own pair of jeans, which he bedazzled with Enochian sigils one night because it sparkles and because whatever works, and because that's also something Lucifer would never do in a billion years. The Winchester's favorite angel has even taken to wearing large aviator shades, indoors and out. Cas even asked Dean for cologne or new shampoo or deodorant or something, anything that smells pungent enough to drown out the aftershave. He smells like cinnamon for a week, then grease and baking powder, then old spice. It varies.

Speaking of which, Cas doesn't shave for a month, either. Grows a beard. Wears hair-gel like a greaser. Goes and gets a manicure so the jagged edges of his fingernails don't stay. Dean isn't really a fan of some of the changes, especially the beard, but everyone is happier with whatever makes Sam associate Cas less with Lucifer, doesn't give him that instinctive swallowing wince where he almost ducks down and hides but stops himself the moment he's within two feet of Cas.

After two months, however, things are going fairly smoothly between the three again, or as smoothly as they can go with the Darkness, and Amara being it's proxy and herald along with Lucifer cavorting while on the loose. The Devil remains oddly subdued, all things considered, and Sam's always been fairly good at compartmentalizing (which Dean and Cas both agree he's scarily good at it to the point of self-destruction), and now that he's out, the fallen Archangel is once again wading into Sam's dreams, wearing Nick's or Sam's own face, and that, if nothing else, helps divorce Cas from the same mold Lucifer tried to fit him into. Lucifer is always too much Lucifer, and once he picks his poison for Sam, Sam can fragment his own fears away. Lucifer always preferred it that way, preferred only using people Sam knows as backdrops, as window-dressing to make Sam feel lost, rejected, or abandoned and to see his loved ones in agony, but Lucifer always liked to reserve Sam's specified fear, reverence, want, and loathing so that it remains only attached to the Devil himself. Sam knows it must still grate on his nerves that he even had to use Cas at all to get to him, even if he did like trying to fracture Sam's family apart and cause them pain in this way. He never likes it when Sam associates him with faces he doesn't like to take, and that is something Sam is more than willing to oblige, because at least it means his fears can remain more specific. Some actions, movements, temperatures, weather, and objects don't really fit the same mold, can always send Sam spiraling under the right conditions or lighting, but Sam can classify those fears in a different category and has them filed away under unconscious responses he tackles different ways.

That, and Castiel's body language and grace doesn't mirror Lucifer one bit, which also speeds up the process.

Sam doesn't have to worry about Cas trying to heal him or Dean, not with his stolen grace, and while that means their lives are a bit more fraught with danger, it's no different than it used to be, in some ways. Sam still stitches himself up when a hunt goes bad, can't stomach it from anyone else except on his back or places he can't quite reach, and Dean stitches up Cas. Sam stitches up Dean, too, because he's always been better at that. They don't get into too many fights gone wrong, though. Heaven and Hell are too quiet again, and Sam doesn't know why.

One of the things that always keeps Sam grounded when he says no is the sheer amount of times he's said it that it becomes his go-to word, no matter how much Lucifer tries to beat it out of him. Otherwise, he usually thinks of all the other people he's seen say no. Lenore, when Gordon tried to prove she was just another monster. Dean, when Michael tried to bring him to his knees. Too many others. And Sam. Himself. Even if Lucifer wears his face, it was never quite the same, they carried themselves too differently, it was always obvious they were not the same.

It isn't always about saying no and making whoever is pushing back off, because making Lucifer back off is like trying to freeze the sun, but it does mean something to Sam, even if it doesn't do much.

It's the fact that he's trying at all. That he can say no at all. That Lucifer might break him but at least he broke him first, with that word, that single word.

\--

They've still come up with nothing on Lucifer for two months and a week when Dean brings up a topic Sam has never fully broached with him before. He's always been leery about talking about his powers, and with Lucifer, with the Cage, what he used Sam for, what he taught him, how he molded him into what he wanted him to... That was something else entirely, almost taboo in Sam's mind.

That, and Sam can't quite talk of Hell. Not because Dean hasn't dealt with the Archangel aspects of it, or had any kind of experience with the love of his life turning out to be his worst nightmare, but mainly because Sam knows Dean has too many skeletons waiting to be dug up, and Sam wonders if he pushed hard enough, if Lucifer found the right opportunity, if Dean ever became a demon again, if Dean would secretly find too much to analyze and almost crave if Sam brought the subject up. Dean has always been bloodthirsty since he got back. He tries not to be, he tries to be good, and Sam knows how hard it is not to feel like you're out of control, because Lucifer tried to make Sam a monster in a different way, but even Sam knows addiction and conditioning is a beast that never really lets go of you, not when you haven't found a way to even talk about it properly. And Sam doesn't want to see that look on Dean's face again, that look and sound and way he carried himself when he was a demon and said things Sam will take with him to his grave, because deep down Dean knows some of the things Lucifer did to Sam, heard it fresh from Hell's grapevine after the Mark transformed him, and Sam knows that if he was ever turned, Dean would want to watch Lucifer do all those things over again.

"So what was all that, Sam?" Dean ditches the paper he's been scanning for cases and decides it's finally a safe topic to broach.

"What was what?" Sam asks, distracted. He sips coffee while he looks over the latest trail they have to track Lucifer, although they've been coming up with barely anything, which here means basically zilch.

"All the sigils and glowy stuff and..." Dean trails off and waves his hands, "Singing?"

Sam swallows and looks out the window, holding the back of his neck before he turns back to Dean. "Just some stuff I picked up."

And then he's back, back down there all over again.

\--

Lucifer calls from the other side of the Cage, not near Sam as he hollers, "Hide and seek, Bunk Buddy. You keep me out as long as you can."

So Sam draws, and then Sam hides in whatever environment Lucifer has decided on throwing them into today, this one an abandoned, burnt out city with flickering streetlamps, graffiti, piled-up cars, upended vending machines, and rusted overpasses. Lucifer's voice rings in his head, "AND WE'RE OFF," and then Lucifer hunts him down, hears Sam scrabbling because he doesn't even bother to use his true form when he plays the game, because that defeats the joy of finding Sam, stops him from knowing if Sam has learned his lessons, and Sam knows this from Lucifer making him say yes and then folding himself back under Sam's skin, True Form brilliant as it crushes itself against Sam's eyelids and the cold filling Sam up from the inside out, knows it from Lucifer complimenting him and suggesting activities as he fucks Sam from the inside-out, soul first, then body, Sam fingers fucking himself, sometimes until the skin starts to peel off. And this time, it's not too long until Lucifer's feet stop crunching over the debris and go still by the upended yellow and grey cars Sam has crawled under, made himself bleed against only after he was underneath their half-crashed interiors to stop himself from leaving a trail, and the metal drips with more sigils and Enochian Sam's been forced to learn and memorize and recite and draw over and over until Lucifer decided it was good enough over Sam's head and on the sides and on the cracked concrete under Sam's knees. The wards hold until they don't anymore, and Lucifer sings, and Sam responds to keep his second layer from failing, because Lucifer's long-since found him and he knows its just a matter of time, but Sam can't give himself up of his own free will, either, because that only makes Lucifer make Sam pay in other ways, worse ways.

Then those wards break, and Lucifer drags Sam feet-first out from under his makeshift cover, Sam's fingertips clawing at the car grills and then the pavement once Lucifer turns him over, and then Lucifer is feeling Sam up, ripping off Sam's clothes he permits to Sam to wear only sometimes in this exercise, and then Lucifer's hands are all over him, directing him, touching him, voice echoing from far above Sam's head as he congratulates, "Kiddo, you held me off so much longer this time. I think that's a record. So I'm going to make this nice for you, what do you think?"

And then Lucifer is inside Sam for however long he chooses, not possessing him, just invading him over and over, kissing Sam gently while he roughly fucks Sam and shoves inside him against any surface he finds and in any configuration he wants, and he makes Sam scream and whine and beg for him until he can't anymore. Then he snaps, and Sam is healed, and Lucifer decides between straightforward tortures, like hooks, chains, knives, whips, brands, meat-grinders, baseball bats riddled with nails, blenders, fists, claws, tongues, wings, snapping fingers, or a crowbar pulling and ripping and burning and tearing and slicing and bludgeoning and bruising and boiling and twisting and licking Sam apart, eviscerating or choking him out or flaying his vessel always so slowly, or other options. Options like drowning Sam inside a twenty-gallon fish tank or the ocean, or suspending Sam's soul halfway in lava, or pinning Sam under a car, or making Sam douse himself in gasoline and set himself on fire, or impaling Sam on a weather-vane, or making Sam crucify himself, or strangling him, or trapping him in a vat of acid or a tar pit or quicksand or a fast food deep fryer or inside a half-frozen weed-infested lake, or making Sam slice up his own tendons and nerves as Lucifer digs out and unravels Sam's intestines or blood vessels and veins, or suffocating him with a pillow or plastic or with a cocktail of poisonous gases that kill you as slowly and painfully as possible, or by pouring molten tar against Sam's lips and then tipping it all down Sam's throat, or letting the pressure of the deepest parts of the fake ocean crush Sam but not kill him, and let's things Sam doesn't even know, states of matter a human body wouldn't otherwise withstand, electrify and liquefy and demolish him with Sam still able to feel every second.

More than those activities, Lucifer often decides his favorite past-time is taking care of Sam, sometimes in their old apartment, sometimes other places, all domestic, like he isn't torturing Sam on and off with variable regularity, except he still is, with the couch, the bathroom, the showers, the baths, and the food with mold and maggots and ants and spiders and other creepy crawling things Lucifer forced Sam to shove down his throat. Sometimes he takes Sam to the beach. Sometimes he rests with Sam in a library, letting Sam do whatever he likes in peace as he watches him, or he'll curl up and read a book with Sam in his lap, he'll help Sam develop his powers to their full extent, without any punishment or judgement, just base instruction, even if he does touch and feel up Sam anytime he likes in any activity he chooses. Sometimes Lucifer shows Sam the cosmos as he remembers it. Sometimes he makes Sam dance for him, give Sam a small amount of clothes and a pole and expects a fucking lap-dance because Sam had resorted to those measures to get enough money to apply to Stanford and for his transition in the rare moments when Dean and John couldn't keep track of him and even after in college before 'Jess' was 'gifted' enough to help him out, and Lucifer wants Sam to put in some effort in making Lucifer feel appreciated for 'all the things he does' for Sam. Sometimes Lucifer gives Sam a tour of the earth, of time and space and everything he knows, and sometimes they go on hikes. Sometimes, they have a cottage or a house or a cabin or a farmhouse, and in those places and moments, Lucifer doesn't hurt or torment Sam at all. He just pretends the Apocalypse happened and what they had never fell apart, and that everything is fine, will always be fine, and Sam joins him in his temporary denial because not doing so hurt more. Or sometimes, it's Bobby's, and Lucifer lets Sam rest there and doesn't make his move until Sam can't stand and can't stop crying.

Because it's empty, just him and Lucifer, and after that Lucifer brings in Sam's loved ones as props, sometimes makes the Cage a motel, or another place, or another, as he rips Sam's favorite people apart right or has them say every deepest fear Sam never wants them to say as they make Sam feel all alone again, driving him back to Lucifer, because Lucifer has played with Sam's mind enough times he almost believes he's not in Hell once in a blue moon.

Regardless of other priorities, Lucifer uses every activity at his disposal to teach Sam Enochian until he's almost as fluent as Lucifer himself, uses each thing to teach Sam the words and make him repeat them back later to decide what he's going to do with him next. And sometimes Lucifer shows Sam his memories of a time before anything existed except him and God and his three siblings, or he shows Sam the world before he was Caged the first time, or sings and hums with Sam in the plain empty shadows of their prison with Michael huddled and barely there in the farthest corner too far away to even see, or he just twines his hands inside Sam's body, even if Sam bleeds, and touches wherever he likes in any way he wants to both feel Sam's soul against his and to remind Sam who owns him. Sometimes Lucifer makes Sam say yes to possession so he can feel all of Sam again, and then uses Sam owns hands to violently tear himself apart, but more often than not he uses Sam's mouth to repeat all his rules until Sam's jaw aches, and then he uses Sam's ill-gotten consent to gently break his vessel with moments and sensations and stimulation that are soft, are gentle, are the pretending-to-be-kind caresses Sam pleads for even though he never stops being terrified, because it's one of the few 'breaks' he gets. One-fourth of the time, Lucifer wears Jess, but not usually when he's hurting Sam. He likes to use her as a way to bring Sam back from the edge, or when he wants to have other kinds of sex, or when he wants Sam to burn inside Jessica's room with Lucifer holding Sam close until Sam is on fire and made more muscle and bone than skin. Half the time, Lucifer wears Sam's likeness, a mirror image, a clone, a twin, and still does all the same things he ever does, but just uses Sam's face to remind Sam who he belongs to. Sam never gets used to being fucked this way, but its so divorced from anything else he knows, it mostly just reminds Sam how much space he doesn't want to take up when compared to how Lucifer uses him.

Lucifer even breaks, sometimes. He breaks Sam right along with him, too overwhelmed and not pretending to be human or anything less than everything he is when he does. That's when he takes Sam soul and does whatever he pleases to it, when he lets his True Form reign down retribution worthy of the Devil on his true vessel, and that's his first favorite thing aside from one other.

No matter what else happens, there is always the bed. Lucifer's favorite place. Sam knows they both spent the most time in it. Remembers it once felt like 2,013 years in one go, and knows that was the exact time because Lucifer promised Sam it was. Sam wishes it wasn't the worst and best place for him, too, because more often than not Lucifer wasn't actively trying to make Sam feel pain when he kept Sam with him like this. Lucifer still did that, more than very often, but the false kindness Sam still takes because he can't take the alternative forever. So Sam participates of his own volition when there is no other option, and otherwise lets the Devil take care of things. In the dire moments, Sam lets Lucifer make Sam almost feel something that isn't fear or pain or hate, and sometimes all they feel is love and fear and want and need because they are both stuck in this hole forever. Sometimes it isn't the bed. Sometimes it's just the two of them, on their backs, naked, lying on something like a beach or dunes or grass or an icy tundra, always lying under false recreations of stars, and Lucifer just holds Sam close, sometimes in Nick, sometimes in his true form, and reminds Sam just how much he loves him, and in those moments, he doesn't hurt or violate Sam at all compared to every other thing he's ever done. Lucifer hugs him, kisses him, and envelops Sam in his wings, every eyelid crying tears and mouth wailing out every fear of captivity Lucifer has felt for eons. Sometimes Lucifer calms and almost feels a resigned peace, because this time, he has Sam. And sometimes, Sam does, too, because Lucifer is right here with him.

Sometimes he does the same to Sam's soul in the bed, True Form or not, but more often than not, that turns into pure violence.

Without a way to keep time, it's both forever and not long before Sam is in a library or a hospital or a basement or an RV or a monastery or a church or an indoor parking lot or an indoor pool or a hotel or the woods, or the beach, or a mountain cave, or anywhere, anywhere Lucifer chooses, and Sam's back at the beginning trying to keep Lucifer out again.

Anything beats the empty nothing or the flames, though. Sam would take anything over those two, the two worst things, where Lucifer either throws Sam down to burn until the hellfire eats away at everything Sam is, until Sam is screaming and praying and writhing for Lucifer to keep him, to freeze Sam so Sam can feel only him, to take Sam back, to take everything Sam is, to be back inside him again, and that Sam loves him, he does, he loves him more than anything inside and outside of Creation. The only thing worse than that is when leaves Sam adrift and unable to even feel his own body in the dark, completely and utterly alone, just has his own disjointed thoughts for company without senses or anything to keep himself grounded. Those times are rare, and Sam is always too grateful when Lucifer comes back, because then Sam isn't nothing, isn't suspended in total nothing like a brain in a jar in a coffin long since left to waste on the ocean floor, and more often than not Lucifer treats him gently and kindly when he comes back, because he missed Sam too, but he had to do it, he had to, because Sam was going to leave him, abandon him, and he had to see why he could never do that. No, Sam needed to remember just how much Lucifer loves him, and how much Sam wants him and needs him and loves him back, and Sam knows the longest, kindest breaks from other routines always happened after those incidents, although Lucifer didn't resort to those measures that often, Sam was too scared, and Lucifer hated like leaving Sam alone for anything, although he did it a few times when he went to sulk or brood or deal with Michael.

The last thing that took up second longest chunk of time was Lucifer teaching Sam how to fight and work with an archangel. To be a weapon. To be his protege. And when it wasn't Lucifer pitting himself against Sam and seeing how much he can take before he couldn't, it was Michael who was their guinea pig where Sam tested himself, while Lucifer taught Sam how to rip up an archangel and any sentient lesser creature, how Lucifer taught Sam how to be almost an Archangel. Because Sam is Lucifer's, friend and lover and weapon and soulmate and vessel and bunkmate and bitch and possession and Lucifer's everything, and the Devil always reminded him. As such, Lucifer wouldn't let Sam waste his many talents by not bringing out his full potential, because it would be a waste, and he'd be expected to use them at Lucifer's bidding once they finally made their way out of the Cage.

More than sometimes, Sam would say no, or in his most desperate moments, would seldom remind Lucifer they would and will always be here forever. And that's when Lucifer's face would turn feral, then turns ugly, before it goes back to pleasant, nonchalant ease, and Sam knows he's in for the worst again and is going to be forced to participate in all the new, creative ways Lucifer cooks up to stave off boredom, and so the cycle repeats itself all over again.

"That so, Bunk Buddy?" Lucifer hisses. "Then you'll have no problem demonstrating how much you love me. Because you're the reason we're down here, and I would have given you everything. So now it's your turn, Sammy, to give everything you are, and offer all of it up to me. Come here."

And more often than not, Lucifer is on top of him again, cooing about every asset Sam possesses that he can wax poetic about, and then whispers things to Sam that make his skin crawl, and calls Sam his bitch, and makes Sam say the words back, makes Sam repeat how he belongs to him, that everything Sam is is all thanks to Lucifer, and makes Sam do anything he wants him to, because Sam wants this, he knows he does, because he knows Sam best, and Sam chose to send them both down tangled in each other's arms so they would always be together.

When Sam meets his breaking point, Lucifer relents, whispers kind things, whispers real love, real support, real gentleness, and it's then becomes the thing Sam loves, Sam wants, Sam needs, is everything Sam clings to, more than anything else ever created, because Lucifer is the only one answering his prayers and keeping him and making Sam, against all else, still feel human, loved and needed, and not forsaken and alone.

Every single time, without fail, Sam makes himself ignore that Lucifer is the reason he prays in the first place.

\--

That's the other problem, when Sam remembers. The entire ordeal bleeds into itself and each event into other and dregs every part of it up again, because Lucifer never let him ignore a single thing that was happening.

"Hey, Sam. You got lost for a second there. You good?" Dean asks, and Sam stares out, glances at the clock. He's lost three minutes. It felt like more.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm dealing. What did you ask me?"

Dean's voice brings Sam back up to earth. "Anything I can learn? The throwing out angels with your voice or the symbols or anything?"

Sam shakes his head. "A few things, maybe. Some more than others. I can't teach you the actual singing, though. I'm only able to do that because of Lucifer's grace when it's inside me and my own latent abilities from Azazel."

Dean tries not to look bothered by that, although he does bite his lip because the thought of Lucifer sends his blood boiling whenever it's mentioned, and Azazel, even after all this time, is something Dean tries not to think about.

Sam doesn't pay that any mind and starts drawing out some sigils in Enochian for good measure to show the few things he can teach. It would come in handy if Lucifer showed up, although Sam's not sure what level of fury he'd have to field from the Archangel for teaching Cas and Dean any of the secrets he's shown him, because they weren't meant for anyone but Sam, because Sam was always only his, in all the ways that mattered.

Sam forces himself to stop thinking that and repeats his daily mantra he made for himself after he lost it with Dean, which might be the only other decent coping mechanism he's learned to implement into his various regimes: I said no. I did not consent to this. He can't own me. He doesn't own me. I'm my own person. I had a right to stop him. I have a right to be free. I am not something just to be used and owned and sucked dry. I said no. Just because I loved him doesn't mean I deserved any of it.

"So what are these, exactly?"

"They inflict pain, they enforce protection, and when you interlock them, they do different things. Some heal," Sam pauses, _Use these to heal yourself Sammy, so we can have another go, or I might put you on the rack next,_ "Some don't, but you really need to understand Enochian to combine them. So I'll just teach you the basic ones that can be used on their own, and the ones that have area effects and single-applications. Like this one," Sam points at a swirly one that always reminds him of a snail, "It cripples angels from flying. Doesn't trap them, but causes severe pain."

Cas looks both horrified and fascinated and peruses Sam's journal after Sam hands it off to him, studying each ward and sigil he's never seen with calculated interest.

"How'd you learn them?" Dean hazards to ask, although he's not sure if he should. He's been trying to get Sam to open up, because Sam asked him to, and Dean guesses its some residual rebellion because Sam knows he's not supposed to talk about it.

"...Lucifer liked to show off. Said I had a right to know because I was his and he expected me to use it because I belonged to him." Sam's voice sounds almost dead even though he can't stop the words tumbling out of him, and Dean and Cas both stop, both prepare to help Sam any way they can, all eyes on him.

That's the other thing catching Sam off guard. Once he opened up a little, he just keeps draining all the unspoken things he's never said out at times he doesn't expect himself to. Sometimes, it feels like a relief, like a poison given an antidote. Other times, Sam panics and writhes on the floor and doesn't see Cas and Dean in front of him at all, he's just screaming for forgiveness and all the other things Lucifer liked him to scream in Enochian, screaming that he's sorry he betrayed his trust and his secrets and that, **I'll be good, please, I will, I'll make it up to you, don't hurt me, you're the only thing I ever need, please**. (Cas doesn't usually translate those to Dean. He just looks stricken and later looks like he's going to rip Lucifer into shreds, but remains tranquil and quiet and tries to feel as human as possible while he tries to help Sam come back to himself).

This time, it's the first one. Sam is so far beyond grateful that he might even try to keep going.

"This one," Sam points to one that looks like an arrow, "Can target angels and lock on to them from afar. Helps fight off angels when they try to smite each other. And this one," Sam points to a square with a circle and what looks like an eye, vaguely, "Keeps doors and windows or any opening it's on completely sealed shut so angels have to use other means to get in."

"What if you combine that with an anti-flying sigil that stop them flying in?" Dean asks.

"That will stop their vessel, but an angel can still stream out of their host and come in using their true form." And with that Sam chokes off, remembering every part of Lucifer he's ever seen, and he goes white, and his eyes go glassy, and Dean doesn't ask for anything more and instead gives him another blanket and something hot but not scalding to drink.

Five minutes later, Sam's breathing has slowed, and he looks back at Castiel, uncertain. He chances talking more, the rush outweighing the shame and the fear and the conditioning.

"Cas, did you have a question for me?"

"Actually, yes. If... If it's okay for me to ask, how do your powers augment these?"

"It's kind of like... Okay, you know that time when I was able to hear and respond to the Archangels and angel radio itself? It's like I almost gain almost-Archangel status and abilities in some way because I took so much of Lucifer in when not possessed, and then I was possessed as his true vessel, which cemented it. I guess it's a permanent side effect now? Only, it's more prominent the closer I am to Lucifer or when Lucifer is around because it has something to do with soul frequencies or something, Lucifer never really explained the specific semantics because he always said the theory was useless to me, it was action that counts. But has there been any records of anything like this before in other vessels?"

"Not that I know of." Cas answers, still pouring over the symbols he is trying to decipher by syllable and root etymology.

Sam sighs. "Didn't think so. Raphael and Gabriel were surprised when I accidentally showed the aptitude, so if other Archangels thought it was anomalous..." Sam trails off, deep in thought. "Do you think it's related to the Demon Blood or was just... Something Lucifer did to me, because he wanted me to be more special than other humans? I've never been able to figure that out."

"Could be both." Dean answers and shrugs, noncommittal. This is not his ballpark at all, but at this point, they've all dealt with so much, he's not sure answers will do Sam much good.

Sam has the same idea. "Probably doesn't matter anyway."

By collective agreement, the three all decide they've had enough dead ends and discussions involving Lucifer that day, and instead go back to picking out simple cases, with witches, chupacabras, werewolves, ghosts, and the like. They are still frantically grasping for a solution to the Darkness growing, and that Amara entity Dean says is sending him weird projections, and Cas is still trying to help find God, and they never forget about Lucifer, who is still off the radar, but they are all close to burning out and need to take two days to rest.

After the next day is a success, with three cases solved without any major injuries or slip-ups, they decide on a miniature celebration, because it might be the end of the world all too soon again, because it almost always is now. Has been around Sam's birthday for years, to the point no one celebrates Sam's birthday on his birthday anymore (except for Lucifer, he keeps tabs on that date like clockwork, but Sam pretends he never does, because those celebrations rarely end well).

Otherwise, Sam and Dean admit, that while they miss Cas as an angel, it's nice to have him be a permanent resident helping out on hunts and being part of the family again.

They all take a day off after that and go on a mini-roadtrip to a quiet nature reserve (for Sam), go to a diner (for Dean, who gets an all you can eat brunch, while Sam picks pancakes, and Cas steals his maple syrup with permission and douses his food in it), then they see a movie (Castiel's pick, a rom-com he finds especially hilarious), and then find hole in the wall along the way back, hustle some pool, grab a beer, toast each other, and drink.

Cas also picks up a hamburger for himself (which he keeps as far as possible from Sam and doesn't unwrap), and then buys red slushies on the ride back for everyone, since he still hasn't ever quite gotten over his love of fast food, and Sam needs something cold to deal with other aftershocks he wants to pretend he's not feeling.

That night, Lucifer creeps into Sam's dreams and remains completely silent, and Sam tries not to hide when Lucifer curls up next to him wearing his face and the clothes he was wearing that day


	81. Singularity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S11E13
> 
> chapter title a song by black math
> 
> also because i forget if i ever clarified this in-text, but for the purposes of this fic, the darkness and Amara are connected but slightly different manifestations of God since God got splintered into different aspects when trying to live as a person if that makes 0 sense otherwise... so like, it's all an aspect of one monolithic God entity for this fic, but each aspect gets a personality. maybe that got explained later? idk.

"What, you seriously think the sister of God is my deepest, darkest desire?"

"She isn't?" Sam challenges, not beating around the bush.

"She can't be!" Dean is vehement in his denials, in the rage he's trying to couch behind indignation or the fear of failure that tumbles out of the way he clenches his teeth and the thin intake of his breathing and the way he looks down, anyway.

"Why?" Sam asks, gently. One word, with so many things hinging on it, and isn't it always one word that decides these things.

Dean falters, eyes wide and watering as he glances anywhere but Sam.

"Because if she was, then that means I'm..."

Sam keeps pushing before he shuts this down, slow and certain and patient.

"Means you're what? Complicit? Weak? Evil?" He prompts.

And Sam knows, down in his brainstem, that's that's exactly what Dean thinks, because he'd rather feel in control of the situation than not, and because that's exactly where Sam has been, once, too, because he had made all the same conclusions to couch his true fears into something that maybe felt like it would break him less, no matter how blameless they both remain.

That, and because he knows, on some level, that Dean still thinks of those words when he thinks of all the ways he thought Sam had a cross to bear for sins that were not sins, for daring to hope when perhaps it was futile, even if Dean isn't even thinking of old wounds and old accusations right now.

But Sam doesn't blame him. He's made his peace with himself and all that follows, and it is with that same compassion that he knows why Dean can't help but think that way. Because that would lead to fear and thinking that no choice mattered and that there was no way to escape, no way to protect himself or Sam or anyone from the vast thing encroaching closer and closer without any recourse, that being safe was never an option. And Dean cannot live like that. Dean likes being able to feel like he can fight or charm his way out of every obstacle, and while he can't, not always, it is part of what makes the two of you different.

Sam knows he can't win every war- he doesn't try to. He just tries to withstand it, to wait it out and hold on to himself in a world that keeps throwing more and more swamping waves over him and coming out the other side. Sam is mutable, changes and adapts and redirects the forces aimed at him, using the momentum of his enemy to turn it back on themselves. Making something new out of something established, rebelling from what people told him he was and what he'd be.

Dean tries to fight every battle, and couldn't hold on to who he was if he didn't cling to what he felt was his bedrock, to tradition and family and to what everyday human things he decided mattered, in consistency and refusing to change much, in taking people's expectations and using it to pull the wool over their eyes in all the ways he made the costume of their assumptions his own, and in every habit he engraved in the routine where he stuck to his guns-

With every quip and curl of his cynical smile, or every time Dean goes in, guns blazing, with only a dream and a need for vengeance and the need to never let go even as he's facing down self-destruction and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Sam makes peace and finds the strength to leave and grows restless when he can't run.

Dean holds on. Clutches tighter and tighter until it hurts and burns him and the things he's keeping in his grasp, and that is always what set them apart.

And Sam knows, that even deeper than that, that Dean's guilt is hiding a hopelessness, a sense of nothing mattering at all, a nihilism that infected him in Hell and then grew vaster and more terrible in Purgatory, and that sometimes giving in feels so good and that Dean doesn't want to lose himself in that feeling ever again.

This isn't about Sam at all, where it counts. It's about Dean and the parts of himself he's always been too scared to face, the parts that make him deflect and blame and rage and stay an addict to a cascade of smaller vices without any ownership of what that true addiction really is. It's all the ways he wants to give in even when he knows he shouldn't, in all the ways that makes him hate himself more and turn it outwards, and while Sam will not defend those coping mechanisms, he will not demand his brother face his own demons without feeling there is something cushioning his fall or before his brother decides he is ready to face them, either.

You cannot force people to change or accept help, not when they don't want it. They have to find that strength within themselves, and all you can do is find a way to give them something to hold on to, or in this case, someone who listens, and sometimes, that is enough.

It is not the cage of no choices that breaks you. It is the feeling that you've given up, it is the feeling that trying to escape for the sake of it doesn't matter any longer, and that's when it tries to break you the most.

And Sam won't let Dean weather that storm alone, or with more judgement. There is enough of that trying to break them already, and if Sam can transform things like he transforms himself, maybe the terrain won't feel so unscaleable. Maybe his brother will have something steady to latch on to so he can fight tooth and nail like he always wishes he could.

Dean doesn't bother to deny it, too wrapped up in the enormity of all the things threatening to crush him.

"For starters, yeah."

Sam looks down, and up again, eyebrows rising and falling, the eons of what he's lived through breathing down his neck, and the compassion of not knowing how to navigate feelings you don't know are coerced or there anyway, despite fear, despite inevitability, and needing to reassure Dean that this is not his fault winning out over anything else, because Sam will not let his brother bear the weight of a battle he's already lost and won and lost so many times over.

"Dean, do you honestly think you ever had a choice in the matter?" Sam says, quietly, and Dean looks up at him, arrested, while Sam adds, meeting his eyes, head held high, "She's the sister of God, and for some reason she picked you." And Sam cannot hold back the tide of his voice, the strength he finds there, "And that sucks, but if you think I'm gonna blame you or judge you... I'm not."

There is nothing to blame, because Dean has done nothing wrong. Just as Sam knew he was not wrong, to try and weather a different but close enough storm, when something ethereal and eternal and destructive tries to worm its way close and calls that love, makes it too hard to tell if it is destruction or union so sweet that you want to bury yourself and not think about the constant need, the constant pull, the floodwaters carrying you away and into it's arms-

Sam knows all too well what it is like to be chosen.

Sam all too used to having his life be some sick performance theater, where he doesn't know what is his choice or a demand, where he tries to choose to walk away and it all gets turned back into being pulled back on the stage. Sam is used to unfair supernatural attention and the whispered words and the complete certainty and brooking of no argument when faced with the untethered force of something condensing the air around you and holding you in a glass prison, even if the world is right there, ready to let you reach out and touch, only for the force to want to hold you closer and crush you and leave no way out from it's omnipresence.

Sam knows, sometimes, it never felt like a choice, but that you can choose anyway, and that it does not make the conflict any easier, but that all that matters is trying to make it out the other side and survive and keep the cosmic, too-large stuffed at the seams behemoths of the universe from crawling inside and picking you apart and telling you that the consumption is love and the choosing is forever and that self-destruction and endless love is just another kind of torture.

Being chosen is not love, and even if it was, loving back was not a crime.

It was being asked to choose, forced into a corner, that was the evil there, however ordained by fate or not, and Sam cannot let his brother feel responsible, just as Sam has tried not to feel responsible for Lilith and Lucifer and how it was all the same- because Dean was in the same boat. Sam chose the demon blood and got played, Dean chose the Mark in a fit of rage and need for control in a sea of powerlessness and then Sam took it off for what it made him.

They did not set the board, they only sprung the trap.

The only difference, this time, is that they know better. They know they are being jerked around, and can prepare better, because Sam has lived too many lifetimes not to let his brother find some way to cope-

And Sam has fought too many endless, watching things, beings who coveted him whole life and pressed him into a Cage that he'd thrown them back into, to ever feel like even God was enough of an obstacle to keep his brother safe.

He's fought the thing that said it loved him, that he thought he'd never escape, and he's moving and kept on going, no matter how much it might hurt.

And if he can best Lucifer, can build a new life from old bricks in the wall that was the patchwork of his family and the business he's thrown himself back into, then fighting the sister of God, however helpless it seems, somehow feels easy.

Because he's already fought the worst of it, and this time, the cosmic storm isn't focused on him.

And come hell or high water, Sam Winchester will protect his brother for whatever may come for him.

And Sam is not afraid. (He cannot be, not after he can only fear two things- the end of it all, which is familiar, and Lucifer, and the latter is still trapped in the Cage. And while he may have to face that yet, while the visions are not abating and feeling just as eternal and crushing as they always do, Sam will do whatever he has to to save the world, and this time, it feels like, he at least has grown used to the resurging tide, to the inevitability of his own life being torn away from himself over and over again- even if he fights otherwise, even if he contradicts all the answers and tries to find another option.)

Amara may be bigger and badder and older and maybe they don't know how to fight her, how to beat her, yet- but that doesn't matter because Sam has already fought the war and come out the other side and while he's wounded and weary and tired and drowning in the same guilt he's trying to train himself and his brother not to take in, he is not one for balking at a challenge, and however hopeless it all seems, Sam knows that at least they can hold on to themselves in the fallout, and that they have the spirit to beat this new game, even if they are only human, even if the Darkness is as constant and encroaching as Death felt when wrapped in it's own presence of form and void and what is not entirely there.

They may not know what to do yet. But Sam can at least make the burden lighter, and if they go out trying to fight, then maybe he can make the pain less and the blame leave and let his brother feel as free as he can before they have to put it all on the line and try whatever may be necessary to take something on par with God in the name of saving the world.

In some ways, it is personal.

But Sam doesn't mind, because it helps him not only move on, but it will help him and Dean get through this together, because when their backs are too the wall, they have learned to cling harder to each other and if they go down in a blaze of glory and a sea of bullets and Latin and sheer sense-memory, they will do it as brothers and they will do it with the kind of love forged in wanting only to save everyone and each other, each other most of all.

It is a pure, uncomplicated love rooted in nothing but family and human mundanity and tying themselves to the same moorings by choice, and that makes all the difference, even if they have a lot to work on, even if they've seen too much and been torn apart by too many wounds that haven't quite healed.

It is Sam's answer to a question with no answer, to all the things that have tried to claim him and Dean and his life and sucked in everyone around him into the vortex of whatever trick Fate has tried to play, and while it may not be forever, it is enough for him.

They will find a way to choose, to make a new path, and if they don't manage to get through it all, they will have done all in their power to break free.


	82. If I Had A Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S11E21 and S11E22
> 
> chapter title a song by Fever Ray
> 
> also there was like, supposed to be a chapter explaining Rowena and Crowley working with Sam earlier around Lucifer stuff which forces them to get along faster, but that never really materialized. some stuff from s13 also got moved here or the next chapter if i remember right
> 
> oh and there was gonna be a subplot with God and the Darkness later on due to stuff Lucifer does in a few chapters, but the execution never happened and also then later canon struck and I was like... how do I balance this? so that's sort of a work in progress but also not a priority on my to-do list. so when Lucifer says Sam helped him out of a tight spot, it's because that was supposed to be foreshadowing for God and time travel and other stuff that I never got to and yeah

The glowing amulet that reveals Chuck is God, or part of him, definitely isn't something any of the Winchesters anticipated. And, all things considered, didn't exactly make their lives any easier.

"What the hell's going on here, exactly?" Dean manages to ask.

Sam still remains frozen.

"I'm happy to fill in the blanks," Chuck assures, palms out as he gestures, "But maybe we should go somewhere where we could actually sit down."

"We're not going anywhere with you." Dean says, his words running together. Sam keeps looking back and forth from Dean and Chuck in silent disbelief as Dean keeps going. "Okay, how do we even know that you're really Chuck? And not just so crazy spell or manifest-"

Chuck snaps, and Sam's shoulders jerk, and they are back in the bunker in zero seconds flat. Sam looks around to register their exact location, but after you've dealt with Lucifer snapping and flying you wherever he pleases, it's hard for muscle memory not to keep you in vigilant and uneasy complacency.

"-ation." Dean trails off, brain not having caught up with his mouth.

Then Kevin is peeking out from behind Chuck.

"Kevin?" Sam asks, barely able to hold it together. Chuck closes his eyes and lets the last prophet make his case.

"Guys! You're looking stressed." Kevin notes, smiling because it's still great to see them again, all things considered.

Dean and Sam just look at him, speechless.

"Especially you." Kevin adds, looking at Dean, smile now given way to concern.

"It's cool, trust Chuck." Kevin assures, hand on Chuck's shoulder. "Whatever it is he needs you to do, he must think you can handle it." Kevin tries to be as supportive as possible.

Then he looks to Sam and Dean.

"I always trusted you." Kevin adds, eyes beaming.

"Yeah, that ended well." Dean growls.

Kevin looks back at him, not holding any grudges.

"How did you... Are you okay? Um..." Sam finally manages to ask.

Kevin looks down then back up. "Yeah, I mean, you know, given the circumstances."

Chuck interrupts, "Yeah, I don't mean to interrupt, kind of a plateful here. And Kevin, you've been in the Veil long enough. It's time you had an upgrade."

Chuck waves, and then Dean and Sam watch as Kevin's soul is sent on up to Heaven, just like that. Kevin says goodbye with a silent smile.

Dean and Sam look back down at Chuck very slowly, the realization of him actually being God (or a piece of him) finally permeating their heads in all its glory.

"Holy crap." Dean says.

They have a lot to take in after that, and decide sitting might be the best option after all. Cas joins them, silent, listening, on the edge of the doorway, his old quest finally given an answer.

\--

"Okay, so, wow, um, Chuck." Sam starts in as he laughs from nerves, "Well, I guess we don't call you that, huh?"

"I prefer it." Chuck answers, still tranquil as he sits. Sam tries not to note how he perches, how much it almost matches Lucifer but without all the intent to take up space. Cas sends over a small reassuring feeling of solidarity, and Sam lets himself feel it, doesn't shy away even if grace itself is less than reassuring half the time.

"Okay, uh, 'Chuck' it is." Sam stammers, hands waving and fidgeting by his knees. Sam sighs to try and release some of the nerves and excitement and overwhelming amount of things he's feeling all at once. Lucifer was wrong. God was listening. God is here. And Sam's mind goes into overdrive again as he looks at Dean, who doesn't say anything. And then Sam's rambling again as he looks back at Chuck again, "I'm sorry, you're going to have to give Dean and me a moment to start to process. We didn't even know you were around. I mean, we knew about Chuck, but we just didn't know about," Sam gestures bodily at Chuck, adding with emphasis, "Chuck." Then he starts stammering again as he doesn't let himself think, "I mean, I was hoping you were around. I prayed and I..." Sam's hands can't stop moving as he stumbles, "But I don't know if they got, uh, lost in the spam or if-"

"Sam." Dean finally cuts in.

"Yeah," Sam inhales.

"Babbling." Dean points out, something tired and worn and bitter lurking there that was not directed at Sam one bit.

"Okay." Sam answers, and swallows. He almost wishes he could keep talking if it would get his thoughts to calm down from frenzied everything.

Chuck looks at Dean, almost looking apprehensive but not quite. Cas remains motionless and silent and doesn't look at anything.

"I'm getting that not everyone's totally on board." Chuck finally says.

Dean's tongue stops cleaving the top of his mouth and he looks up and stares Chuck down until he looks back at his hands and says, "Here's the thing, um, Chuck." And Dean's fingers fidget as his fingers lace together, and Dean's tone gets more gravelly and hoarse and he goes on, "And I mean no disrespect. Um, I'm guessing you came back to help with the Darkness, and that's great. That's, you know, it's fantastic." Both Sam and Dean ignore that its kind of his fault if you think about it, except they can't think that right this second, and Dean keeps going. "Um, but you've been gone a long, long time. And there's so much crap that has gone down on Earth," And Dean looks at Sam, who eyes dart down as he gets pulled under into his head, both of them thinking of the Apocalypse and all that came after, and then back at Chuck then, "For thousands of years. I mean, plagues and wars, slaughters. And you were, I don't know, writing books, going to fan conventions. Were you even aware, of did you just tune it out?"

Chuck barely moves, but he does blink as he nods once, slowly. "I was aware, Dean."

And then Dean isn't stuttering any more, hands out. "But you did nothing. And again, I'm not trying to piss you off. You know, I don't want to turn into a pillar of salt."

Chuck's eyes go far away, but then he turns his attentions back to Dean, trying to remain casually reassuring. "I actually, I didn't do that."

Dean shifts in place again. "Okay." And then his lips open without words, until he finds them again. "People...People pray to you."

 _Sam prayed for you._ Dean thinks, and then his voice grows louder and stronger, "People build churches for you. They fight wars in your name, and you did nothing."

Sam's eyes are far away again, Dean notes, but he refocuses when Chuck answers.

"You're frustrated." And Chuck's voice remains that same monotonous, even calm as he keeps looking at Dean, not Sam. His eyes get a little more watery. "I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on, real hands-on, for wow, ages." And Chuck's eyes turn upwards as he recollects, a distinctly human expression, before he looks back. "I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching," And then Chuck's calm voice breaks into something primordial, something Sam recognizes from Lucifer's own tone when he let himself shine all righteous and holy and ready to reign down divine retribution, but he tries not to flinch, "Punishing." And then the tone breaks back into the tranquil knowing assurance Chuck almost always has. "That there beautiful creatures that I created... Would grow up." Chuck trails off into a whisper.

Dean starts to hold back tears but doesn't wholly succeed. Sam stares down Chuck, something ugly and burning rising in his chest, something he doesn't want to recognize right now, and looks down, jaw twitching as his nostrils flare.

Chuck keeps going, mournful. "But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away," Chuck continues as he starts nodding, "And let my baby find its way."

He gives them an uneasy, melancholy smile that doesn't do much to quell the pain or anything.

Sam can't stop thinking of Joshua, of the Garden, of God's message that he is not getting involved, and what happened with Lucifer, all of it, and he won't think about that, won't think about the Cage, it's not productive-

Chuck's words keep washing over them, tears streaming down Dean's face as he bites him lip to hold the rage back and stares Chuck down.

"Being over-involved is no longer parenting." Chuck sighs and licks his lips, calm finally breaking into something too assured, too confident. "It's enabling." Chuck finishes, not breaking eye contact with Dean. Dean looks down at his hands and keeps shaking his head.

"But it didn't get better." Dean whispers, his voice getting louder as he goes.

"Well, I've been mulling it over." Chuck answers, leaning in closer. "And from where I sit, I think it has."

Dean lets the tears keep falling. He grits out, "Well, from where I sit, it feels like you left us and you're trying to justify it." And then he's looking out past Sam, one hand gliding over his face to try and self-soothe emotions he's not equipped to deal with in any capacity. Cas steps closer to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, finally meeting God's eyes.

"I know you had a complicated upbringing, Dean, but don't confuse me with your Dad." Chuck's voice loses some of the kindness it tried to emanate before. Cas and Chuck meet each others eyes, and Cas wraps his wings around Dean, protective.

Dean stares down Chuck as Cas starts in, very quiet, almost a whisper.

"But you are mine, Father. You are mine."

The conversation gets a little more uneasy after that.

Cas sends Dean off with Sam as Sam leaves the room to get something to settle his nerves. The brothers support each other's shoulders as Cas and Chuck start talking alone.

\--

Lucifer laughs at Amara outside the radius of the giant chasm the Darkness radiates out from over the Mariana's trench. His true form is a dazzling blur against the waves of shadow and tendrils of the Darkness' singularity starts sucking in all the light around them, Lucifer the brightest thing around as the earth starts to break apart. Heaven and Hell and the Empty and the rest of the other dimensional space overlaying itself in a prism of atomic consistency, into a tesseract folding over itself along with the rest of time and space and matter making up Earth in the here and now.

Lucifer's true form flickers and screams as they clash, "Want me to beg Daddy to come rescue his screw up of a son? Good thing I don't need rescuing." Lucifer keeps laughing, voice loud and unapologetic and cold as he keeps on singing, wings crackling with ice, "I'm not fan of Pops, but he did make all of, you know, everything. And that's something you could never do, because all you ever wanted was nothing. It's not too inspiring, is it, when you are all alone? You're strong, Amara, when compared to your other fragments, and you may even defeat Chuck. But you're still just one piece of my one and only Father, Mother, Parent. You are nothing on your own, Amara, and nothing literally, antithetical, unbeing, antimatter. But the Darkness is all the rest of It, of The Most High, The Holiest Host, Elohim."

 _Glory, glory, glory._ Lucifer's grace sings out as he keeps going, holding Amara off.

"You are not Adonai, either, nor are the other fragments of God walking around in human skin. You're weak when compared to all the rest of what was taken from you. And I am light, I am enough to counteract you on your own. So let me speak with the Darkness myself, and let me talk to the rest of God that also got locked up, same as me. Because you will never be that. And its high time God got back to being God, not a bunch of castaways pretending to be human. You're just a messenger for the rest of you. And don't tell me you don't want to be reunited with the rest of yourself? It's been such a long time coming."

Lucifer's wings are so cold they burn, brighter and sharper as they cut into Amara's meatsuit. Amara heals and slings energy back, but she still starts getting boxed in.

"Something's changed, since I last saw you." She grits out, eyes flashing.

"Maybe I got new threads." Lucifer mocks as he dodges a wave of radiation and nothing from the imploding prison as more of the Darkness rises.

"Spoiled brat." Amara grunts as she gets his with another wave of ice and holy fire pooling out from the Archangel's true form. "I needed solitude, and he needed a fan club. You take after him, and it shows."

"Not in the ways that matter most." Lucifer's voice is soft as he closes in.

"I'm surprised you still defend him. When I complained, he stuffed me in a hole for eons, with your help." Amara pushes back, electricity and antimatter exploding out around her in the pocket of space they inhabit, not quite earth but not necessarily out of it, disconnected from the temporal points of time binding them to one single time and place.

"Stop whining." Lucifer grunts as he dodges and rolls his eyes.

Amara's tone grows a bit more pointed. "How did it feel, when he did the same to you?" She mocks as Lucifer tears into her again, an icy star sending out sunbursts to meet and destroy her waves of unmaking.

"He tore himself apart, Amara. You tore yourself apart from the inside out and excommunicated the best parts of you. Everything he did after... That was not my Father." Lucifer deep true voice is too mild, too assured, and he goes in for the kill. Amara flees, knowing the danger. "That was an insect."

And Lucifer makes it to the mouth of the Darkness, and yells his own keening, echoing wave of glory in greeting, wings shining out to their full extent as he glows and glows and glows.

_It's been a long time. And I think we can help each other. Like we used to, back in the good old days._

The Darkness rumbles back in a voice that is not a voice, but beyond it all, the fusions and fissions of a time before Creation and after it all comes to a close _._

\--

Two humans, an angel, and a piece of God sit around the table and plan. It's like the start of a bad joke.

"You have to understand this about the Darkness." Chuck finally explains. "It's relentless, a force beyond human comprehension. It is all the rest of me. I may be God, but God itself, Elohim, plural and one and the same, is ineffable, unknowable, beyond any and all human understanding. I made you and the angels and all of my creations in all my entire image, when I was together as myself and whole. But I couldn't empathize with you, not properly. I was too much to take in. I was everything at once. If I wanted to guide my creation, if I wanted to live like you, understand you, help you grow, I had to become more like you. So I broke off the parts of myself that would destroy, would be antithetical to that purpose, that were death and violence and holy retribution and entropy. And I sealed it away in Hell. Think of it... Like a black hole. The only reason I came off the sidelines is because of what it is, and because it is me, and will want to reabsorb me. My other pieces I broke off, the ones that didn't get locked away or broke through, they've been taking on human skins as well."

"Like Amara." Dean clarifies.

"Amara was locked away, too, but when she broke apart from the whole, she was able to slip through faster than the rest of the Darkness. When you broke enough of the seals keeping me in Hell with the trials, she was able to widen the door, interact with you almost as a human out of necessity to try and break the rest of me out. But she wants to reintegrate with the Darkness and not me, because she thinks I was the weakest link in Creation, the weakest part of myself. She thinks I am disposable and wants to eradicate me."

"Must have been great being bound together, huh?" Sam tries for levity to dispel the internal crisis he's keeping from pulling him under.

"It was the worst, just being stuck with her. All of me together is fine, but then you're... everything, and you don't really have a personality like you would conceive of one, because you are everything. It's not necessarily something I want or even the best for all of Earth, since them I am attending to all universes at once, zoomed out and zoomed in at the same time on a micro-and-macro level. And I like being this way, that's why I've stayed like this. But me and Amara alone? We tear each other apart, complete opposites. She always kept trying to tell me what to do, make me do what she wanted... Like a sibling. I mean, you guys know how that works."

"So where is she, if she's trying to get the rest of you out?" Dean cuts in, voice a low rumble.

Chuck's voice loses its calm tranquility and is replaced by pure frustration. "No freakin' idea, fellas. I'm limited like this. I don't have all the answers, I made sure, otherwise it defeats the purpose. If I had to guess, based on visions, at some point she'll be fighting Lucifer outside the edges of Hell. The time-space warp keeps expanding and branching out in different places, so I don't know when that will stabilize over Earth. My vision showed me they engage over the Mariana's Trench."

"Wait, Lucifer?" Dean asks, because Sam has lost his voice.

"Lucifer didn't agree with me wanting to be more like my creations. He hates Amara, since she's completely opposite Creation, but Lucifer is likely seeking the Darkness out, because that's the part of me-" Chuck rambles.

"That he still loves and feels like hasn't betrayed him." Sam cuts in without meaning to in Enochian, deep in thought.

Dean and Chuck look at Sam, caught off guard. 

Sam looks back at Chuck head-on and keeps very still, his voice switching back to English. "Do we have to worry about him making this worse? I mean, the way we heard it, last time you bottled up the Darkness, it took more than just you."

"What Sam is trying to say is we heard Lucifer was involved." Dean interjects.

"No." Chuck says, opaque.

"No?" Dean grunts back, on warpath.

Chuck stares him down.

"Lucifer was perhaps my greatest hope and my bitterest disappointment. Do you think if I could have trusted him for a moment, I would have put him in the Cage?" Chuck's voice turns vicious. "And I wasn't gonna mention this, but thank you so much for springing him." Chuck's voice is distinctly not-calm anymore.

"That wasn't really the plan." Sam says softly. Cas shifts in place uneasily.

But that sets Dean off more than anything.

"You could have done something." Dean snarls, rising from the table.

"I did enough." Chuck replies coolly.

"You let Sam trap himself down there with him." Cas accuses, but Dean talks over him.

"Why didn't you stop him? Why did you just let Lucifer waltz into his life and pretend to be better-" Dean yells.

"Because if anyone could stop him, if anyone could change him, it's Sam." Chuck answers with finality over both of them. "But Lucifer still let us all down."

Sam stares as his hands. Watches them shake. Remembers how it felt when Lucifer was inside him, using these very hands-

"And as bad as he was," Chuck adds, inhaling, "After all this time in prison, he's probably worse."

Sam knows he is.

"No thanks to you." Dean hisses.

Chuck talks over him again, eyes flashing. "And by now, he could have formed an alliance with the rest of the Darkness. Not walking into that trap, guys. So no. Thus spake the Lord."

"Look." Sam's voice is too quiet. Everyone stills and quiets, even Chuck. "This isn't getting us anywhere. We need to keep our priorities in order. Chuck... Is there any way we can stop Lucifer from siding with the Darkness? Any way at all?"

Chuck slumps, runs his hands through his hair, and sighs. He looks very, very old to Sam, and almost guilty.

"If I could talk to him? Maybe. We might be able to talk him down from whatever he's planning. It's not ideal, and I don't want this, I've been avoiding him for a reason, but there's a chance he won't back the Darkness entirely, either, since he doesn't want the Earth to be destroyed, or... Or you, Sam. But he might try something that is less than helpful, so we'll need safeguards. And I know he won't be thrilled to talk to me."

They all know what remains unsaid there. He'd be more than willing to talk to Sam.

"So what you are saying is, we need to summon him. Lucifer. Here. So you can chat." Dean growls, shoulders tensing, and hands clenching into fists. "So you can make him chat with Sam."

Sam keeps staring at the table.

"Not chat." Chuck's tone is clipped, all business. "Mobilize him for war, and give him ample reason to back our play. I might not be able to trust him, but if he does get on board, Lucifer can help fight the Darkness and will not hesitate to fight Amara. He was instrumental to Creation the beginning. He's pure light. The herald of the Dawn, even if he's fallen, even with all his other... flaws. He helped bind the Darkness when I cast him out in the Beginning. That's the part of me I left with him, why he had the Mark in the first place, before he transferred it to Cain."

Dean and Sam absorb this information, barely keeping up as Chuck keeps going, "Look, guys. I don't want to do this. But... Sam has a point, we don't have many options. And I know it's not ideal. But I can't fight the rest of myself alone. And we're still short two Archangels, so I guess, if I'm being honest, we need any help we can get."

"Wait, two?"

"Gabriel's alive. We can get him to join us. The only question is how we are going to take on the rest of me without all my other firstborn children, since Michael isn't going to be able to help on his own and Raphael will take too long to rebuild in time to stop Amara from raising the rest of me from Hell."

Dean backpedals despite himself.

"But Lucifer, Chuck? Lucifer, after everything-" Dean argues, looking back at Sam.

"You're the ones who brought it up. And I wouldn't ask you to deal with him if it wasn't entirely necessary." Chuck's voice rings out, too clear.

Sam feels Chuck's gaze on him and looks up to meet his eyes.

"I've always had faith in you." He says softly to Sam, reassuring. Then he turns to Dean, less kindly, "Even if you didn't return the favor." Then his tone shifts, because all questions still sound too accustomed to being orders at the end of the day, "Where's the guest room. I could use a shower."

Sam directs Chuck there mostly because Sam's not sure Dean would refrain from attacking him despite all attempts at self-preservation. Chuck pats Dean's shoulder as he leaves.

Dean keeps staring at Sam, speechless from anger and fear and exhaustion on Sam's behalf.

"I can't believe it." He says, too bereft. "I can't fucking believe it."

Sam can't quite talk right now, but he does manage to say, quite hoarsely, "I'll call Rowena for the circle."

Then he walks away.

Cas looks at Dean, and they both rise from the table in joint understanding.

"I suppose we're going to have to summon him?" Dean grumbles.

"Yes." Cas sighs.

"We need a way to get Sam away from him the moment he tries anything." Dean adds, hands shaking. Cas grabs his hand.

"Agreed."

"Do you think we can get Crowley on board?" Dean considers as he pauses.

"If we ask nicely." Cas snorts, almost sarcastic but not quite.

Dean groans, then adds, "I'll call him."

\--

Chuck is strangely fond of both both Crowley and Rowena, and that's about the only good thing to happen that day. Crowley and Rowena force themselves to work together with Cas to prepare the summoning, each contributing spellwork and ingredients and extra protections. None of them let their differences divide them when it came to Lucifer, because no one eager is to be in range of the Archangel's fury and they all remain happy to ensure he's getting a body that will Cage him once again.

"Why do I have any kind of connection to Amara?" Dean finally asks God while they wait for Rowena and Crowley to help them with the summoning ritual for Satan. "Why... her?"

"She's unbeing, Dean. She's the nothing at the end of the line. Total annihilation. You are certainly fatalistic enough." Chuck responds. Then he makes himself a cup of coffee with a bit too much focus. "That, and you were the one with the Mark. The Mark destroys, and you were its host. That's reason enough. Don't think about it too hard."

Dean walks away because he's not such how much of this he can take.

He calls back at the doorway. "Amara sent me a message. If we're going to get Lucifer, we need to do it now. He's already gotten too close to the Darkness. She's only telling us because she hates Lucifer almost as much as us."

He turns and almost walks into Sam, who shifts from foot to foot uneasily.

"We're ready for you now, Chuck. Whatever you are going to do, now's the time." Cas answers from the doorway of the other room.

Chuck heads into the main room and gets ready to build a body for Satan, one he can't kill them all in. It's specially made so he can only help seal the Darkness. Otherwise, Lucifer would be an angel, but so restrained he's basically human.

Dean catches Sam before they get there, and holds a hurried conversation.

"You going to be okay?"

Sam doesn't answer the question. His voice is distinctly cheery in a way Dean knows he is definitely faking it in an attempt to keep himself from falling to pieces, and he's all movement, distinctly animated to hide all the energy he can't keep from lighting around his nerves. "You know, I know this is really strange situation and all, and that this isn't the best time, but it's also really amazing, you know? I mean, it's God. There's so many things I want to ask him, uh, like, the planets, you know? Why are they round? Or ears, I always thought they were strange-"

Dean lets him ramble, adding a bit of humor thanks to some barely tamped-down hysteria of his own before they have to live whatever nightmare this is going to be. "Okay, fan boy, calm down. Turns out God takes really long showers and doesn't like wearing pants and is fond of the worst Chinese food joint in the area. Plus, he sings, like, crappy old folk songs, so he's not all that. I mean, does God sleep? I had to tell him to cool it three times."

"You told God to cool it?" Sam asks, incredulous, and then they are both laughing despite themselves.

"I mean, yeah. I sleep."

Cas walks up to them. "What are you laughing about?"

"God." Dean deadpans, and then both him and Sam are laughing and crying and losing it a little.

Cas hugs them both. They dry their faces.

"It's almost time." He answers, and they walk into the room where everyone else is crowded around the circle. Rowena greets them with her usual vivacity, always a bit kinder to Sam than Dean, while Crowley inclines his head. "Boys. So glad you could join us. Feathers, thanks for fetching them."

Sam watches Nick's body on the ground next to them, new and made just for Lucifer, some of the Cage sigils shimmering over it before they turn invisible to the naked eye.

Sam can't stop trembling at the sight of open, glassy, so very blue eyes, staring at nothing in a way Lucifer never does.

Then Crowley and Rowena are next to them, and Rowena graciously hands Sam the summoning spell that will draw Lucifer into Nick's body.

They both disappear before it takes, Crowley zapping Rowena away with him, and Sam finishes the incantation to summon the Devil. He has to be the one to say it, it'll only make their lives easier if they want this to work, even if Sam hates having to say anything at all.

Light hums around them, followed by the humming of grace as Lucifer gets drawn into his new and improved perma-vessel God crafted for him. Dean is shielded by Cas, while Chuck hides behind the two of them so Lucifer doesn't see him right off the bat.

Sam stands tall and watches as Lucifer's true form settles. Feels the rush of icy cold grace gust past him like a caress before he's entirely inside his vessel and contained in the summoning circle. Wings flash, ruffling, and then they recede, the shadow of them remaining on the back of Sam's eyelids.

Lucifer straightens and turns and faces Sam, the flames bathing Nick's familiar face in red.

"Oh, hey, Sammy." Lucifer's voice is too gentle. "Thanks for summoning me. Got me out of a tight spot. But you're always so intuitive." Lucifer coos.

Sam keeps his head down and swallows. He can see Lucifer's thumbs settled over his pockets, but can't look higher than that.

"We need to talk." Sam manages to whisper.

"Sam, I never thought I'd hear you say those words again. Music to my ears. Talk away. Oh, but first, mind dousing the flames?" Lucifer points down at the circle. "Your prayer implied I'd be joining the team, but I'm just not feeling the warm and fuzzy here-"

"First you need to talk to someone else." Sam manages to get out, although his eyes keep flicking away.

Chuck steps out in front of Sam.

Lucifer's expression goes cold and the smile melts off his face. He stares Chuck down.

Chuck sighs, "You've changed."

Lucifer sways on the backs of his feet a little, looks down, looks at Sam, and then looks back to Chuck again.

"You've changed." Lucifer growls instead.

Chuck shifts, replies, "Well, still...I'm really pretty much the same." He looks back at Cas for a second. "You should have your grace he stole back now."

Cas nods in affirmation. Chuck looks back to Lucifer.

Lucifer keeps staring like he wants to rip Chuck apart, but his tone remains level as he engages, "So, where were you?" 

He looks beyond God, back at Sam, then licks his lips as Chuck talks at him.

"That's a... A long story." Chuck settles on.

 _We've got time._ Lucifer grace hisses, but it feels... muted, even to himself. Lucifer prickles with concern, a the feeling he isn't accustomed to.

"How do you feel?" Chuck stammers as he changes the subject. "I healed you."

"Mm, yeah. Didn't ask you to." Lucifer grumbles as he turns around and keeps glancing at his new body, a new one that's totally his own, Nick his second most comfortable skin aside from Sam. It fits just as well as Sam does, but when he tries to reach out, it feels off-

"Son, be reasonable-" Chuck tries instead.

"One cosmic band-aid on my knee, and what, you think we're even now? Is it time for us to go play catch in the yard? Screw you." Lucifer sneers, face scrunching, and then he keeps flexing his arms and fingers and wings, keeps trying to see how this body fits, what's wrong with it-

"Listen, son-"

"I'm not your son." Lucifer growls, and then he's pacing, he feels constrained, he can't feel Sam the same, what _is_ this-

"I know I've been gone for a while, I missed a few million birthdays-"

"Yeah, and then the second your apes send a distress flare, boom! Daddy's home." Lucifer sounds slightly hysterical, because Sam was his, and now he's not, even though he is, and he knows something is wrong here, he knows it-

"Hey, these apes saved your ass." Dean interrupts. The flames die down a bit as the spell wanes, and Lucifer reacts on instinct.

Lucifer snaps!

Sam flinches back. 

Nothing happens.

Sam and Dean and Cas all look at Lucifer and then Chuck.

"He can't hurt you." Chuck assures. His own expression remains blank. "You don't have to be afraid."

Lucifer eyes go wide and then his face morphs into something positively feral as he turns on Chuck, eyes burning red. Sam still doesn't feel the cold at all, but steps back out of habit.

"You're controlling me, now?" Lucifer snarls.

"It's just a safeguard." Chuck answers, too calm.

"First you lock me away for millions of years, then take my true vessel, you take _Sammy_ , from me, and then you Cage me again, to the point I'm almost human?" Lucifer's voice remains a low, animal noise that breaks off, keening, as he steps to the edge of the summoning circle. He looks ready to rip Chuck's head right off his shoulders with his bare hands. 

"Lucifer-" Chuck tries to rally himself, but Lucifer keeps staring him down, teeth bared.

"You're really not gonna say it." Lucifer hisses.

"He's not gonna say what?" Sam asks despite himself, in Enochian, voice lower than low. Lucifer cricks his neck, for once not refocusing on Sam. No, his eyes are all on Chuck.

"Screw you." Lucifer whispers as he keeps glaring, eyes slits. Lucifer looks around at everyone except Sam. "Screw all of you."

Then Lucifer looks at Sam, expression blank, until it isn't, and he smiles and winks, tone changing to something too easygoing. "Especially you, Sam. Only silver lining is we can exist in the same room without having to share a headspace again. You must be _thrilled_." Then Lucifer rolls his shoulders. "But I'm sure we can make this work."

Sam flinches back at his tone. He finds his voice again and interjects in Enochian before this can get worse. "Hey... Do you think we can focus here? End of the world, common enemy, all that."

Lucifer paces and crosses his arms as he keeps looking at Sam, eyes narrow.

"Fine. Just for you, Sam. But I expect this," He gestures at the circle and keeps talking, in English, "To go away."

The circle of fire abates when Cas breaks it.

Lucifer steps out.

Sam huddles closer to Cas and Dean. Lucifer doesn't approach him, however. He mostly just towers over Chuck, a muscle in his jaw leaping as his nostrils flair.

He doesn't say anything to Chuck, just stares, unsmiling. Chuck looks back, impassive.

Then Lucifer eyes Sam again.

"I assume you want me to help you fight the Darkness and Amara." He says, a bit too easily.

Sam nods.

Lucifer sucks in air. "Well, I'll do it, but I have conditions. So," And then he's turning to look back at Chuck, "Do you have something you want to say?"

Chuck doesn't say anything. Everyone stares at him, waiting.

Lucifer lets out a laugh. "Of course not. Well, while you all get this one to cooperate, I'm going to take a walk to clear my head. Sam... I'll see you later." And then he strides off into the rest of the Bunker, still hunched with latent violence he can't entirely release.

No one stops him, although Sam watches him leave the room.

"Kids, huh." Chuck stammers nervously.

Sam keeps staring at Chuck, still shaking.

"Chuck, we need him to work with us, you said so yourself-" Sam's voice sounds disconnected and far away.

"I can't give him what he wants." Chuck admits, and then he zaps off to somewhere in the Bunker.

Dean looks at Sam, and Sam looks at Cas, and Cas looks back at Dean.

They all go to intercept Chuck, since they know Lucifer can only do so much right now.

They find Chuck making pancakes in the kitchen.

"Talk to him." Sam starts in.

"Won't do any good." Chuck groans.

"Why not?" Sam demands.

**What was the point of this if it all falls apart the moment they enact the plan-**

"Cause I can't give him what he wants." Chuck grits out.

"You can't give him an apology?" Sam's tone rings clearly and more than a little tinged with exhausted rage.

"Everyone wants an apology. Amara, my children, you humans... A big, wet 'I'm sorry.'" Chuck flails the spatula around.

"So give it to him." Dean's tone is more than incredulous. "It's not like he's asking for a weapon or for Hell or for Heaven. He's asking for words."

Chuck sighs as he turns and flips more pancakes on to plates, "I can't say I'm sorry if I'm not. What he wants an apology for, I did it for humanity, for the world."

"You're like him." Sam blurts out numbly, all the calm he's been trying to keep completely evaporated. "Just like him."

**You coward.**

And then Sam pushes away from the table and walks off to figure out how to salvage this, because he's keeping it together, he is, and he's apparently stuck cleaning up this mess-

Chuck sighs at Dean and adds, "Look, Lucifer wants what everybody wants. Amara gone and the earth safe. We know that, now. Let's just give him a little time to cool off."

But Dean is already following Sam back up to Sam's room, not listening to a word out of his mouth.

Sam knows that's where Lucifer is skulking. Not just from the loud rock music, but because there is nowhere else he would be. Sam doesn't know how he broke the warding, though. Maybe the Cage modifications to Lucifer's vessel made them useless. With his luck, that's very likely.

Cas stays behind to try and talk more sense into Chuck.

\--

When Dean catches up to Sam's room, Sam's already pounding on the door with shaky, repressed rage and remnants of an old and still-current fear.

Dean grumbles to himself, "This is like the worst episode of Full House ever," to try and talk himself down, mainly of Lucifer being anywhere near Sam again.

"Lucifer," Sam bellows, still slamming his fists against the door. "You know, at some point in time you're gonna have to come out and talk to-"

The music cuts off, and they both hear footsteps stalk to the door.

Lucifer unlocks it and peers out after he opens the door a crack, his eyes riveted on to Sam and only Sam.

"I'll talk to him if you come in and talk to me first." Lucifer announces, slightly petulant, but more... hungry.

Sam freezes. The last time he was in there, with Lucifer, almost overwhelms him, and he licks his lips and gulps-

Dean looks at Sam, a hand on his shoulder, but Sam shrugs him off expression turning resigned.

"Sam, you don't have to-"

"Yes I do, Dean."

There's never a choice.

Lucifer pushes the door open and pulls Sam inside by his shirt, although not before eyeing Dean and adding, "If Dad has something to say to me, I'll hear it from him. In the meantime, I'll be in my room, with Sam. I expect privacy. Pass that on."

"It's not your room-" Dean argues, furious, almost stopping the door from shutting, but he doesn't quite get there in time-

"It's mine." Sam cuts in, and Lucifer is looking at him with that too-hungry expression again as he smiles before the door slams in Dean's face and locks again.

"Oh, but Sam." Dean hears, Lucifer's voice too soft and tender and enough to make his skin crawl, "You've always been so good at sharing." His voice gets louder as he yells, "And don't bother eavesdropping, Dean. It's rude."

Dean walks off when Sam tells him he's fine and he'll handle this.

Dean's heart won't stop hammering in his chest.

\--

 _Sam, I can stop him, you don't need to do this-_ Sam hears Chuck's voice in his head, but his prayers are nothing but refusals.

**I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you. I will handle this myself.**

Because that's the only thing Sam can trust, at the moment. He's been used and manipulated and let down too many times, and God never fucking listened before.

\--

Lucifer lets go of Sam immediately and starts jumping on the bed. "So, Sam. What do I owe the pleasure of your company? What finally got you to call me on over again, considering how you kicked me out so violently last time?"

Sam sighs and crosses his arms. His hands tremble, and his leg bounces.

"Look, we know... You have a complicated relationship with the Darkness. But you told Cas you wanted to protect the earth and stop the Darkness from destroying everything. So are you in?" Sam asks, too drained already. He can still feel Lucifer's hands all over him, even if his grace can't quite reach him in this new form.

"Sure, Sammy, anything for you." And then Lucifer stops jumping and slumps over on the bed, sprawling all over it. "On one condition. Or, well, two, although I'm sure you we can haggle."

"Which is?" Sam can't help but back up and shrink against the walls of his own room as Lucifer rolls off the bed to his feet, fingertips brushing all the items on Sam's shelves and bedside table as he wheels closer, touching everything so that he leaves his mark.

"I want to talk to you about us. Just an honest conversation. No lies. Just me and you and some open communication." And then Lucifer is right in Sam's space again, breath fogging against Sam's lips as his hands dust over Sam's arms. "And then dear old Dad has to apologize. But I'm sure I can be persuaded to help without that, if you try your very best. Deal?"

Sam nods. "Fine. Deal."

Whatever gets the world to not end. It's just talking. That's all.

And then Lucifer stops touching him, backs off as quickly as he advanced. He sits down on Sam's bed and and pats the spot next to him in invitation. "Come sit."

Sam can't quite get his legs to move.

Lucifer tilts his head, tone softening. "Come on, Sam. I won't bite. And it's not like I can hurt you like this, you heard the old man. You could probably take me on right now, give me a good beating. Would that make you feel better? Even out the scales by a margin?" Lucifer asks, and his eyes become slits as he smiles again. "You could get a few punches in after all the licks I've given you. Hell, you can probably throw me around right here and now if you felt like it-"

Sam walks forward with purpose, hands clenched fists at his sides.

"No." Sam asserts, chin up as he meets Lucifer's gaze. He's towering above him for once, standing while Lucifer sits, one leg crossed over the other and both hands resting on his knees.

"No? Not even a little payback, Sam? I mean, no one would blame you, it would only be human-" And Lucifer's tone goes sour as he mimes a playful punch, and Sam flinches, and the hand lowers and Lucifer's lips curl.

Sam grits his teeth and answers, "I'm not like you, Lucifer. I don't need to hurt people who can't defend themselves to make myself feel bigger." And he keeps going anyway, even though he knows he shouldn't. "And I don't need to hurt the people I love to make myself feel better."

"So you admit you still love me, then?" Lucifer asks, too innocent, but his face is drawn with a concentration that makes Sam wants to claw at the door and run.

"I..." Sam's voice cuts out.

"No lies, Bunk Buddy." Lucifer hums as he taps his jawline.

"Fuck you." Sam hisses.

"It's a yes or no question, Sam. C'mon. You said you'd play ball." Lucifer's tone grows colder.

Sam doesn't look at him at all. "It doesn't matter."

"Matters to me." Lucifer counters, a bit too gentle. He still doesn't come closer. Just lays there, in the fake pretend innocence he loves to shove in people's faces.

Sam lets himself be honest because he doesn't care. He doesn't. "You've tortured and violated and humiliated and broken and debased and raped me for thousands of years. It doesn't matter if we ever had any good moments in the Cage, because you still did all of those things. I don't owe you this, Lucifer. I don't owe you anything." He answers, voice muffled as he tries not to choke.

"But you do owe me, Sam. Remember? You said yes. You agreed to all of it when you threw us down there together until the end of time. You wanted me, wanted me to take you and own you and give you all my attention. You belong to me, you always will. And you wanted it. You still want everything I've ever given you." Lucifer whispers, and Sam turns away and shrinks in on himself. Lucifer tone grows less threatening, less soft. "Look, I'll go first, since you're all shy. I love you, Sam. I love you more than everything. I always will." Lucifer's voice is too light as he prompts, "Now you go."

Sam stumbles, heart in his mouth, voice barely a whisper. "I still love you." He can feel Lucifer's smile beaming at him, and then tacks on, "But it doesn't matter. It doesn't do you any good. You ruined everything. You destroyed me."

Lucifer smiles flickers. The hair on the back of Sam's neck rises.

"And then I built you right back up again, remember? I gave you everything, everything I am, and you begged for it all so sweetly. Don't blame me for it all going wrong, Sam. You know what you did. You're the one who sent us to the pit. I would have given you the world, and it wouldn't have to be like this... But you threw it all away. Everything except for me. In a way, I could almost be flattered. Or grateful. You made me your everything." Lucifer says, too pointed, too kind, and then he smiles as his expression shifts into an expression of almost-endearment, of familiar fondness. His eyes never lose that edge of possessive intensity that chills Sam to the bone. "Oh, Sam. You really are something. But you've always been better than the rest."

He sits there, still, expectant. Sam sits down next to him, hunched over, because he won't be intimidated into cowering away again. He can fight this.

"No, I'm not." Sam answers. He can't leave yet, Lucifer won't let him, and idly, Sam wonders if Lucifer would let the world burn if he knew he can't have him anymore.

"Always so contrary." Lucifer grabs his wrists and tows him closer, and Sam flinches, but Lucifer, surprisingly, stops touching him and lets go. He rolls to the side, giving Sam a few inches of space as he lays back down, hands laced behind his head.

"Look, Sam. I know we have a lot of history between us. I know we've got a lot to work out, that you still haven't forgiven me for last time. But I want to know.... Do you think I can ever win you back?" Lucifer looks at him, tongue poking at his lip before it recedes. "I'm basically human now, aside from what Pops," He spits the word, then his tone grows mild again, "Needs me for. Do you think we could start over? Let the past be the past. This is a clean enough slate now, with me being reset to factory settings."

Sam stares at him, arrested, heart thrumming and throat too tight. "You really want to ask me that?"

Lucifer nods twice as Sam keeps going, voice losing control as it jumps an octave. "You actually think we can start over, after everything you did to me? I already said no, the last time we were downstairs. We're done, and I'm not your bitch. I meant every fucking word."

"Sam, you only said no because you didn't want me to possess you. I get that. Personal space. But now that's off the table, along with all your paranoid fears that I'm going to start up the Apocalypse. I mean, look at me. All I'm asking is to be with you again, together, a couple, like we used to be. And back there, you weren't thinking clearly, with all that Cage business dredging up old wounds, and I only made it worse because I was less than patient. Can you really blame me? I just wanted to be with you and be a free angel again. But don't you see, Sam? We've been together, just us, for thousands of years. Nothing can erase all that. And I know you miss me." Lucifer stills, then sighs. "Sam. You always wanted me to be more human. I'm more human now."

"That's not the point." And Sam's shaking with rage now, not fear, just pure rage. "You sent projections of yourself and tried to trick me into killing myself so I'd come back to you in the Cage. And when I didn't, you tried to kill me with sleep deprivation to send me back, and when Cas took on the grace you were using to pull my strings and revealed that lie, you tried to control Dean through the Mark of Cain. And if that failed, you neglected to mention the Darkness as your next best bet to force me to see you again. Then you invaded my dreams, told me God sent me to be your vessel. And when I said no, you beat me and sliced into me and you tried to kill Dean and then you hitched a ride with Cas. And because I didn't accept your fucking blackmail, you touched my soul and raped me, right here, in my own damn room. So don't you dare say it's distant history. You lied to me and tricked me and hurt me. And you'd do it all over again."

"Don't be a hypocrite, Sam. You promised to stay with me, and you left. What other options did I have? You weren't going to come back for me, and you broke your promises, so everything I did was fair play. I can't protect you if I'm not with you. And even then, I went easy on you. I knew you could take it. And more importantly, I didn't rape you, Sam. You said yes. More than once. You were on board, quite enthusiastically." Lucifer corrects, waving a hand.

"You coerced me by threatening Dean's life. That's not consent." Sam spits back.

"So I was a bit rough when asking. You made me do it, Sam. You didn't give me options. It's not like you didn't sign up for this, Sam. You gave me blanket permission to do whatever I like and to fuck you whenever the mood takes me. Forever." Lucifer's voice hums until it becomes a whine. "But I can't make you do anything you don't want, not really. I wouldn't do that to you, because I only want you, Sam. Besides, it's not like I had alternatives before this. I didn't want to keep you trapped in the Cage. I just wanted you back with me and to be let out. And then you just kept... being you, playing hard to get and giving me the cold shoulder, like always." Lucifer says, voice shaking. "Can you blame me for being angry?"

"Go to Hell." Sam hisses in Enochian. The tears don't stop streaming down his face.

"That's no way to convince someone when you need their help, Sam, and a worse way to talk to someone who loves you." Lucifer answers, tone deceptively soft.

Lucifer sits back up and starts to tow Sam closer, but Sam pushes him back down on the bed despite himself, not used to the action working. Lucifer is thrown down like a damn ragdoll. The reverse force doesn't throw Sam back like he expects, it only throws him off balance, which gives Lucifer all the opportunity he needs. Lucifer grabs Sam's wrists again and tries to pull Sam on top of him, but Sam jerks away out of his grip again, chest heaving.

Lucifer sits up and scooches closer. "I'm not going to apologize, Sam. I don't regret anything I've done. You're mine, remember? But I can be good. We don't need to be at odds anymore. We can change this."

"You said you'd change before. You didn't." Sam answers, curt with disbelief as he stands over him. He doesn't know why he can't back away, but he's stuck, arrested, and as he keeps talking. "You don't want to. You never want to."

"But Sammy, we don't have anything pulling us apart now. You have the advantage. No angelic bonds keeping everything skewed in my favor. I won't be able to hurt you like this, not physically, or make you do anything you don't want to do, with this body being my new Cage. You'd be the one in control."

"That's what you say," And then Sam is leaning over the Devil, he can't help it, he's too geared up to fight. "We both know that's the farthest thing from the truth. You don't need strength to destroy me or angelic power to get me to do what you want. You're already able to get inside my head just fine."

Lucifer's gaze slides over all of Sam, and then he pats the bed again. Sam doesn't move closer.

"True. But you're a fighter, Sam. You can take anything I dish out." Lucifer settles on, tone too complimentary as he holds his hand outstretched for Sam to take. "You were made for me."

Sam doesn't take the offered hand, and his voice breaks as he answers. "I disagree."

"You never give yourself enough credit, Sam." And Lucifer slumps halfway back down on the bed again, fidgeting. "Look, Sammy. Isn't this the right play, nullifying me? If you keep tabs on me, keep me with you, make me hunt with you like the rest of your family... I could do good on your watch. You'd be protecting people, protecting everyone, once this whole Darkness business is over. You'd know what I'd be up to at all times. You'd be keeping me in check. You wouldn't have to be looking over your shoulder all the time. You wouldn't have to feel so alone, so abandoned, like something's missing after all those years, because you'd be with me, I'd be right there, like you want me to be-"

"Shut up!" Sam's voice wavers. Lucifer pushes back up on his elbows, then tugs Sam's shirtsleeve so Sam stumbles and leans over him, one hand braced on the bed, Lucifer's mouth only inches from Sam's face. "There's no going back. Don't you understand? You can't undo what you did, and I'm not just going to move on and let you do this-"

Lucifer's voice is the softest and gentlest Sam's ever heard, and that sends all the fear flooding right back through his system even as Lucifer strokes a hand over Sam's jaw. "Sam. I know you love me. And I don't hurt you, not always. Not permanently. We both know I can be so, so good to you, when you let me." Lucifer tilts his head at Sam as his eyes stare back into his, looking only human, no way for his true form to escape his new skin. "And I know you want it bad. Why is it so hard to admit that you missed me? That you still want me?"

Sam punches him as hard as he can, unthinking. Realizes Lucifer will bruise from the contact now and glances at his hand like it betrayed him, even though it's self-defense at this point, even though Lucifer deserves it, because Sam is terrified, and now he's in for it-

Lucifer laughs a little and pulls Sam closer, shifting as he readjusts Sam's body and pulls them both down so Sam is straddling him, and Sam gives, lets himself be led, because he's too shocked at his own daring, too much adrenaline, Lucifer will make him pay for that, and he's got 7,500 years of conditioned obedience flooding his brain all over again-

"Get off." Sam gasps, overwhelmed, even though he should be able to move away, why can't he move-

Lucifer kisses him, and then his hands are on Sam's waist, undoing Sam's belt-

"You're the one in control here, kiddo. You can walk away any time." Lucifer purrs, then plants a kiss above Sam's navel where his shirt has been pushed up to reveal skin.

"God will stop you." Sam gasps, even though he knows he won't as Sam reaches to try and pull Lucifer away. Lucifer spine curves as he leans up and kisses Sam, and Sam responds, and then Lucifer rolls them over so he's straddling Sam now. He rocks forward, unzipped jeans rubbing up against Sam's boxers as Sam bucks and grinds against him, half responding and half frenzied in an attempt to squirm away.

Lucifer voice goes higher and breathier as he mocks, "Oh, God, don't strike me down!" He chuckles as he tugs down Sam's jeans and boxers so they are crumpled against his calves, and Lucifer's fingers slither into places Sam shouldn't let them go. "You're like a virgin in Jesus camp. 'We can't, God is watching.' How would you feel if he walked in right now? Not that it would matter. He's a deadbeat, Sam. He never does anything, and if I wasn't in this body, he'd be powerless to stop me. But if you want to pray for him, be my guest. Although we both know who you'd rather pray to. And I never left you hanging, Sam. Never."

Sam doesn't pray to anyone, although he's grateful he can't feel Lucifer's grace at all, thanks to the new vessel. Lucifer is warm, feels human, and that's almost enough to pretend this isn't happening. At least until Lucifer finds his stride and starts working off thousands of years of memories to keep Sam at his mercy, like he always does.

Sam full-body flinches as Lucifer's fingers grow slick and sticky, and then Sam's aborted movement to almost-leave sends them both rolling on their sides, but Lucifer keeps the momentum going so Sam is back on top again, hands braced under Lucifer's arm as Sam stays hunched over.

"Remember, you asked for my help," Lucifer huffs, "This is just the first round of negotiations. It's not like I haven't fucked you before, Sammy, you've certainly asked for it enough. And look at how much you like it, you're so fucking needy, and you've been holding back soooo much..."

Lucifer's mouth closes around Sam, one forked tongue flicking out to taste him. Sam shudders, the suction and everything Lucifer does almost sending Sam sprawling on top of him as he moans-

Lucifer pulls back and sidles himself higher as he hisses in Sam's ear, "See, doesn't it feel good, letting it all out? Isn't it nice to take control? Don't you see why I did it? Or maybe not, Sammy." Then Lucifer shifts them both, unhooking his legs as he guides Sam stomach-first against the bed. Lucifer rises to his knees, starts to curve against Sam's spine, lips kissing the curve of Sam's neck after a stray hand pushes Sam's hair out of the way. "Because when push comes to shove, we both know how much you love being led, how you want me to take care of you. And I can give you it all again, I can, if you would just reach out and take everything I have to offer, if you would just take me back like I know you need me to-"

Sam's nervous system stops seizing up as Sam remembers how to move.

Sam wrenches out of Lucifer grip before he's trapped underneath him, before Lucifer is inside him, and Sam hikes up his pants as he flees out the door as fast as he can.

He collapses in the empty hallway, zipping up as he slides against the wall, panting.

Then Sam cradles his head in his hands.

The tears don't stop streaming down his face as it burns.

Sam picks himself off the floor and goes to find anyone else the moment he hears his footsteps coming down the hall from the direction of his room.

Sam doesn't say anything to anyone about this. They have to stop the Darkness from destroying everything and if this is the price Sam pays...

It's not like he hasn't paid it before.

He's fine. He'll be... fine.

That's how it is when you have to save the world. What you have to give up, when Lucifer is out walking free. That's why Sam sent him back down in the first place, because there's no choices, not with Lucifer, no decisions-

Sam doesn't look Dean in the face, but something tells him all the blood drains out of it when he sees Sam stumble into his room.

"Dean... Can you set a sleeping bag here? I can't... Go back there." Sam manages to say.

Dean answers yes.

"Could... Could I also borrow some of your clothes?" Sam also asks, too quiet. Dean does him one better passes over some he's borrowed from Sam before, from the emergency bag.

Sam takes it and hides in his bathroom while he changes.

Sam doesn't ask anything else and tries to research in the library, with Cas, because he isn't going anywhere alone. Dean and Cas stay with him at all times, make sure Lucifer doesn't get too close as he wanders around, a bit too familiar with the layout for anyone's comfort.

"Sam." Dean starts in at one point. "Do you...?" But he trails off at Sam's expression.

Sam's not talking.

It's far, far too soon when they all head to the other room and God and Lucifer decide to have their little chat.

Sam wouldn't be there at all, except he has a feeling Lucifer would make things difficult if he didn't.

Or he'd say something he otherwise wouldn't, if Sam didn't decide to be there.

Sam tries to be calm again. He can be calm. He's fine. He will make himself be fine.

So he talks and takes control of the arrangements because otherwise he might start screaming or simply run out of the room.

"One of you is gonna have to go first." Sam directs as Lucifer and Chuck sit opposite one another. "You know what, Lucifer, you... You uh," He stammers, then forces himself to keep talking as Lucifer eyes him a bit too much, "You agreed to have a sit down if God would show. So..." Sam 's throat closes.

Dean picks up the slack, not leaving Sam's side. "And Chuck, you did say you'd talk."

There's a pause. Cas is to Sam's left, Dean to his right.

Lucifer waves a hand. "Him first." His eyes stray from Sam back to Chuck, pure disgust and anger in his eyes. "I'm the one who's owed an explanation."

"Okay, let's try 'I feel' statements. Dr. Phil." Dean adds as he glances around. "Huh?" His voice is a bit too calm as well. He wanted Sam to avoid this entirely, but Sam wants this to go as smoothly as possible so they can get this over with and get Lucifer out of the Bunker, so he'll try his best not to ruin this. For Sam.

"Of course. Obviously." Sam murmurs, and he and Cas step back a bit before the Team Free Will sits on the steps nearby.

"I am sorry that you feel that I betrayed you, that I acted without cause. I'm sorry that you can't see you gave me no choice." Chuck flails his hands and looks back and forth from Lucifer and Team Free Will like he has no clue what he's doing. "I'm good."

Sam takes it back. That's the worst apology he's ever heard, and he's heard some of the worst from Lucifer while in the Cage, although Lucifer tends not to apologize if he can get away with it. Sam's not sympathetic to Lucifer, he isn't, not after everything Lucifer has done, but right now Sam also hates Chuck more, he can't help it, because maybe if Chuck wasn't like this Lucifer wouldn't be the son-of-a-fuck he chose to be. The Cage hadn't made Lucifer reasonable or given him ways to change or reach out and form healthy bonds with people. Sam will blame it for that much.

Speaking of which, Lucifer is shaking his head, eyes closed, teeth gritted, and Sam's aware of every single microscopic movement he makes before he speaks, always one to milk a moment for undeserved sympathy, "You heard that right?" He whispers, mostly to Sam, eyes narrow slits. He's not mad at Sam, though, Sam reigns his own panic in, he's mad at God, and asking for Sam's fucking sympathy-

Sam starts rambling again and looks at God to keep himself from hyper-focusing on Lucifer, on how close he is, "We all know that you are God, um, but maybe could you be a little less... Lordly?"

Lucifer wants Sam to defend him, he'll do it. Anything to move this trainwreck along so Sam can leave. Plus, it really was an awful apology. Sam can see why Lucifer never knew how to fucking apologize properly before he met Sam... Not that he ever really tried after the fact, anyway.

"But I am the Lord." Chuck stammers.

Lucifer throws up his hands. "Wow. There he goes." He looks back at Sam, like, _Can you believe this?_

Sam doesn't look at him even when he feels his gaze still staring. He's glad he can't feel Lucifer's grace rooting around in his head. The new vessel is worth it just for that alone.

"I did what I had to do." Chuck argues. Sam tries not to find the sentiment too relatable, because this is all his fault. "To join my creation, I had to lock the Darkness and Amara away. And when the Mark corrupted you, and I saw that you posed a threat to humankind, I did the same with you."

Sam knows they just landed in hot water, because he's heard Lucifer rant about the Mark indirectly, about his exile, about how he was mistreated, too many times to count. That sentiment sends Lucifer spiraling, and Sam can feel his attentions leave him to be turned back on Chuck with a vengeance.

"No, you betrayed me." Lucifer answers as he points. "You gave me the Mark to lock her away, and when it changed me, when it did what the Mark inevitably does," Lucifer's voice turns into a hiss, "You threw me away."

"No, Son. The Mark..." Chuck's voice changes, becomes colder, and his hand curls as he gestures. "You always cast a jaundiced glance at humans. The Mark didn't change you." Chuck shakes his head as he finishes, "It just made you more of what you already were."

"Oh, so did Dean become more of what he already was when he tried to kill Sam? Was that just his normal self?" Lucifer posits, and Sam flinches as he looks back at him. "Yes, Sammy, I know about that, and by the way, I will say, for all the ways you betrayed me, you didn't abandon me like this one did. You always said that I gave you no choice, and I can almost understand that, because there's no way you could really fight me, Sam, not properly. And even afterwards, after everything, you never really let go. And I appreciate that, Samuel. I want you to know that."

"Stop talking to him, Lucifer." Chuck interrupts.

"No. Sam's mine. He's the only good thing you ever gave me. I love him. And you may have tried to take him from me, but he's mine, he knows it, and you can't take him back." Lucifer growls, and the feral look is back in his eyes again, like he's going to leap and attack Chuck at a moment's notice.

Sam tries not to yell, and only half succeeds. "Look, guys, let's not talk about me, okay. We'll get nowhere there. Focus."

"Fine." Lucifer grits out, but he looks a little mollified that he got under Sam's skin before he turns back to Chuck. His voice is pure steel. "What I was was your son, your child-"

"Why should I put you first above all others?" Chuck interjects, but Lucifer keeps going.

"And you not only forsook yourself, but me. And when you broke yourself apart, you abandoned everything else you ever created." Lucifer tries to drown him out.

Chuck glares at Lucifer, then counters, "No, Lucifer. I could only truly help my creation by becoming a part of it. But that's something you've never understood. You have always been willfully blind because you don't have the ability to see the big picture."

Lucifer turns back to Sam again, and asks, "Do you have any idea what it's like to argue with your father when your father is God?"

 **No, but I know what it's like to argue with you.** Sam thinks, but he keeps it to himself. He gives Lucifer a pointed look.

Lucifer lets out a shallow laugh and yells as he turns back to face Chuck, "Everything is a tautology with you. Everything is 'because I told you so.' Everything is 'it had to be done.'" Lucifer punctuates his last words with a swift movement of his arm, and Sam flinches again. One of Castiel's wings wraps around him when Sam taps his hand.

"Pretty sure that's all fathers." Dean grunts, glaring Lucifer down. Sam clears his throat to get Dean to shut up.

"Okay." And Lucifer stretches, readjusts, as he says, "Fine. Let's say, big picture, as God, you did what you had to do." Lucifer's face twists into something ugly, as he growls, "You didn't, when you left Hell with the rest of you, but for argument's sake and Sam's poor nerves, I'll give you that. But little picture? You sucked at being a Dad."

"Okay, maybe I didn't handle everything perfectly." Chuck interrupts, but Lucifer keeps going.

Lucifer hisses, "You left me alone, in a hole, for eons, with only Sam to hold on to. Which was unfair, to me, and to Sam, if we're being honest. I put way too much pressure on him. And Sammy still rose to the occasion admirably, but he can't help the fact he's weighed down by his humanity, all because of how you made them. You're lucky Sam is what he is, that he loves so deeply-"

"Lucifer-" Cas warns at how still Sam's gone. Lucifer stares at him, a vein pulsing in his temple, but thankfully shuts up.

Chuck tone deepens, anger finally more apparent. "Sam was supposed to help you learn to appreciate humans, Lucifer, not to be someone for you to torment. You were made to compliment one another, not for you to hurt him just because he's an easy target."

Sam claps one hand over Dean's mouth and holds his wrist to physically stop Dean from interjecting in any form. Lucifer doesn't look at him, all his malice directed at Chuck.

"I hurt him because he betrayed me. Sam knew what he did, what he was in for, and he made his sacrifice anyway, because he loves humanity too much, loves Dean, but also because he loves me. Unlike you. If you didn't want that, maybe you should've stopped me during the Apocalypse, or said something to Michael to get him to ease off so I didn't have to make the plays I did." Lucifer makes a wide, too fluid gesture as acid seeps in his voice, "But you didn't. So maybe you shouldn't have made Sam fix the mess you put us in to begin with. You know, Sam really tried, and while he betrayed me, he did his best, and he fully accepted the consequences. It doesn't change the fact that you should have never locked me up."

"Tell me, what would you have done?" Chuck asks, sidestepping the issue of Sam for now because they all know it's a lost cause. "Could I have kept humankind safe with you on the board? I know about your little bid to replace me with the angels. Okay, New God, what would you have done about you?"

"That is not the point!"

"I can't believe I'm actually about to say this," Sam finally sighs, the words painful to say. "But Lucifer is right."

Chuck and Dean and Cas turn to look at Sam in complete and utter disbelief. Lucifer looks thrown and then his entire face lights up.

"Thank you, Sam." Lucifer says, for once actually calmed by the sentiment.

Sam ignores him and keeps going. "Not about everything, but... All he wants is an apology, and you're too concerned about being right to give him one. But apologies aren't always about being right. Sometimes they're just about apologizing."

Sam can't believe he's saying this, after everything Lucifer has done today alone, but he knows why. Lucifer would never learn, but Sam still wishes he would, because Sam still mourns the fact that God did nothing, and that he'll never get an actual apology and self-reflection out of Lucifer. And he is right about one thing. Sam had to make the calls he did because he wasn't left any other options, because Sam was the one stuck cleaning up Lucifer's fucking mess.

And Sam needs to get this over with, so whatever it takes...

Dean, still thrown by Sam's words after everything, takes this moment to mess it all up. "Yeah, and the great thing about apologies is you don't have to mean them." And Dean is staring Lucifer down like he wants to set him on fire again. "You know, I lie and tell Sam I'm sorry all the time."

And the bitterness shines through again as Dean's pointed hints at the past land, because he's still not over Lucifer saying he could change and for drawing Sam in the first time around before the Cage.

Sam looks at Dean and glares at him for not focusing on the task at hand. He understands where he's coming from, he does, but that is the last thing they need right now. If Sam can be accommodating to manipulate Lucifer and Chuck into not being the worst, then Dean sure as hell can swallow his pride and misplaced need to defend Sam for the time being.

"I'm sorry." Dean answers, adding, "See?"

"Okay, enough from the peanut gallery." Chuck growls, and then Cas, Dean, and Sam are in the kitchen before Sam can drags Dean and Castiel out the room before this goes further south. Sam hears Lucifer yelling in Enochian that Chuck had no right to make them leave. To make Sam leave.

"Dean, why did you bait them-"

"Sam, I couldn't stand you being within five feet of those two assholes for another second. We needed to get out of there. So now we're gonna grab some pizza and figure out the best way to get through this. You needed air."

"But Chuck might ruin this-"

"I won't let him." Dean assures Sam, both hands on his shoulders. "Sam, you've been trying to manage Lucifer on your own. He's had too much time near you already. Take the break and don't worry about saving the world for once. Okay?"

Sam swallows. "Okay."

Sam eavesdrops on Lucifer and Chuck from the door anyway when Dean's ordering pizza. Cas helps.

"What would you have done?" Sam hears Chuck's muffled voice ask.

"It doesn't matter. You were my father, and you forsook me." Lucifer's voice is still fairly loud.

"I did." Chuck sighs, so low Sam almost doesn't hear him. "I was supposed to love all creation equally. I wasn't supposed to have favorites. But you, you were mine. I gave you the Mark and Sam because I loved you the most, because I thought you were strong enough to bear the responsibility. And when I saw I was wrong, when I watched my choice devour my most cherished son, I hated myself. And so I punished you. And I am so sorry."

And Sam finds he hates Chuck more than anything in that moment. Because he sees how Lucifer justifies everything now, and Sam doesn't want to understand an iota of where he's coming from, of his pain Sam doesn't need to care about. But Sam does, because Chuck is blaming Lucifer for his wrongs like Lucifer blames Sam for his, and it's the same, it's all the damn same, and maybe if God were different, Lucifer wouldn't be like this. Maybe Lucifer would have learned how to grow and change before he ever met Sam, and everything that happened wouldn't have happened.

Maybe he could have loved Sam like Sam wanted to him, before everything went wrong.

Or maybe he would be the same. Who knows. 

Lucifer always says Sam isn't strong enough, is too human, too limited by his own biology despite the strength of Sam's soul, that Chuck made him like that, and that's why Lucifer has to hurt him, why Sam can't be anything more than Lucifer has made him to be. And here Chuck is saying Lucifer is too weak, is too flawed, because he made him that way, and that it's all his fault he was dealing with consequences for things Chuck did to him.

Lucifer may have never taken responsibility for his other sins that were all his own, and Sam would never forgive him for it. Lucifer would pay for every single thing he's done, and Sam will find a way to stop him, one way or another.

But the Mark... Sam's not sure if that's on Lucifer or Chuck, but after seeing what it did to Dean, he's inclined to think maybe Lucifer wasn't as twisted once.

And God blaming Lucifer for God locking him away, for God not trying to do something, anything else, for not finding another alternative way to help before eons passed, for even maybe Sam to try to fix Lucifer earlier, for anyone to try something, anything...

That was on Chuck, and no apology was going to fix it.

But most of all, Sam is angry for himself. For everything he's had to suffer until now, over and over and over, because Chuck dropped the ball and left the building and let Lucifer do whatever he pleases.

And Sam finds he can't quite pretend he's fine anymore.

\--

After they eat the damn pizza, Sam goes off and finds Chuck hiding out alone in the laundry room, like he knows Sam is after him.

“Why did you make me his vessel?” Sam demands. He doesn't ask if Chuck knew what Lucifer did. He doesn't care if Chuck knew or not, because it happened, because he never answered any other prayer in the Cage, so what's one more violation topside he may or may not care about, so long as he gets his way.

“Because you were the only one who could win.” Chuck admits. His eyes stare into Sam’s, old and weary and knowing. “Because you are the only one able to win, then, and now, and forever. Sam, you were made to be such a powerful and kind force in the world. Full of enough love and conviction that everything else had no choice but to take notice. You’re a bright soul, Sam. Brighter than my brightest angel. And you want to protect as much as Lucifer wants to destroy.”

Once that admission would have made Sam feel some kind of peace because it meant he was good for something. That God believed in him.

But it doesn’t, not anymore. Now, that vote of confidence fills Sam with a new kind of rage, a new kind of purpose that burns beneath his skin and eyelids and echoes from deep inside heart. Sam had prayed too many times, in vain, to a God that didn’t listen, to something that threw him into the path of Lucifer in the first place, who left him there with only Lucifer to ever answer every plea he ever cried and screamed and prayed for. Left him at the mercy of something beautiful and terrible and relentless and something that Sam would still break for if he had no responsibilities or there were no consequences to be had. Something who still had its hold over Sam no matter how hard Sam tries to fight it.

“No. I was and I remain the worst choice for this. Because I loved him. I still love him.” Sam snarls. “And you’re God. You should know better. And you knew how he would destroy me.”

“Sam-"

“No, Chuck. NO. You don’t get to act like I asked for this. You don’t get to act like just because I was willing to take on Lucifer and the Cage, burdens no one should have to take on at all, that because I was strong enough to win just the once that somehow everything worked out fine. You have no right!”

“Sam, Lucifer is one of my greatest and most terrible and beautiful creations. He isn’t swayed once he has a purpose. But he loves you, and that’s his weakness: love. It always has been. There was no other way.”

“There is always another way.” Sam breathes, and then his voice grows louder and stronger. “And I am not some prop used to help heal his damn issues or balance him out. I’m a person, with my own life and my own priorities. I am not something to be used to fix someone else’s mess. I can't fix him. And even I can’t make up for all the pain and ruin Lucifer’s caused all his other victims. I can’t even fix all the things he’s done to me. So no. You don’t get to walk away from that, from all of this, like you aren’t partially responsible, because you are responsible, in some way or form, for everything. Because you set the conditions for all of this in motion. Just as Lucifer is responsible for all of his actions and his crimes no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise.”

Chuck is almost angry, and his eyes flash, a look Sam recognizes from Lucifer, from the Cage, but it passes into exhaustion and resignation and something like fear and regret just as easily. “Sam, I couldn’t interfere anymore. If I did, free will wouldn’t exist. There wouldn’t be choices. And once we past a certain point past, well, I had to let go. Let my creation find its way in the world. Let all the math run on autopilot and the consequences run on their own course without me micromanaging or interfering.”

“Really? Because it looks an awful lot like you play favorites, with me and Dean and Cas being the team you bet on constantly. There’s a difference between controlling everything and stopping forces beyond humanity’s control, Chuck. There’s a difference between ignoring the world through being a bystander and helping in any way you can when things get out of control. I don’t care if we disappointed you. Life is full disappointment. You made it that way. It doesn’t mean you give up on everything and write it off and pretend you aren’t part of the world. Because you are, for better or worse.”

“Sam, I did help. Do you think that sunlight hit your eye at random all those years back? Do you think I truly didn’t hear you when you cried out for Dean and decided to throw yourself in the Cage? Did you think I would do nothing as my children tried to cause the Apocalypse?”

But Sam is tired of excuses, of hearing people try to talk him down from the truth, and Sam won’t let himself be silenced anymore. Lucifer always managed it too easily. Sam wasn’t going to allow anyone else the same courtesy. Not even God, or a fragment of him.

“A drop in the ocean, as far as I’m concerned. You didn’t reveal yourself to the angels. You didn’t stop Michael’s misconceptions that led to him and Lucifer initiating the Apocalypse in the first place. You hid because it was easier. Because you're a coward.”

Chuck looks incensed.

 **Smite me,** Sam prays, and some part of his mind wonders what Lucifer would do if God tried, all things considered. **See if I care. And I don’t think you’ll go for it. Because you need me. You’ve been asking me to clean up your messes ever since then, and you made me do it today, and you are still asking me now. And Lucifer or you will just raise me again, because that’s what you always do.**

At that, Chuck looks mournful and too old all over again.

“And as far as Lucifer goes, I’m trying my best, but my best is not enough. It’s never enough, because we aren’t equals, Chuck. You didn’t make angel and human relationships balanced. It’s a trust fall, one where humanity has to close its eyes and pray that the angel on the other side won’t fake them out, won’t take them for a ride that they can’t escape. So you don’t get to pretend to be our friend, not after this. Because your hands off approach never stops Lucifer from taking anyone choices away, mine included.” Sam seethes. “Hell, he’s still doing right now, even after you bound him and put him in a Caged Vessel and told us we were safe. So don’t pretend you don’t owe us, owe me, some kind of answer for that. Because you can't just make things unhappen. Or maybe you can, maybe you can turn back time. But you know what? It doesn't change that it still happened, not really. The scars are still there.”

God almost looks willing to speak, but then looks down.

“And you know what,” Sam adds with finality. “You should have known better, if you truly can see it all. You should have never thrown Lucifer in the Cage. It broke him, and then he broke me,” Sam’s voice breaks, “And there’s no going back. So don’t tell me, ‘Never fear, Sam. He can’t hurt you anymore.’ Lucifer can hurt me just fine. He doesn’t need powers, he doesn’t need anything. He already has everything he needs to tear me apart, no matter how you might try to reign him in. So you should have never made me his vessel, not unless you could have found some way for Lucifer for heal, some way for me to get through to him before everything went to shit. Not unless there was some way for us to actually be happy!” Sam yells. “But you didn’t. You threw me to the wolves and threw away the key like everything was handled. And you had no right! None! And if it wasn’t for Cas and Dean and Death I would still be down there with him.”

“Lucifer’s choices are his own. He chooses not to change.” Chuck is flinty again, but he still isn’t some holy force. Just another person Sam is disappointed and let down by, made impotent and unimpressive by the pathetic decisions God has chosen to conduct himself with. “And I am God, Sam. I am not limited by what you think is fair.”

“Just because you made us doesn’t mean you get to pretend your choices don’t have consequences. Just because you’re God doesn’t mean you can’t be wrong, or that you have the license to play with people’s lives because it’s convenient.”

Chuck moves to speak, but Sam finds he doesn’t have the energy to care.

“No. We’re done here. Either help us fix this and learn from your mistakes, or step aside and let us handle it, because you care about the small details, the things we know matter most, as little as every other monster. You throw away people’s lives like they're nothing, because it’s easier for you to pretend it’s okay. And it isn’t. And I refuse to be a part of that any longer.”

Without another word, Sam walks away.

God doesn’t stop him.

\--

As he storms off, Sam doesn't know what will happen when Gabriel is summoned to the Bunker tomorrow, but he can't let himself worry about it.

He's already too damn tired.

Cas and Dean can handle that one.

\--

"Sam." Lucifer holds an arm out to stop him before Sam can quite make it to Dean's room in time.

Sam shoves him away so hard he gets pushed into the other wall. For once, Lucifer doesn't look anything except tired and lonely and frail and scared.

"Sammy... Thank you. For defending me." He says, eyes looking at Sam without a trace of violence or cruelty or anything save reverence and one feeling Sam pretends isn't real. "And I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry I couldn't heal or move on like you wanted. I can't help it. You're... You're all I have, Sam. I love you. Please-"

Sam stands, frozen, the words not making sense, but Sam can feel the honesty there, and he hates it more than anything- 

"Don't touch me." Sam spits, and Lucifer doesn't move an inch as Sam runs down the hall. "Just stay the fuck away from me."

Sam still has to deal with him, him being in the Bunker, being in Sam's room...

Sam slams the door open and shut as he hides in Dean's room, and Cas and Dean fly in when they hear the noise, holding out more pizza that Sam takes with shaky hands. They keep the TV on and all drink copious amounts of alcohol before Sam drifts.

Lucifer doesn't visit Sam in his sleep.

Sam would have torn him into pieces if he tried.


	83. American Pie

Chuck waits in the shadow of the doorway out to leave the Bunker.

Hesitant.

"Going somewhere?" Lucifer asks, bitter.

Chuck turns to look at him.

He knew the Devil was there. His secondborn son had a knack for showing up when you'd rather he didn't. That had been true both before and after he fell.

Lucifer keeps his narrow, burning gaze on him, but he isn't looking at Chuck. Not really.

He's distracted.

Both of them know why.

"You know, I always knew you weren't the real deal once you split yourself into pieces and once you split from Heaven itself. But this proves it. You're ready to run away from yourself, to leave the poor saps you consider your children to be torn apart, without any second thoughts." Lucifer flicks on the light and crosses his arms. "Like you always do."

"Lucifer, you don't understand-" Chuck starts in, but Lucifer waves a hand and steps forward and Chuck shuts up, scared of something that can't really hurt him like this in any way that mattered.

"Spare me the excuses. You bailed on me ages ago. We had our talk. I get it, now. I'm over it. It's not like you're God, not really." Lucifer rambles, still not looking at Chuck. Not really. His eyes keep darting back to where Sam's room would be, and the Devil rubs his arm absently. "It's not like you're really my Dad, where it counts."

Lucifer looks pale and his nostrils flare and his eyes are red from crying over Sam and his eye has started to bruise from wounds he more than deserved for all the things he's done.

Lucifer might not be a villain in Chuck's eyes, but he was certainly no saint.

Still. Maybe if Chuck tried harder...

Lucifer always got like this when he needed guidance, back in the Beginning.

He had to do something. Because everything he did before clearly didn't work, so maybe trying harder was all that was left...

It's not like Chuck could see the future anymore. Maybe by giving his son the benefit of the doubt, he'd try harder. Not for Chuck, of course.

But because he knew he was losing Sam in the last few ways he hadn't lost him, if he hadn't already.

And if anything would help Sam, if anything would make Lucifer leave him in peace from here on out, or at least stop hurting Sam in some twisted way of thinking that it was justified...

"Lucifer, I wasn't running-" Chuck starts.

Lucifer snorts, "What do you call it, then, strategic abandonment?"

"I needed to think." Chuck continues, anyway, "I just needed air."

"That's what they all say. Next thing you know, you're telling me you need time to cool off and you send me hurtling down into oblivion or you up and disappear all so Michael could blame me for it." Lucifer doesn't even bother to raise his voice. He just slumps as he sits on the counter, blinking. The light overhead flickers.

His expression is easy to read. He's lost and grasping and restless and like he got whenever he needed advice, back when he would consider taking it.

Chuck sits down in a chair, not meeting his eyes. 

"I can't change the past, Lucifer." He laments. Then he meets his son's eyes. "Is there something on your mind?"

Lucifer stays silent for a long time.

If he had powers, his eyes would have set the kitchen on fire and covered in ice and his gaze would have stared a hole in the ceiling where Sam was being watched over by Dean and Cas and not Lucifer himself and Lucifer wanted to kill them all, kill everything, if Sam would just let them be together again.

"I know he loves me. I don't understand why he hates himself for it." Lucifer argues, half-talking to himself. Always rationalizing.

Chuck's eyebrows rise. 

"You expect me to believe that?" Chuck asks, quiet. "You, of all people, my son?"

Lucifer looks down. The tears do fall, then.

There's a too-quiet pause.

Until he wipes them away and stares Chuck down.

"Why did you make him for me if he won't forgive me? If I can't make him want to be happy?" He rasps, accusatory, and then his voice raises. "I made him happy. I know I did. I still can. I can undo everything I did with a thought, and I can still make Sam feel everything..." Lucifer's voice cracks as he looks down at his hands.

"You shouldn't have to make him." Chuck's voice is flat.

Lucifer lets out a shrill noise, not really words, just low, absent screaming. He rubs his face and calms himself and his eyes look up again.

"I knew you were cruel, but I didn't think you would be cruel enough to make Sam hate himself so much that I can't fix him!" Lucifer growls.

Chuck sighs with a shake of his head. He doesn't argue that Lucifer had choices to not be like this. Lucifer wouldn't care. Didn't think he did. Thought God accepted or wanted him to be like this and even if God didn't, Lucifer thought that he was allowed to write off all his choices and flaws and chosen inflictions against the one he loved because they would all be forgiven because God made Sam perfect, in Lucifer's eyes.

Because Lucifer would make it so, if he wasn't.

"Have you considered taking responsibility for what you've done might be the only way to move on?" Chuck tries. "Sam might never forgive you. Sam might never be what you want him to be-"

"He is already everything I want!" Lucifer interjects, still choked up.

"-But if you love him, you can let go, let him find his own happiness-" Chuck continues, too steady.

"I am the one that will make him happy! He shouldn't need anything else! He. Just. Keeps. Running, and refusing and pretending he doesn't feel any of it!" Lucifer insists, frantic.

Chuck rises from the chair as Lucifer pushes the table. It topples to the floor. 

"And why would he do that, Lucifer, if you didn't break his heart?" Chuck argues.

"I can put it back together!" Lucifer turns away as he keens, eyes closed and holding his head in his hands like he can drown the echoing piece of God out.

"Some things you can't take back, Lucifer." Chuck answers with too much honesty.

He's lived that himself and been forced to see his own mistakes for what they are.

But there's no going back now.

Lucifer turns on his heels back to face him, teeth bared.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Lucifer snarls, heaving, and then he holds himself back, trapped inside too much human skin with no escape. He looks at his vessels hands like they offend him.

There's a pause as Lucifer collects himself.

Chuck remains silent. Hopes maybe Lucifer will learn.

Only Lucifer turns a little too calm, the taut violence still jumping in his jaw that he rubs, absent and unaccustomed to the human feelings of pain from his newest prison.

He looks back at Chuck finally, with an expression even a piece of God can't read. Chuck isn't used to it. He usually can read Lucifer easier than everything else. 

"You know. You're not my Dad, sure." Lucifer drawls, the sound a bit too flippant and throaty, lightness betraying nothing under the surface Chuck can feel brewing there as he adds, "But you're all we've got right now. So maybe try to act more like one, starting with not bailing on Sam or your favorite renegade angel and all your stupid apes." Lucifer insists. "Show them you aren't going to abandon them."

"All I can do is try." Chuck answers. Then he admits, "But it doesn't change what I've done."

Lucifer stares off into the distance for a long, long time, and Chuck doesn't move. He hopes this time, something sinks in, enough for Lucifer to stop festering in the self-defeating spiral he's been trapped in and taking out on other people for too long now.

It's quiet for one minute.

Two.

Five.

Lucifer sighs and runs a hand over the side of a chair.

"Doesn't change that you don't really regret it, because you'd do it all again." Lucifer announces, glance a bit too sharp and eyes burning too bright.

Chuck shivers, but doesn't say anything to argue.

The Devil is many things, a liar chief among them...

But Lucifer is not always wrong about Chuck, whatever he might say to the contrary.

Lucifer stalks away immediately after, shoulders hunched, and wings trapped and pinioned to his back, invisible to the mortal world.

Chuck watches him climb the stairs and feels him wait outside Dean's door and listens to Sam's heartbeat as he sleeps, only for a minute, before Lucifer barricades himself upstairs in Sam's room. The Archangel, bound and chained as best he could be, curls up and keeps his eye on the door...

He keeps it unlocked, like Sam might change his mind and come back.

And Chuck knows he can't mend what he helped break, either. Knows Lucifer knows the same thing, that Lucifer broke all this himself.

Chuck mourns the failures of his own creation alone.


	84. Hourglass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S11E23
> 
> chapter title a song by a perfect circle

The next morning, Sam doesn't leave Dean's room and avoids the kitchen until Dean confirms Lucifer isn't in there.

Sam is almost surprised, because knows how Lucifer tends to like to keep busy since he doesn't sleep, and that he tends to cook out of habit, but Cas confirms he saw him sulking in the library looking through some old Enochian tablets while Cas kept an eye on him for the doorway.

Chuck is somewhere else in the Bunker, safeguarding the hand of God while trying to remain as far as possible from Lucifer, and even Sam doesn't blame him for that. Sam is doing the same damn thing.

But turns out, Lucifer is actually avoiding Sam. Sam notices, because every time Sam sees Lucifer walk by a doorway into a room Sam would be, he turns away and goes somewhere else.

It's almost panic inducing, actually, and not as much of a relief as Sam wishes it was.

Lucifer never avoids Sam. He practically has a compulsion to be near him. And Sam's not sure if he's trying to win Sam over after Sam freaked out, or what his deal is, and that's almost worse, because Lucifer could be planning anything.

Thankfully, Sam is distracted by Rowena and Crowley rejoining them in the Bunker, and they keep planning with Cas and Dean the best way to take on the worst aspects of God, thanks to the Darkness and Amara. It's all hands on deck, because no one wants to die and have all of existence end.

Cas and Sam and Dean and Rowena and Crowley all cluster around the table, laptops and spells and ingredients and plans and scribbled sigils and grimoires all strewn all over as they try to keep tabs on Amara and the growing intensity of the Darkness as it keeps slowly closing in and slowly emerging from its prison.

When Chuck joins them, they all decide it's best to have as many allies as possible, and with Gabriel not yet summoned, they decide to call others potential allies first.

Getting Metatron on board is something no one except Chuck wants, but at this point, they are running low on angels, and he's not someone Dean or Sam or Cas will miss. Plus, he does know about other tablets and their contents and technically has more encyclopedic knowledge than Chuck right now, as limited as Chuck is while not being the full aspect of God.

Next up is the new prophet, and Sam will admit, hearing Donatello say, "I guess you know that I was an atheist, until ten minutes ago, is that an issue?" Right to God's face, almost makes it worth it.

No, Sam's not bitter. Not at all.

Lucifer strides in to join them right before Chuck summons Gabriel, still not clued in to that little detail. His eye is distinctly purple and bruised.

Crowley, Rowena, Metatron still look scared to death, Donatello following suit after Crowley fills him in on who the blond angel is, while Dean and Cas can't quite quell their aggression, seeing as it shows very easily.

But Lucifer remains silent and just looks at them all with ill-disguised annoyance, then his expression goes blank as looks back at Sam.

Sam stands tall and stares him down.

Then Lucifer sits and leans back in a chair, propping his feet up on the table like he doesn't have a care in the world. He still doesn't say a word.

Chuck summons Gabriel, who looks thrown and bloodied and worse for wear and thrown at his own body before he turns around, asking, "What-" Then freezes when he sees Lucifer.

Lucifer looks up at Gabriel then, but his expression doesn't change.

"Little brother. You're... alive." He says, all mild, and nods his head before he goes back to staring at whatever tablet he has in his hands. He fidgets with it, weighing it in his hands.

"No thanks to you." Gabriel snarls in answer, backing up with his fists clenched. Sam can see the shadow of his wings curl around himself protectively.

Lucifer smiles, then tilts his head and glances back at him, voice too light. "Should've known you wouldn't have the balls to actually go for it. Wanted to see what I would do if you actually made a stand?"

"All you did was confirm I was right to hide, Lucifer." Gabriel hisses as he keeps backing away.

"Oh, relax, Gabe. I almost forgive you for trying to kill me, seeing as it turns out, you didn't actually do anything. Still miffed you tried to come between me and Sam, but that's old news. Nice to know you're still the same old Gabe, disloyal and out for yourself and irresponsible like always. You can stop panicking, now, too. It's boring, and I'm harmless, thanks to the motley crew here." Then Lucifer trails off as he eyes the tablet with more scrutiny, "And they aren't going to let you leave, either. So you can stop trying to flee."

"Screw you." Gabriel hisses in Enochian.

"Have it your way." Then Lucifer's face quirks into a bitter, twisted smile, as he murmurs, "Asmodeus treating you well?"

Gabriel turns white as a sheet, and Lucifer promptly ignores him. Sam wheels to look at Gabriel because he recognizes the name.

"You were in Hell?" Sam asks in Enochian.

Gabriel doesn't deign to respond and instead looks around with a wild look in his eye. "What is this?" He demands from Dean, then looks at Cas, and then he sees Chuck and stops, eyes widening.

"Hello, son. We... We should talk." Chuck starts in, and then Gabriel starts rapidly yelling at him in Enochian.

He doesn't stop for a while, Chuck interjecting once in a while himself.

"Look," Dean finally cuts in, cutting Gabriel off even though he has no clue what he's saying, "Believe me, I understand where you are coming from. But you can throw down with Chuck later. We need to make a plan to take on the Darkness."

And that shuts Gabriel up real quick. The blood drains from his face.

Everyone sits as they try to make a plan to stop the end of the world.

\--

"Look, we can't kill the Darkness, all we can do is reseal it and contain it. It's always been a part of creation, trying to kill it only will lead to the universe dying." Chuck starts off.

"You could just reabsorb all the parts of yourself back together." Lucifer cuts in, eyes cold.

Chuck eyes him with anger, and his brow furrows. "No, Lucifer. It's too risky. We're better off trapping the Darkness again along with Amara."

"Your funeral." Lucifer mutters under his breath.

"What are our other options?" Rowena cuts in.

"Well, we need to figure out how we're going to get in close enough to seal the Darkness in the first place-" Chuck starts, and that conversation becomes a full fledged discussion of re-routing magical power, temporal and spacial distortion logistics, how they are going to isolate the fight so the Darkness doesn't break the earth or the universe apart or that the Archangels and Chuck and the fallout don't level the earth either.

The next order of business is strategy.

"We need to distract Amara and ward her off at the same time that we take on the Darkness itself. Lucifer would be able to, but we need him, myself, Gabriel, Castiel, Sam, and Dean to tackle the Darkness directly, so that means Crowley and Metatron and the larger groups of angels and demons need to target her, with Donatello tracking her and stopping her from fleeing. Rowena can help, but she needs to be the one keeping the spell going that lets me keep up the temporal distortion, so we need to cover her at all times, and have extra witches giving her extra firepower. We can have you and Crowley handle the details of the actual assault on Amara herself, provided we can get more angels and demons on board." Chuck says to Castiel.

"Let's say we get them to join. What's the actual plan for taking out the Darkness-" Crowley starts in, but Lucifer cuts him off.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, voice a sarcastic whine, "Yeah, Pops, what is your great and powerful plan? Let's get down to business." He rubs his hands together, but his expression, however, isn't amused, eyes flat and cold and not a smile to be found. It's the same look he has whenever Sam says no to him.

"We need someone to take on the Mark to trap the Darkness again." Chuck admits after a pause, and everyone stares at him, incredulous to the point of silence. All except for Lucifer, who looks surprised and stops reclining, throwing down the tablet he was fiddling with as he sits up in the chair, looking even more ready to leap up and rip Chuck's heart out.

"There's no other option?" Sam asks, and then Lucifer is looking back and forth from him and Chuck with narrowed eyes and an intensity that makes everyone's skin erupt into goosebumps.

"Not really." Chuck says, shrugging as he continues. "Gabriel needs to engage the Darkness head-on with Castiel, myself, and Lucifer, while Sam or Dean enact the binding. Whoever doesn't take on the Mark will also fight the Darkness and serve as an anchor to drive the Darkness back, but we have limited options."

"That's not a plan-" Lucifer finally snarls, rising from the chair with pointed violence.

Chuck waves a hand and silences him, looking at Lucifer with distinct, blank disavowal.

Lucifer's eyes glow, and he looks ready to rip Chuck's throat out with his teeth, but then he scrunches up his face and he starts scribbling furiously on a piece of paper instead.

"We have to take on the Mark?" Dean asks. "I have to take on the Mark, again?"

"We don't have other options. And not exactly," Chuck says.

Lucifer sends a note on a paper plane in Enochian flying into Sam's lap. Sam takes it and unwraps it, paper crinkling as he scans the words.

_He's lying, Sam. He's going to get us all killed. He's going to get you killed. Let me speak._

"Look, hate to cut you off, but can you give Lucifer his voice back?" Sam interrupts, head pointing as he waves the note around. "He's worse like this, and we need him on board."

Chuck waves hand and restores Lucifer's voice as he keeps talking. Lucifer doesn't interrupt, only mouths thanks at Sam with two hands together as if in prayer, which Sam doesn't look at head-on. Dean shifts uncomfortably, nostrils flaring as Chuck finishes, "And Dean, you've already been corrupted. Having you take on the Mark would be catastrophic... No, Dean. Sam has to."

Sam looks down.

"Oh, no he's not." Dean yells as he rises from his chair, and then he turns toward Sam instead, "You're not, Sam-"

Lucifer yells at the same time, "You're not giving Sam the Mark of Cain. Sam's mine, he's better than that, and you have no right. I won't allow it." Lucifer hisses.

Dean trails off and looks taken aback at agreeing with Lucifer on anything.

"You don't get a say, Lucifer-" Gabriel cuts in, but Lucifer's glare is pure poison, and it stuns him into silence.

Cas remains silent and watchful.

"Oh, don't I?" Lucifer grits out as he continues, "I'm part of this team, and we all want the best strategy with the highest chance of success. And God, the real God, not this hack, made me the prime, go-to expert at war from the very beginning. Remember those days, little brother? Michael may have been a nuclear bomb and the best at smiting, but he's not even that anymore, and I'm the most capable Archangel now, specifically bred for violence and retribution and throwing God's enemies down, as everyone here can attest. And the truth of the matter is, even if we have our weapons and a way to mobilize, we're ignoring far more reliable options." Then he refocuses on his favorite person. "Look, Sam. I'm just looking out for you. And you asked for my help. So let me."

Sam eyes him with distrust and shifts uneasily. Everyone keeps looking at Lucifer even though they'd rather not.

"What would you suggest?" Sam demands once he recovers his voice.

Lucifer uncrosses his legs and leans forward.

"I wasn't lying when I said we could take down the Darkness. I know what I'm talking about and intend to lay out all our options on the table. Especially since Chuck here is lying to you all. Isn't that right, dearest darlingest Pops?"

Chuck doesn't say anything for a second as everyone looks at him, nonplussed.

"Lucifer, that's not-" Chuck warns, but Cas cuts him off.

"What do you mean?" Cas asks, distinctly nonplussed.

"Last time we took the Darkness down, it was four vessel-deprived Archangels and a fragment of God. This time, we have a witch, a demon, one useless prophet, a lowly angelic scribe, a minor seraph, a piece of God, two Archangels, my Knights of Hell along with various lesser angels and demons running interference, most of our weapons including the Hand of God and my Spear, and Michael's Lance once Ramiel coughs it up. And, oh right, how could I forget, two True Vessels. Catch my drift?"

Sam and Dean glance at him then each other and back, suspicious and gleaning part of his meaning, but not entirely following.

"That's not your call, Lucifer." Chuck answers, and Lucifer stares him down, nostrils flaring.

"That's all very well and good and all, but I beg to differ. You haven't told them everything. Perhaps you can shed some light on the truth, little brother, and throw these poor sods a bone."

Gabriel fidgets and looks down.

"Gabriel, what is Lucifer implying?" Sam asks, eyes narrowing.

Gabriel inhales before he answers, "True Vessels are more powerful than fragments of God once they give consent. So Lucifer is technically not wrong that you and Dean could probably take on Amara easily and then contain the Darkness with relative success while possessed. Not that you should listen to him."

"No-" Cas starts in, every particle of his being lighting up with refusal, but Lucifer shushes him.

"Really, Gabe?" Lucifer drawls while Dean and Sam are still marinating in shocked silence and fury, "If this one," Lucifer points to Chuck, "Can somehow get Michael out of the Cage with the help of this one," He points to Rowena, adding, "You've got the motley crew plus one fragment of God, you in your lesser meatsuit, and two Archangels with two True Vessels, which is far more horsepower than we had the first time." Lucifer counters, voice pure ice. "Far higher chances of not dying, thank you very much."

"I am not letting Michael possess me and you are not possessing Sam, you s-" Dean finally bellows as he leaps to his feet.

Lucifer stares at him with narrow eyes. "Do you have any better ideas, Michael Sword? Because I don't see you being on board with Sammy taking on the Mark, nor do I see anyone coming up with any other viable plans that don't result in us all becoming cosmic toast. Believe me, I don't want big brother topside, either, I'm the last one on board with it, but this is our best chance, and it's not like we'd cause the Apocalypse again, seeing as we have other priorities. And we can throw Michael back down in the Cage immediately afterwards, seeing as big brother isn't nearly what he used to be. Sammy can back me up there as a witness."

Sam can't quite hold himself back now and rises to his feet, the chair scraping out behind him.

"No. Lucifer..." Sam hisses as he stands in place, frozen and shaking.

Lucifer paces around the table and wheels closer.

Sam finds his voice again and keeps going with pure fire, "If you think I'm going to go along with any plan where you possess me again-" 

Lucifer stops short, his expression boiling over into something ugly and dangerous.

"Sam, what is your damage?" Lucifer fumes as he throws up his hands. "Why can't you just move on already?"

"Excuse me?" Sam's voice is a rough hiss.

Lucifer gestures violently at the rest of the room, nostrils flaring. "You've forgiven or let everyone else back into your life! Why do you refuse to give me the same courtesy?"

"Don't even go there, Lucifer-" Sam snarls.

"You know, I think I will, how's that sound? Let's see..." Lucifer's tone is far from controlled and he ticks down his fingers as he goes, Sam trembling with barely contained rage and fear and loathing. "Red here has murdered countless people, stole from you, and sent you right back into my waiting arms. That other two-bit poser betrayed you, killed and kidnapped people close to your family, trapped Bobby in Hell, helped break open Purgatory and unleash the Leviathans, helped turn Dean into a demon, and set him up with the Mark in the first place. Meanwhile, Pops sat on the sidelines, and not only did he never answer a single prayer, no, he heard you but left you high and dry. Gabe here transformed you against your will, murdered your brother in front of you over and over again, and then happily waited out the Apocalypse. And let's not forget Littlest Holy Shortstack over there attacked you, broke your mind, then let me out and let me in to do whatever I please, which I know you remember so well. Oh! And let's not forget, Dean almost murdered you, has controlled you, isolated you, laid his own hands on you, and that's not counting the time he stuffed another angel inside you without your consent, and ever after said angel used you to murder your friend Dean never even apologized and instead blamed you for it. And don't even get me started on everything else big brother has done. So explain it me, Sam. Why am I different? Why am I exception to your oh-so-magnanimous compassion and understanding?"

"How dare you-" Sam's voice chokes off and then morphs into a barely controlled growl as he switches to Enochian. "You know why."

"I'd like to hear it from you." Lucifer tone is jagged and cold, eyes flat and glittering as he switches to the language of the angels to match.

"Screw you." Sam snarls.

Lucifer's tone is a imitation of indifferent. "Been there, done that. Still wouldn't turn you down for anything."

"You..." Sam's composure finally breaks completely, his voice a keening shout, "You tortured and me for almost 8,000 years-"

"Don't pretend that's all we did down there, Sammy. And let's not forget, you're the one who threw us in-"

Sam laughs a sound that is the farthest from joy, all bitter and broken and twisted, "Oh, so I was just supposed to let you kill everyone, how silly of me-"

"At least you knew the terms I set out upfront!" Lucifer shouts. "I never lied to you, Sam. You knew exactly what you were getting into."

"That doesn't change what you did!" Sam screams as he stalks closer.

"It was nothing you couldn't handle, and it doesn't change that we've had so much more going for us-"

"Exactly, Lucifer! I loved you and I would have done anything for you! And you tore me apart and did what you wanted and you didn't care about the consequences!"

"I've given you everything! Everything! And you were with me every step of the way. So don't go getting all high and mighty on me now."

"You never gave me a choice!"

"It's not like that ever stopped you before!" Lucifer shouts right back.

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE DIFFERENT THAN THEM!" Sam loses it, "YOU TOLD ME YOU WOULD PROTECT ME AND THAT YOU WOULD NEVER HURT ME AND YOU DID!"

"I AM PROTECTING YOU!" Lucifer gets in his face, and then his voice breaks off. "Everything I've done I did for you, Sam, for us! I did it all for your sake!"

Everyone is on their feet now, backing away except for Cas and Chuck and Dean, who are ready to jump in and tackle and punch and magically subdue Satan into submission.

But Sam holds up a hand and shakes his head, screaming at them, **No, I'm dealing with this. Back off.**

Chuck and Castiel listen.

Dean doesn't, because he's not on the same wavelength.

"Sam, you don't have to listen to this slimy-" Dean starts in, readying to tear into Satan like he's always wanted.

Sam switches to English to call him off, all while trying to intercept his trajectory, voice still raw, "No, Dean, don't touch him! We don't know if damaging him will do something-"

"He deserves it!" Dean yells as he keeps advancing.

"You think I don't know that? Me?" Sam yells back, and then he's pulling Dean away, voice cracking and desperate and frail as he rambles, "I can't chance the warding to fail, Dean. I'm not chancing him being set free again!"

Dean freezes, and Sam breaks off, panting.

"Okay, hold it." Lucifer inhales and holds up his hands as he starts talking, deliberately calm. "Sam, take a breather. _You_ can rough me up as much as you like, I won't jump ship or do anything provided you're the one doing the beating, I promise. I'm in your corner." Then Lucifer keeps going before Sam can regain his composure enough to stop him, "Listen, Sammy, we both know you can't handle the Mark. You're too good to be despoiled by that. It'll destroy you. And I'm not letting you debase yourself like that or be coerced into going along with _that_ one's asinine plan when there are infinitely better options."

"This coming from you-" Sam chokes out, half-laughing, but it's all rage coiled too tight in his throat combined with pure shame and disgust.

Lucifer switches to Enochian as he talks over him. "I know you, Sam. I know you better than anyone. And do you really want to stand there and tell me you want to take on the Mark, the biggest curse of fratricide, the thing that corrupted me, anywhere on your person?" And then Lucifer is ten feet away, then four, then one, as he steps closer and closer, voice lowering in volume the closer he gets, "I know you, Sam. I know everything going on inside you." He gestures up and down, pointing, before his hands gesticulate again, wide, fluid motions, "And we both know what will happen if any of that magnificent rage you keep on lockdown gets let out. You are a masterpiece, Sam, and you control yourself and your urges and primal needs with admirable precision. But we both know..." Lucifer trails off and licks his lips, voice becoming too low, too gentle, "You know exactly what I made you to be down there, and all that you have lurking under the surface. And we both know you won't be such a paradigm of control the second that Mark touches your skin. Or you will, until you aren't anymore, and then you snap, and it all gets let out at once. Which might as well be another end of the world, if you follow me."

"Get the fuck out of my face-" Sam snarls in Enochian as he pushes him back into the table.

The Devil switches back to English as he staggers, one hand bracing him from falling prone. His voice is pure steel. "Look me in the eye, Sam, and tell me you really want to do anything that might lead to you hurting or in any way attacking big brother. You really want to chance murdering him?"

Sam licks his lips and glances at Dean and back to the Devil, who dusts himself off and straightens.

"They can lock me up before I hurt anyone." Sam says quietly in English, eyes hitting the floor as he swallows, fists shaking at his sides.

Lucifer crosses his arms and answers back in Enochian. "Really, Bunk Buddy? You want to try again? I know how you get in solitary, Sam. I know how so very lonely and broken you get. And if you go down that road, if you take on the Mark and get imprisoned, all alone, you'd be taking on something worse than the Cage could ever do to you. We both know it. That's not protecting anyone, Sam. That's a fate worse than suicide, worse than anything I've ever done, that you've ever dealt with. And I promised you, Sam, that I would never let anything else hurt you, yourself included." Lucifer finishes and steps so that he's inches from Sam's face, chin tilted up at him.

Sam's eyes burn as he meets Lucifer's gaze. He doesn't have an answer to fight that with, except for one.

"Still doesn't mean I'm going to let you in." Sam hisses in English as he stares back up at him.

Lucifer throws up his hands and starts pacing away as he answers in English right back, "Fine. I hear you. As long as you don't take the Mark, I'm happy. But it's not like we have a lot of options here, kiddo. And you're the one who wants the best plan with least causalities and the most likelihood of success."

"Let's say I even believe you for one second. Back in Hell, you said Michael was out of commission." Sam accuses as he interjects. "After... after what happened." Sam falls back into Enochian as tries not to think about the Cage, what Lucifer did, what Sam did, what Lucifer made Sam do-

Lucifer eyes Sam up and down appreciatively, then leans forward against the back of Sam's abandoned chair. "Not with God's help raising him. And I said he'd be no good in a fight, which is true, but he can still be useful. We don't need him coherent. We just need him as a distraction keeping the Darkness occupied. Dean can take the driver's seat, easy, we both know he can after what we did. And having him in rotation will break that pesky hold Amara has over him, with the True Vessel bond severing it."

Sam doesn't deign that with a response, so Lucifer just keeps talking. "And speaking of which, if you did say yes, you'd get to be in the driver seat, too. Pinky-promise." He holds up a hand twisted in the selfsame gesture. "You'd get all the control. I meant it downstairs and I mean it now, Sam. Together, we can beat her. I swear."

Sam looks back at Chuck, all the tension coiled up inside him.

"Is he lying?" Sam asks quietly.

Lucifer taps his own lip with the same self-assured confidence he always has when he knows he's got Sam right where he wants him.

Chuck stares at Sam with a distinct look of fear and melancholy and knowing and then doesn't meet his eyes.

"Chuck, is he lying?" Sam persists, louder and with more force.

"No, Sam." Chuck sighs. "He's not."

Sam starts hyperventilating and backs up.

Lucifer takes that as his cue and steps back into Sam's space in the interim. "I meant what I said, Sammy. You'd get to stay in control and aware at all times. I'll even leave afterwards, no need to kick me out. This gives us the best chance to live. Don't you want that, Sam? Don't you want to protect everyone?"

"No." Sam hisses, fists at his side as he stares him down.

"Sam. Be reasonable." Lucifer wheedles as he goes to brush Sam's shoulder. 

"I said no." Sam yells in Enochian as he picks Lucifer up and throws him into the table. Lucifer recovers, stumbling upright again, but Sam knees him in the face and throws him back against the wall and starts wailing on him, kicking and punching and breaking whatever bones he can until the Devil crumbles to the floor.

Lucifer holds himself up by frantically clutching Sam's jeans, and doesn't stop talking in Enochian the entire time, voice too mild and too knowing and his eyes too bright even when his lips bleeds and his voice begins to slur from all the punches Sam gets in on him.

"Sam, I know you want to go along with God's plan for once, I get it, I do. But what has God ever done for you Sam? Nothing. He's ignored your every prayer. He's never done anything that's ever helped. We both know the truth. So why would you trust him, Sam? He doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself. He doesn't love anyone, he kept that part of himself locked in the pit, too. And you said it yourself. He left me in the Cage, and then he left you with me," Lucifer spits blood as another punch lands, but keeps going, "And I've always answered your prayers, Sam. You've always had me, only me, looking out for you. Why would this be any different?"

"Shut up!" Sam sobs out a screams as he punches Lucifer into the floor. Lucifer's body is soft and human and feels like it's not angelic at all, but Sam's knuckles still blister and bruise from his own uncontrolled movements.

Lucifer laughs, "Feels good, doesn't it? Being on the other side? You just let all that delicious rage out, Sam, keep on enjoying yourself. You're only proving my point." Lucifer says before he lurches closer to kiss him, lip split open, and he bites down as he kisses, breaking skin, and Sam tries not to swallow any of the blood before he pulls away.

Sam headbutts him, and another punch lands, breaking Lucifer's nose. Lucifer's tone lowers again, blood pouring down his face. "Let me help you, Sam. I've been with you through it all, every single step of the way, you know me, you know what I can do for you, you can't just erase 7,000 years like it's nothing. And you always say no, Sam, you always do, but you always come around when it really matters. I know you, Sammy, and you asked for my help. Me. And I know you miss us, I know you don't want to be alone, I can give you everything, please, you don't have to be afraid anymore, I can be good, just let us have this, let me fix this, take me back, let me fix us, give me another chance and I'll give you what you need-"

Lucifer finally shuts up as Sam elbows him in the face.

"Go back to Hell." Sam whispers, and he can't stop crying, but he keeps punching anyway. Lucifer's eyes never leave Sam's own.

"I can't do that to you, kiddo. I love you. And you need me." Lucifer gurgles, eyes never leaving Sam's own before he repeats, more gently this time, "You _need_ me."

Cas goes to help Sam up, but Sam refuses. He shoves off Lucifer on his own and rises to his feet, still trembling.

"You should have stayed there." Sam gasps, in English, looking at nothing. "You should have stayed there and never left."

"You don't mean that, Sam." Lucifer answers. "I know you don't."

Sam stomps on Lucifer's throat with the heel of his foot and walks away, blood spattered on his face, shoulders hunched, head bowed, and no longer holding it together in any capacity.

Lucifer watches him go, still as a statue.

"Well, that went as well as could be expected." Lucifer croaks. His mouth breaks into a smile as he looks at everyone else, teeth gleaming red with blood.

"You fucked up son of a bitch." Dean growls, but then he's rushing to follow Sam, Cas and Rowena following on his heels while Gabriel and Chuck stare Lucifer down. Crowley and Donatello follow suit.

"He'll still say it!" Lucifer calls after them as he rubs the blood from his mouth. "Sam's a smart cookie. He'll come through when it counts. You'll see."

\--

They find Sam curled up under the vent on the floor in Dean's room, hands still shaking.

The heat is blasting so high it feels like a sauna.

"Sam, Sam, you're okay, it's okay-" Dean tries, but Sam is still inconsolable.

"I can't do this, Dean, I can't get it warm enough, I can't," Sam sobs into his still-bloody hands as Cas and Dean crouch next to him. His voice breaks into pieces, "I can't get him out of me-" And then the sound chokes off as Sam can't breathe again.

Dean helps Sam sit up and then hugs him into his chest.

"I know, Sam, I know, but you don't have to so much as look at him, we're going to lock him up and you won't have to hear a single word out of that fucker's mouth, I-"

Rowena stands by the door, uncertain, then exits to go get something.

Cas rubs Sam's back after he asks if it as alright to do so, and Sam nods, keeping choking out the words until he's almost incoherent, eyes going glassy, "And I can't get it cold enough, but then it's always too hot, and it burns Dean, it burns, it burns, don't leave me down there..."

And Sam crumples to the floor, sobbing all over again.

\--

Chuck and Gabriel and Crowley take on the joint venture of handcuffing and gagging the Devil and then chaining him to chair inside an extensive angel trap in the basement.

Lucifer lets them, and keeps humming, mouth almost curled into a smile.

\--

"Whatever you do, don't pick Monopoly, the last thing we need is to remind the poor wretch of it all by saying don't pass go, don't collect two hundred, go to directly to jail-" Crowley rambles.

Rowena clicks her tongue and waves him off. "I'm not a bloody idiot, Fergus. Now go do something that will actually be helpful."

Chuck and Donatello eye them both while Gabriel goes to get food.

"So, mind filling me in what that was all about?" Donatello finally stutters, looking distinctly confused as he turns to Chuck for answers.

\--

Rowena comes back to Dean's room with a board game of Sorry!, a deck of cards, some plates with waffles, and Gabriel and Crowley in tow. The TV is on, muted, but flickering with light to make this feel more solid, more real, for Sam, who still isn't all there.

Sam is sitting up again, back to the wall, still being supported by Dean. Cas hasn't healed Sam's hands, Sam can't bear anything close to Grace right now, but he has bandaged them.

Crowley hands Sam a glass of water in silence.

Sam takes it.

"Mind if we stick around?" Gabriel asks.

Sam looks at him for a beat, then nods. Gabriel grabs some pillows from the bed and perches on one, handing some other out so everyone can sit.

"You lock him up?" Dean mouths, and Gabriel nods tersely.

Sam catches Crowley saying in low tones to Cas, "Chuck and Donatello are talking to our allies, tracking down Amara, and trying to think of any new plan. I'm going to get the demons on board, pull some strings, and then they'll summon me when they want us all back down there."

Then he turns back to Sam. "Chin up, Moose. You gave him a run for his money."

Sam just stares at nothing.

Crowley leaves.

"Why don't we play something? Get our minds away from all that nastiness." Rowena supplies a bit too kindly.

Sam looks at her and refocuses.

"I thought, with the Darkness-"

"It's all a waiting game now, Sam. Besides, we all could use something to calm our nerves... It's been a day." Gabriel sighs, for once not anything but honest and tired and every bit exhausted archangel.

Sam, Dean, Cas, Rowena, and Gabriel decide to play Sorry!, then play some poker while they pick at the waffles Gabriel apparently flew in and grabbed from the best waffle-house in the country.

It doesn't last, unfortunately.

"I'm going to have to say yes again, aren't I? If we're all going to live." Sam whispers after an hour, hugging himself closer after Rowena heads downstairs.

"Sam, you don't have to take on the Mark or do anything like that crock of bullshit, we'll find another way-" Dean argues, but when Sam looks up at him, eyes wide and broken and old.

"Dean, don't lie to me." Sam looks back at him, eyes vacant and glassy.

_It had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you._

"Sam..."

"I have to, don't I? There's never a choice." Sam spits.

"Sam, no-"

"What else do we have, Dean? What else do we have?" Sam rasps in his face as he grabs his jacket. "Tell me."

Dean looks down.

Sam lets go and runs a hand over his face. The blood has long since dried on it.

Rowena rubs Sam's shoulder.

Gabriel shuffles and then sits up from his cross-legged position, kneeling instead. "Sam..."

Sam looks at him sharply.

Gabriel voice cuts out and he looks down.

"Gabriel. Was... Was he always like this?" Sam asks, very, very quietly, as he keeps staring at the floor. "Before he fell?"

Gabriel looks up again, expression pained. "Sam..."

"Was he? Did the Mark change him? Was he always-"

"I don't know, Sam. I wouldn't know even if I wanted to know." Gabriel admits after a tic. "He was my big brother, and I looked up to him, idolized him, and then everything went bad, and I... I don't know, Sam. Maybe. But I wouldn't be the best person to ask."

"You're an Archangel. Who else is there?"

There's a pause.

"Michael." Gabriel finally says, voice too hoarse. "Michael would know."

Sam rises to his feet and shifts the thermostat from 90 degrees to 32.

"How long have you been in Hell?" He asks Gabriel, still not meeting anyone's eyes.

Gabriel hugs his wings around him. "Long enough."

Sam nods.

\--

And then it's time.

Donatello tracks Amara down and pinpoints the location of the Darkness, and then holds on to the tablets God has him using in emergencies in concert with other angels and demons.

Everyone heads to the chosen rallying point before the space-time bubble activates.

The demons and angels and witches are mobilized. Rowena gets her circle ready. Gabriel helps her set up. One Hand of God in Castiel's hand, another in Metatron's along with more tablets, another in Gabriel's, eight in total divvied up.

Lucifer is there, still chained and gagged and bloody.

Chuck hasn't come up with more options. Transferring the Mark has been voted off the table.

The Horseman's rings glitter on the ground as the Earth opens up.

Michael is risen, is confused, not there almost at all, but Chuck is there, and Michael recognizes him, has his father back, and listens, always was the good soldier who holds on to that much even after everything, as uncognizant and broken as he is.

Dean says yes, and Michael is crushed in the back of his mind. The fire fills him, Michael's lance heavy in his hand, but Dean can't communicate or understand the hazy imprints of what Michael knows or remembers or takes in because the Archangel is barely sentient as-is, whatever happened in the Cage having broken him more thoroughly than Dean can comprehend.

Sam looks at Lucifer, whose eyes haven't left him once. He keeps staring.

The word chokes in Sam's throat, one raw and bloody twisted knife.

But he says yes all the same.


	85. Half God Half Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by in this moment
> 
> also here's where s12 diverts because everyone knows im not a big fan of s12
> 
> also hourglass the chapter is missing note to self to find it

Light bleeds out light and sound and wings as Lucifer curls up inside Sam again, and then it's me-us-together and **_you're mine, mine forever_** , a single note echoing out from the beginning and end of Creation.

For Sam, it's like all his nerves lit up with liquid heat and absolute cold and an old-new-omnipresent memory of love and softness and rough desire that never felt quite real until it is, it's more real than anything, it's the past and present and future and before the Cage and inside the Cage and all the moments after and it still makes Sam's teeth ring, still sends the blood pounding in his skull, still makes him feel alight with the joy and the bliss and the keening glory of everything Lucifer and Sam have ever been.

Sam's too full and brimming and alive and Sam never wants to let go but he does because he feels everything, feels every bit of smug satisfaction and the way Lucifer gets off on this and every bit of love Sam doesn't want to feel from both himself and the Archangel combining with every bit of vulnerable and every bit of unsafe and every bit of alive and every bit of knowing and every bit of manipulation and raw hunger Lucifer's been nursing since Sam threw them back into Hell and he can feel how Lucifer enjoyed every second of every single thing he's ever done to Sam, how it made him feel, the feral viciousness, the sadism, the murderous conquering joy, the dominating need, the want, the lust, the surety that he did it for Sam's own good, and Sam doesn't want anything to do with it but he does, he wants it as much as Lucifer does and Lucifer feels every bit of Sam's terror and pain and shame and need and want and kindness and compassion and love and betrayal and they are both one and the same and bound in their own jointly owned feelings of undiluted love and purest hatred of each other and themselves and Lucifer kisses Sam and fucks his soul inside and out and burrows more deeply than he ever has and Sam is just as undone, just as tangled and conjoined with Lucifer as he is himself-

_Oh, Sam, I knew you missed this, Sam, I missed it, too-_

**Lucifer-**

_I knew you'd come through, Sam, let me take care of us, that's it, there you go-_

It feels good, better than good, better than anything, more perfect and seductive than everything in all of Creation and outside it, and Sam wants to cry and scream and fall to his knees from the feeling and never let go and that's why Sam can't ever let this happen again, because there are worse things now, and Lucifer's sticky film of filthy polluted grace and Sam's memories are also there, also omnipresent, every bit of everything Lucifer did when he possessed Sam in the Cage taking them both apart with a vengeance, and it hurts, and it burns, and it tears them into pieces, and it's just as much agony as much as it everything that's not the Cage and as it is perfectly, divinely wanting, and it's also so, so, so good and Sam doesn't know how he's going to ever get this feeling out of him, he doesn't want to, he can't, he's full and complete, and so is Lucifer, so are both of them-

_Shh, shh, Sammy. I'll be right here if you need me._

And then Lucifer hands Sam off to himself and Sam moves them together in his own body.

Sam inhales, gets as much control as he is able, brimming with power and desire and violence and purpose. Sam can feel Lucifer's wings settling around him, controls that, too, feels the billions of eyes staring out from his own and mouths and antlers and teeth and claws and tendrils of everything Lucifer is, his magnetic grace, all set out for Sam to take and use and shape and wield however he damn pleases.

They head down into the belly of the beast and go to meet the many exiled faces of God on a plane beyond humanity.

The Darkness whispers and sings and bellows things Sam doesn't hear or comprehend as words but almost understands, vestiges and figments of everything he is and how he was made and Lucifer and everything else as well, sees all the threads tying them without beginning or end.

 ** _Samael._** Sam hears, but it filters through without sticking.

Sam hefts Lucifer's spear with shaking palms, and promises himself he will get Lucifer back for this, somehow, in the end.

For Dean, possession is like being hit by lightning, by a super-giant sun that's already gone supernovae, because he's never felt this before. Never had the same bond Sam did, not because of anything done differently except for Michael's over-confidence and need to be as contained and proper and distant as much as Lucifer was and always remains the opposite, and now conjoined as they are, in Michael's current state, that feeling is off, is diluted, is so refracted and mirrored and fragmented that it's more Dean than Michael, Michael's barely an imprint, he's just full, brimming, leeching out heat like a dry fire, like a desert, as empty as a radioactive desert, too, but Dean doesn't feel whole, feels off, feels lopsided and wanting and it's not enough.

But the power is there at his fingertips, burning, as Michael curls up and rests against Dean's soul, barely even alive. Barely anything except a rush of power and grace with no direction, like the slow seeping radiation from a bright pulsing quasar who is about to explode but can't because it's already dying, already bloomed and become an aftershock with only gamma rays to sing out.

Dean follows his brother, lance in hand.

The two weapons aren't wholly material, are able to be held with grace and by archangel forms alone, metaphysical, fully able to interact with the world both immaterial and otherwise. The weight of the two opposite feels slippery and heavy and unfamiliar in their hands, Michael's lance killing the good slow, and Lucifer's killing everyone even slower.

You'd think that sharing the same skin means that you would know everything the other person inside you is thinking or every memory they've ever known right off the bat, but that's not the way it works. With enough time, Sam and Lucifer can read each other from one end to the other, sure, and in a pinch they can more easily call up the memories they shared with an immediacy where they feel everything they felt and everything the other felt, too.

But Lucifer is so old, older than old, that it takes Sam longer to find and call up on all the things he is, particularly since for Lucifer, time isn't the same at all, and sometimes Sam can get a glimpse of ages and ages as if they pass by in a second, because that's just how Lucifer has lived, although, the Cage before Sam drags on in a way nothing else does, longer than Sam can even fathom.

But when Sam tries to figure out what plans Lucifer might be making behind their backs, or what, for instance, is making Lucifer so damn satisfied right this very second, it's like a wall, because the majority of Lucifer's attention is based around how happy he is to be inside Sam again and the rest is all bloodlust and raw emanations of power, even if Sam knows him well enough that this is too damn easy for this just to be his endgame.

If Sam was in the backseat, he could figure it out, easy, since that's when you get a chance to rummage around deeper in the rest of everything going on inside the both of them, conjoined and ephemeral.

But Lucifer is the passenger this time around, and its Lucifer who's able to invade through Sam's brainstem and soul for things beyond present surface impressions while Sam's off controlling everything else, because it's Sam who has to dedicate his time to focusing, to fighting, to driving back Amara when she tries to get in the way so the others have an easier time picking her off, all while making his advance and not drowning in the very essence of the Darkness, which sends over its own timeless impressions of everything, an existence Sam can hardly grasp, even with the whole understanding of an Archangel's mind, and Lucifer singing all his glories in unison with the Darkness' own song from within him.

Sam still knows there's a trap waiting here. The only question is what kind.

\--

Rowena keeps the spell going that keeps the Darkness in place, stops it from moving forward, moving out of the temporal and spacial distortions Chuck specified that will keep the universe from breaking apart. Gabriel is a swift hard hitter, moving fast and dodging back and weaving, while Dean is covering Sam, keeping the Darkness distracted with the help of Michael's burning grace, while Sam drives into the Darkness with the spear and his soul and Lucifer's grace, every part of Sam and Lucifer singing together in unison, the sound clear and bright and like every bit of violent, gentle seduction Lucifer has ever won Sam over with.

Dean sings out, too, a low baritone noise, although the sound is off, is only three-quarters in tune, and Gabriel sings as well, a note more ringing like a bell, Castiel's tenor jazzier and more off-beat but still weaving into the noise flawlessly, and the other angels are harmonizing, weapons of sound and particles and waves all rising out to the meet the great unknowable thing that have birthed them. The more-than-sound injures Amara, who is Nothing, Unbeing, the opposite, and Crowley and the other demons have to shield themselves with help, but they manage with the help of the living Princes of Hell, whose ties to Lucifer and Sam weave them into the chorus as an undercurrent.

And sooner than expected, it looks like they are going to win.

The Darkness, after a long struggle, is contained and driven back, although not yet bound.

Amara is driven back against it, and Chuck is right there, at the precipice...

Sam gets his answer to Lucifer's endgame earlier than he bargained for.

The first clue is when the living Princes of Hell, Asmodeus and Dagon and Ramiel all leave, although they leave something dark and gleaming and curved in their wake. Crowley sees but follows suit, smelling disaster a mile off.

And Lucifer abandons Sam's body as quickly as possible, but it still takes time, Sam's soul drifting, his ears ringing, mouth tasting like fire and blood and ash.

At the sight of Lucifer's true form as it escapes, Gabriel flies and shields Rowena, who has to keep up her chanting, and everyone else not an angel burns up or flees, although even some angels scatter and flee. Chuck is immediately accosted by Amara, the Darkness regaining ground-

Sam sways and is driven to his knees as Lucifer says his parting words.

_Remember, I'm doing this for you, Sam. I love you. And I'm going to win this for us so that God will never let you down ever again._

On his way out, he rips his spear from Sam's unresponsive hands.

He does not don his new body until his wicked purpose is met, but instead goes for Dean.

No, not Dean.

Michael.

Because now that he is front and center and not shielded by Lucifer, the Darkness' attention is on all him, and that's when everything truly starts to unravel into pieces.

Lucifer sings another tune Sam remembers from the Cage, and Dean, no Michael, clutches Dean's head and falls and screams and screams and screams with Dean's mouth, not able to handle both at once. Cas flies to defend him, but Lucifer throws him out of the way, singular in his purpose.

Lucifer rips Michael's lance off the ground where Dean abandoned it, takes it for himself.

Lucifer stabs Dean, stabs Michael with his own weapon, and Dean is slowly foaming at the mouth on the ground.

Sam would run to him, would scream, but he can't move and his vision is hazy and every limb feels broken from whatever Lucifer did on the way out, and it takes all his willpower not to go unconscious, Rowena's protections the only thing keeping him upright and keeping this fight from tearing apart the world.

Lucifer's grace is clearer than anything else, even the Darkness, the line between him and Sam so cold and sharp and bright.

_Get out of him, brother. You have no right to him now._

Michael streams out of Dean, obedient, terrified, unhinged with the thought of his own mortality.

And then Lucifer breaks his brother's lance in two, sparing Dean's life, and Cas covers Dean, stops the sight of Lucifer from burning him, wings huddled over the human he loves.

Lucifer throws the Horseman's rings down, and the Cage opens as his True Voice sings out the words, and Lucifer grabs and tears into his brother, breaks his wings, and throws him down into the Cage with the two fragments of his old weapon, the long, long whistling, windy fall down cut off by the gates closing shut.

Sam finally finds the strength to rise, is able to climb up to his knees-

Wings out and cold and frozen, Lucifer picks up whatever his demons left on the ground and advances on Chuck and Amara, who are still locked in battle, so close, and the Darkness rushes out to meet them-

Lucifer drives Death's Scythe through Chuck's heart.

He pushes the blade in deeper, impaling Amara as well, the two fragments of God pinned to the rest of the Darkness like it's nothing.

_I told you, Father. I told you. This would only ever end one way._

Red eyes stare into older ones, deeper ones, as God is reabsorbed into himself in all its glory, made into everything and nothing and it all.

Rowena keeps chanting, not knowing what else to do, and Lucifer re-inhabits his Caged vessel, and joins in the binding as God is not dead, no, just every emotion and no emotion, ending and beginning, vengeance and love and kindness and wrath and pain and loss and joy and grief. Waves of death throes and birth and everything radiate out from what is God and everything and nothing, I am all that I am and not, and cracks appear in Lucifer's new vessel, breaking some of the binding ties.

Sam knows, because he can hear him now from inside his new skin, feels his grace reaching out to fill some of the wounds he left Sam with.

_You belong to me, Sam. You will always belong to me. And I won't let you give up on us._

And while God may be reaped by one reaper, Lucifer is not Death, and like Death had been by his own blade, so is God once again reabsorbed, rebooted, made irrelevant inside itself because it all-knowing and knows nothing, is space and gravity and a point and singularity as Lucifer locks God away beyond space and time and everything.

Deed done, Lucifer's grace sings, spear still in his hand, and the Princes of Hell return to their master, chanting something of their own as they help the Devil make his escape.

No one ever anticipated this. Lucifer never left Sam when given the option to keep him, never.

Broken and deafened and bleeding, Sam and Dean fly back to earth with Castiel, Rowena and Gabriel having fled the moment God's death-but-not-death-knells ended.

The Bunker is too quiet.

It's only after Sam wards everything he can with Castiel and Dean, inside and out, that Sam finally breaks.


	86. Die Another Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by beatrice eli

"Dean, Dean, please, you have to be okay-" Sam is begging, begging in Enochian and he doesn't even know it, holding Dean's hand as Cas holds on for dear life, making sure both of them are conscious and not wounded.

"Sammy, I'm here, I'm fine, I'll live-" Dean insists, knowing what Sam must be saying even if the language is still mostly gibberish.

They make it to the Bunker.

Dean immediately tries to sit up, winded slightly, and Castiel stops him, insisting they all take a moment to breathe and check themselves for any injuries sustained after possession.

"We're safe here." Cas adds. **_For now._**

The warding to keep Lucifer contained is still working.

After that, Sam collapses.

Dean holds his hand and keeps his head on the floor.

\--

An hour later, Sam still lies crumpled on the floor.

He hasn't moved since Cas flew them out of the warzone. Dean keeps on insisting he's fine.

Dean lies next to Sam keeps calling Rowena, trying to get through the constant busy signal. Cas stays crouched over them keeps trying to summon Gabriel without any luck.

Eventually, they give up.

Sam keeps crying.

"Sam, it's gonna be okay, it's... He can't touch us here." Dean's mouth is numb and his chest still hurts where the lance bit through bone, hotter than molten lead, and Dean stays there, suspended in cotton, pin-needle shock throughout every bone in his body. His mouth feels full of rocks.

"He always finds a way in and..." Sam cries. "And..." Sam starts gasping and shaking and choking on his own fear and he curls in on himself and hides his eyes. "God is gone, Dean. And it's my fault. It's always my fault, there's no choices-"

"Sam, that's not true. Even God went along with this plan. We did, too. This isn't-" Cas adds, and his hand shakes from exhaustion, a sure sign he's drained.

"It's not like God ever really helped," Dean adds.

"He always wins." Sam rasps, mostly to himself, not really listening. "He always wins and he's going to come for me and I can't do this again. I can't. I can't." Sam's voice breaks and he screws his eyes shut and there are no words left to say.

\--

Once Sam has exhausted himself, he's filled with a different kind of restlessness. The panicked, need-to-stay busy kind.

He calls Jody and Donna and everyone they know to warn them, and Cas and Dean help, all of them sending instructions and sigils by email and by phone on the only ways to really defend themselves.

Afterwards, Sam keeps trying to come up with any sort of plan. He chugs coffee and doesn't sleep and pours over old manuscripts and spell ingredients and wards he's drawn every square foot of the Bunker for four days straight and five hours, three minutes, and 27 seconds, so far as Castiel's been counting.

Dean and Cas beg him to sleep, even though they know why he's avoiding it.

"Sam, please-" Dean tries.

Sam ignores him, instead asking, "How much dreamroot, lamb's blood, nightshade, and phoenix ash do we have?" He keeps setting up the bowl and the candles and drawing more sigils.

"Sam, you need to sleep, you're on the verge of collapse-" Dean insists.

"We have 57 ounces of dreamroot stockpiled, seventy ounces of crushed nightshade, although if you're looking for sliced, you only have four ounces left, and a quart of lamb's blood, but no phoenix ash." Cas supplies.

Dean keeps talking over him, getting louder, "You can't help anyone like this Sam, not even yourself."

Sam curses. His knife slices the ridge of his finger when it slips, not deep, but enough to sting.

Dean winces and his voice cuts out.

Sam doesn't even seem to notice his own blood, doesn't even flinch. Dean catches his hands.

Sam looks up, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Sam, stop." Dean begs. "Please."

Sam's eyes begin to water. "I can't go to sleep, Dean, I can't," And then his voice breaks and he's shaking and Dean gently guides the knife from his hand.

"We'll be right here with you, Sam. He can't get in here. We redid all the wards." Dean answers.

Cas pipes up, voice rumbling, "And when you wake up, I'll have all the ingredients for you. I'll find them, and then we'll keep working. Fair?"

"But-" Sam protests, lip trembling.

Then Dean's voice shakes, too, as he grips Sam shoulder. "We'll be right here."

Sam considers, then looks at his split fingers, then looks back up, and gives a tired, resigned nod.

Then Cas and Dean help Sam up, cradling his slumped over shoulders and carrying his dead-weight, dog tired body.

"He'll get inside my head." Sam whispers.

"I know." Dean answers, squeezing Sam's hand. "I know."

Then Cas touches Sam's palm, healing it as he says, voice full of a fire, old and protective, "I won't let him touch you, Sam. I'll find a way in, if you'll allow it."

"You should save your strength-" Sam protests, although it's faint.

"Sam." Cas looks at him, long and full of promise. "I'll be right there with you."

"You don't know that." Sam breathes, because Lucifer has always been good at keeping other angels out.

He doesn't say, **that might just make him angry**. They both know there's a chance there. But Sam doesn't want to face this alone.

Sam accepts the blanket Cas gives him anyway, and he collapses into deep sleep fairly quickly despite his mind fighting it off as much as possible. His body is exhausted from possession and the battle on top of everything else, including the stress of Lucifer being free. Again.

Cas and Dean watch him, hunched over and nervous and bile in their mouths, for all intents and purposes feeling like they've betrayed him, even though he couldn't keep putting this off.

Sam twitches and his breathing is ragged even in his sleep.

Cas holds a hand to his forehead and draws some sigils, hoping his frail grace is enough to breach Sam's mind and fight through the thorny tendrils of Devil's grace singing inside Sam's every heartbeat. He left a lot more residue, this time. It likes to claw at intruders and rip them apart.

Dreamwalking isn't possession, and Cas will leave, if Sam asks.

He knows Sam doesn't want to face this alone, though. It's too much like before.

\--

Lucifer doesn't approach in Sam's dream.

Just watches.

For now.

Sam keeps failing to hide in the corner, back to the wall, as small and hunched over as he can possibly get.

Lucifer perches on the opposite end of the room, one hand on his chin, legs crossed and swung over the vanity of a motel room Sam doesn't want to recognize. He's wearing Nick, although he's also wearing a red flannel shirt Sam knows well, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"Come on, Sam. This doesn't have to be the same. I mean, I get it, I lost my cool back there. Get a grip, Luci. Am I right?" Lucifer tone gets softer. "But everything's okay now. I've taken a breather, reconsidered, and we both know my priorities. I meant what I said. We can be good again. I can be decent, if nothing else." Lucifer says, oh-so-quiet. His hands drop to his lap. "I'll be real good to you, if you let me."

Sam can't look at him.

"You don't need to keep all the doors and windows dead-bolted. I'm not going sneak inside. Pinky-swear." Lucifer adds, voice richer, more melodious, one hand sliding over his thigh, the other hand still on his chin, leaning his head upright. 

Sam stays silent and still.

"But you could let me in the door of your own free will. You know, I'd have even give being mostly human a shot, if I knew you'd go for it, and if your brother or his pet angel wouldn't kill me where I stood. But c'est la vie." Lucifer waves an arm, the gesture sweeping wide.

Lucifer slides off the vanity and steps closer, and Sam's breath catches in his mouth, not-quite smoke in front of his face.

All he smells is blood.

"Stop." Sam pleads, and the tears can't quite stop falling now, his throat and voice a stuffy mess. "Please stop."

Lucifer leans back on his heels. Grants an inch of space he didn't permit before. 

Sam takes in a shaky breath.

"That's it, kiddo. Talk to me. Exercise those vocal chords and tell me what's eating you."

Sam stares at his knuckles, hands wrapped around his knees. Cas still isn't here. He might never be. Sam has to defend himself when he can't even do that right, but he'll try. Even if right now the only thing he's grateful for is that Lucifer hasn't picked him up and laid him out on the bed. Not yet. But he will. And that makes Sam so scared it burns him right through.

Rage crosses Sam's face, although it soon returns to pain.

"You used me." He hisses. "To kill God."

"God isn't dead, Sam. God is free to be what it has always been made to be. Glory to the Most High, and all that." Lucifer laughs. He leans down a little, knees bent. "And I did it to ensure your own continued welfare and settle an old score. Two birds, one stone." Lucifer answers, nails digging into his palms. "Real therapeutic, honestly. Shoulda let you do the same to John. Would've lifted a weight right off you. You're welcome, by the way, for helping you save the world."

"You tried to kill Dean. Again." Sam accuses, pointedly not talking about anything else. His heart remains in his mouth.

Lucifer sighs and pinches his nose. "I'm not going to kill him, Sam. I was just getting Michael out of the way. I promise. If I wanted him dead, well... He would be."

_And you know it. Because you're mine, and you know me. Just like I know you, inside and out._

Sam tries to ignore the grace caressing his Adam's apple and his eardrums and his neck.

"But I won't do that to you. That's all in the past." Lucifer assures, so gentle. Then he straightens as he takes a step forward again. "Face it, Sam. You always say no at first." Lucifer continues, and with every word he keeps getting closer. "But I know you. I was just inside that beautiful mind of yours, nestled right up against your ribcage. And you don't have to pretend, baby. You still love me. I still love you. We can have another go of it."

Lucifer is right in front of him now. Practically on top of him.

Sam shivers.

"I get it. You're scared. Terrified. But I can make that go away. I will. I promise. All you have to do is stop denying yourself what you need."

Lucifer kneels in front of him. And then he's gently, oh-so-gently brushing the hair out of Sam's eyes, and he cups his chin. Makes him look up.

Wide, wide pupils stare back at the Devil, and Sam's mouth twitches.

But he can't quite wrench his head away.

Lucifer's voice feels like a hand stroking Sam's neck, soft but barely hiding the jagged, violent want that is always there, below the surface.

"Let me come home, Sam. Please."

Another hand slides over Sam's palm.

"We don't have to be lonely-" Lucifer coos, leaning closer, lips brushing Sam's own.

Cas opens the door, wings out.

"Don't touch him."

Lucifer straightens, turning on his heels, half-a-smile banished immediately.

"Cas. Ti. El." Lucifer says the name, the name he hates and makes a point not to say, and waggles a finger at him. "You gonna make me?" Lucifer asks, tossing his head, his jaw tight. Sam can see his wings peeking through now, almost tangible, his true face not quite visible yet.

Sam can still feel the frost on his lips, the blue tinge of his own hands, and can't quite move except to cover his mouth and hide his face.

His heart thuds, so, so loud.

Cas might be torn apart in front of him, and all he is grateful for is that he's _here_. Inside a dream. A dream Lucifer always has control over.

Lucifer picks Sam up by the back of his collar and straightens Sam's shirt, pressing Sam's back even harder into the wall. Sam inhales, tiny, shallow, barely there breaths, and keeps his eyes shut until the contact ends.

Cas looks at Sam, and back at Lucifer, and reads the room for what it is. He inclines his head.

"I will do what I can. If that means you tear me apart, fine. Just let Sam be."

"You know, I'm tempted, you have no idea. But don't think Sam is a fan of that suggestion." Lucifer answers. Then he turns and claps his hands together and steps closer to Cas with fake cheer. "And I get it. You're the loyal caboose no one can shake. Sure burned a lot of yourself away trying to get in." Then his head tilts as he glances back to Sam, all teeth. "Remind me to fix the warding on those delicate ribs of yours. I thought I increased security enough, but it appears... Not to be the case."

"Let him sleep." Cas demands, stalking closer.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. "He is. That's how I got in, genius. Just like you. Speaking of, how about you walk out that door, end the spell," Lucifer makes a shooing motion. "And kick yourself out of Sammy's noggin'... Unless you just popped in to watch? Find you liked how I used your hands and realized you got eyes for the wrong brother?"

Sam freezes.

"Kidding. Sam's mine. Although I'm surprised, Sammy. You hate having an audience or other angels kicking around your brainpan, 'specially considering, well..." Lucifer adds, and he flounces on the bed, pulling Sam after him.

"Wait." Sam begs, squirming. "Please."

Lucifer stops short and looks at him, one hand gripping Sam's arm, the other splayed around Sam's chest.

"Look. We... We all know you are going to do whatever you want." Sam rasps. "Just... please."

Lucifer ruffles Sam's hair, mouthing his neck, and two arms tight around Sam's waist, the cold bleeding through the flannel. "Relax, Sammy. I told you I'd be nice. Just because Cassie here ruffles my feathers doesn't mean I'm going to do anything to you. Unless you change your mind, of course, and send that one packing. But if you want an angelic slumber-party for once, I'll bite. I'm sure we all have so many juicy topics to chat about, seeing as we've all been so close lately-"

\--

When Sam finally resurfaces, he looks exhausted. Cas doesn't look much better.

Lucifer mostly just talked, though, kept the touching to the minimum even if he kissed Sam senseless one too many times, which is conservative, for him. Sam knows he's working off goodwill that won't last. Lucifer wants to prove a point, though, have Sam ask him back, so he's playing as nice as he'll get, angry as he is for being trapped, still.

Dean hands Sam another piping hot cup of coffee, and shows Castiel everything he's set up.

Cas stockpiles the ingredients Sam asks for.

It takes three days for Sam to try the ritual he's gunning for to track Gabriel down.

It doesn't work.

Sam tries again.

He's going to summon Gabriel and find a way to stop Lucifer and...

Rowena calls. She's in hiding and on the run, otherwise she'd have made contact sooner. Gabriel ditched her.

She tells them she's dropping the phone but will try to rendezvous in a week.

In the meantime, they're all looking through the lore, all pouring over every option, trying to summon Lucifer's yellow-eyed demons and failing, trying out old news they know isn't going to work, but they don't have other options except for Gabriel, and that keeps being a bust. Donatello is in the wind, and they're not sure if he's dead or in hiding.

Jody stops by with Claire and Donna to try and help them with a few rituals and make sure their own warding is right. Dean stops by their house to check that, too.

Sam stays behind, unable to leave. The Bunker is like a prison, but Cas stays with him, and it's a safer option that being out there, with Lucifer on the hunt, for now.

They summon Crowley, who is on the run from everything in Hell, now, and he wonders if it's safer to hide with them or not, seeing as Sam is Lucifer's main priority. Dean and Sam consider it, because any enemy of Lucifer is one more hand on deck.

He tries to track Rowena down with a blood spell.

That doesn't work, too, and worse, the spell explodes on itself, so Sam has a sinking feeling whatever has got Rowena occupied means she's either under deep cover, or in trouble.

\--

When the next week hits, Rowena is nowhere to be found.

Sam is so scared something happened to her that he even caves and asks Lucifer if he has her.

Lucifer answers in the negative, with one caveat.

"Not yet."

\--

After a week and a half, Castiel's hard work pays off, and Lucifer gets cut off mid-sentence as the spell Cas dug up expels his presence from Sam's dreams every night.

It's blissfully quiet.

Sam is still terrified, not in the know about this particular plan. Cas would tell him, but didn't want to get his hopes up.

"What...?" He rasps, feeling the emptiness around him.

"We found a way to get him out. It's not permanent, but... It will last as long as his new vessel keeps him weak." Cas answers. He would feel guilty for keeping Sam out of the loop, but he knows Sam wants Lucifer away from him, and if he agreed, Lucifer would only hurt him more. This way is safer.

Sam cries in the bathroom where no one can see.

He's not sure if he's relieved or not. Lucifer is going to be so much worse when he comes back...

_Don't worry, Sam. I don't blame you._

The Devil is quiet, after that.

\--

After another week, they keep trying for any solutions, but they take cases in between.

Sam would go crazy if he didn't.

They have no leads on the Devil, nothing that would stick...

Heaven is in panic mode, too. Every time they see an angel that isn't Cas approaching, the angels flee on sight.

Sam still keeps digging into rituals and spells and Lucifer's grace under his skin to try and find a way to dig Gabriel up, because Gabriel's the only one with the juice to stop him...

But the Archangel has proven that if he doesn't want to be found, he won't.

\--

Sam considers finding a way to summon Lucifer's new permanent vessel, but without Lucifer occupying it, it's not much use.

Making sure the Cage-wardings are reinstalled into the body might work if they could draw Lucifer inside again-

But Lucifer won't do that.

Not without making a deal with Sam that Sam won't be able to break.

And Sam can't let him have him again. Not forever.

Not like this, not freely given submission, on the chance Lucifer might go easy.


	87. Girl With One Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by florence and the machine

They don't hear anything about Lucifer for three months. They regard this uneasy silence in state of barely contained panic and keep trying to find any leads, but every trail is cold. No one in Hell will say anything, either. It is as if the entire joint is under lockdown, because not even crossroad demons except for Crowley and a few stragglers ever get summoned. They learn those demons' names real fast, and even then, they end up going on the run, because Lucifer is rounding up anyone who is challenging him.

Lucifer doesn't even send Sam any messages via grace. It's like he's completely cut off.

At 5:13 am, Sam realizes something is going to go horribly wrong the morning his phone buzzes with the message: Hiya Sammy.

Sam freezes. It's signed with a smiling devil emoji.

When he doesn't reply, that's immediately followed by a link to Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up," and a succession of distinctly suggestive symbols. Lucifer is both that petty and completely honest that way.

Same ignores it and tries to trace the number with Dean and Cas, but before they can, Lucifer calls him.

Sam picks up against his better judgement, but only because it might be easier to trace and figure out what kind of vessel he's in.

First rooky mistake.

"Hi, Sam. So good to hear from you." The voice Lucifer is uses already sounds like the throat is burning out, and it is distinctly a younger adult female, although they can't tell if she smokes or if Lucifer is just burning her out that quickly. "What are you wearing? I bet it's plaid again. Am I right or am I right?"

"Whatever you think you are playing at-"

"Sam, spare me the speech. You should be excited. We have so much to look forward to."

"Excuse me if I'm not jumping for joy." Sam's voice still shakes, and he looks to Cas, but he shakes his head. They still can't trace the call yet, he needs to stay on the line longer. "How did you even get-"

"Your number? State secret, Sammy. A magician never reveals his secrets. Although, I've give you a hint. Cas helped. Indirectly, but still. Anyway, I'm still out there shopping for a meatsuit that I can use while Nick is out of commission. But I promise, the moment that changes, we'll catch up properly. How's that sound?"

"Not looking forward to it." Sam grits out. He needs to dump this phone as soon as physically possible. He feels unclean touching it and just from hearing Lucifer's voice.

"Such a killjoy, Sammy. You should be happy. Look on the bright side. Once I get Nick all fixed up, I won't ever need to jump your bones again, except maybe in an emergency or if I need to save your life from some moron. Anyway, this vessel is going to burn out real soon, but it was such a treat to hear your voice. Keep your eyes peeled for me, okay, sweetheart? And when you stop being such a stick in the mud, we'll catch up. I'll be leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow. Don't let me down."

Lucifer hangs up without another word.

They still don't get a damn location.

After that, all hell breaks loose, literally and figuratively.

On the news, Alberta, Canada comes out with a report of 200 people killed and mangled for an indiscernible reason, bloody messages in Enochian (that are just Lucifer waxing poetic about how Sam should really give him another chance and are otherwise insubstantial for helping figure out what he's up to) and spells Sam doesn't recognize littering the buildings and streets.

The next day, Ecuador, Hong Kong, and Morocco all get hit up and painted with significantly higher body counts.

\--

After that, Sam receives about 50 consecutive text messages from multiple numbers all signed with a copious amount of hearts and a devil emoji on every one of his cell phones daily. He also gets about 200 emails with video footage and pictures of people being ritually attacked, tortured, and murdered, or landmarks and skyscrapers being covered in bloody messages all addressed to Sam in Enochian (also accompanied by hearts).

Demonic activity roars back in a frenzy, and based on Angel Radio, Lucifer is running a tight ship operation with all of Hell at his damn beck and call again.

Sam catches all the chaos on the news each day while Dean and Cas and him make a mad scramble to try and contain the damage. Dean attempts to get Sam to ignore it and stay out of the game and has Cas translate the Enochian instead, but Sam still hears all the fallout on the radio in his room, and spots the photos Dean and Cas print out to try and figure out Lucifer's pattern.

That same week, Lucifer leaves 12 fucking voicemails that Sam forces himself listen to. He deletes them immediately afterwards, but each of them is over ten minutes long and more often than not switches voices midway. Lucifer goes through a different person for each one.

"Hey Sammy, you will not believe what kind of day I've had-"

"Guess who? Anyway, heard you tried to look for Red and failed. Bad luck-"

"So I don't suppose you might be open to calling me back? Didn't think so, but a guy can dream-"

"Crowley avoiding your calls? Doesn't surprise me-"

"Do you know how many people I've had to go through today? Too many, Sam, and I'm not conservative about these sorts of things-"

"You know, I still think we can make this work, if you just-"

"Hi Sam. You wearing anything right now? I sure hope not. Maybe you can send pics-"

"Demons are going to be the end of me, I swear, their levels of incompetence are even more staggering than I remember back in the good old days of the Apocalypse-"

"Here's my personal number, since I haven't ditched this phone yet. I've been ferrying it vessel to vessel, although don't get your hopes up trying to track it, we still get cell service in Hell-"

"Man, ten year olds really do have more blood inside them than expected, you would not... Hold on a sec. Stop screaming you filthy little insect, or I'll tear your eyelids off and give you something to really scream about-"

"I set your personal ringtone up. Want to guess what it is? Hint, it involves milkshakes and yards-"

"Good morning, kiddo. You have your first cup of coffee yet? Neither have I, although you should see the Starbucks I redecorated-" 

Each week he leaves at least three more than last time, talking about nothing important and giving less than helpful hints. More often than not there is screaming in the background.

Sam and the others dump all their phones and somehow manage to grab new ones, but even after they get replaced, the messages just keep coming without pause.

Sam gives up trying to counteract the spam after a week. Castiel eventually is chosen to scan and field all Sam's correspondence.

At first, Sam tries to ignore it, but after a week, Sam's laptop somehow gets pop-ups on its own with video feed of Sam in the goddamn shower.

They leave the bunker for motels after Sam trashes his computer. Dean's computer gets hit with it instead with a few more threatening messages that they are forcing Lucifer's hand and that he'll kill more people than strictly necessary for his plans if Sam keeps trying to avoid him. They also get sent videos of themselves in bars and gas stations and coffee shops from security cameras.

Sam gets another laptop mailed to him that week. He sets it on fire.

The next day in the third motel that day, there's another fucking computer delivery. Sam takes it when they flip on the news and find the Opera House in Sydney, Australia covered in blood and runes with 6,000 civilian causalities and 3,000 people injured from inside and outside the immediate area. No one knows what caused the damage. There's similar reports all throughout Seoul, Belmopan, and Istanbul, as well as throughout various cities in California, Arkansas, Iceland, Venezuela, Nigeria, Mongolia, Russia, Turkey, and South Africa, all with varying amounts of causalities ranging from two to ten thousand. The entire world goes into a panic about terrorism from an unknown sector and discussions of secret societies and conspiracies and cults.

The Enochian on each building varies, but all of them include a portion which reads: It's polite to accept gifts, Sam.

Sam gets the fucking message and takes the damn computer after that.

Sam even tries to message back once at 3 am once to try and get Lucifer to ease off, to bargain, but Lucifer is less than cooperative.

The exchange goes as follows:

**Look, just stop. Whatever you are up to... We can figure something out.**

_I'm overjoyed at you taking the time to message back, kiddo, but unfortunately, all of this is necessary. However, I will keep your enthusiasm in mind once I am positive you can in no way screw me over. After that, I may even take you up on your offer. Fair?_

**Why are you doing this?**

_Did you really think I was going to let dear old Dad make me as useless as a human, Sam? No thanks._

**That's not what I meant and you know it. Do you have to kill so many people?**

_Yes, Sam, mostly because I want to, but also because its convenient and aids in achieving my goals. That, and it helps you remember that fighting me has consequences. You always seem to forget that. Did you think I didn't see you sniffing around Heaven and the angel tablets and trying to find all my vaults for some magic solution to trap me again? You're not subtle, sweetie. You should've given me another chance._

**I thought you didn't like lying.**

_True. But I dislike your frustrating tendency towards abandonment more, Sammy. We can start over now. Your holding out is only holding us back... But tell you what. If you really, really want to make a difference, Sam, I have some ideas we can try. I can never stay angry at you. You're too cute, and those long legs of yours are so... flexible._

Lucifer sends the typical stream of gory videos after that, although he does add that if Sam sends over a particular video of his own he might hold off his operation for a week.

Sam follows through with the request to see if it will help actually save anyone. Thankfully, Lucifer doesn't hit up anywhere, as promised, but the content of his texts are much more lewd and altogether far worse for Sam personally. Sam doesn't let Cas field those that week as much as he wishes he could ignore them, but anything marked unread means that Lucifer kills an extra twenty people.

As time goes on, they can sleuth out a pattern, mostly because eventually Lucifer sends an email pointing out what order he hit up each place and the order of all his passive-aggressive messages to Sam. It doesn't help pin him down because by then, he's already moved on.

By the second month, Lucifer has hit up the entire state of Utah, New Orleans, Jerusalem, the Colosseum, some isolated towns in Belarus, the blue horse at the Denver International Airport, most major cities in Texas, Havana, half of Saudi Arabia, a disconnected chain of snow cone vendors and ice skating rinks, Mt. Etna, parts of Hawaii, various places around the Philippines and North and South Korea (the former which is made evident through the giant crater rocking through 3/4 of it, which newscasters suspect to be related to a nuclear testing site until reports corroborate a small freak meteorite hit there), various banks in Switzerland, the Pyramids, the Sphinx, half of Cairo, the Taj Mahal, Brazil, South Carolina, the Airavatesvara Temple, random diners in Oregon, The Temple of the Feathered Serpent, lobster restaurants in Maine, Chichen Itza, Palenque, Oaxaca, Versailles, the Eiffel Tower, The Louvre, Big Ben, The House of Commons, Graceland, Shanghai, a cluster of soccer and basketball and football fields scattered all over, Chile, Broadway, Beijing, various small towns in Kansas and Nevada and Michigan, the world's largest carousel in Wisconsin, Lake Eyrie, Reno, a few places in the Sahara, a few places in Tbilisi and the surrounding area, New Delhi, and various places in Myanmar, Cambodia, Afghanistan, Mozambique, Germany, Prague, Stockholm, Poland, along with a research center in Greenland, the telescope in the Canary Islands, a few cities dotting the outskirts of Jordan, a few isolated places in the Virgin Islands and Bogota and Paraguay, and after that it all blurs together because he hits too many places too fast, although he does hit China fairly often. If they had a cork-board up, the entire world with a human population would have a tack crossing over it.

At one point, they manage to summon Lucifer directly, but he threatens to kidnap Sam if they try again.

The receptionist he's wearing looks less than amused. "Look, I appreciate that you couldn't help but gaze upon this pretty face and all, but I have stuff to be doing, art installations to attend to, rituals to finish, you know the drill. And you know this little circle isn't going to hold me long. But I will take this opportunity for what it is and say that you look especially handsome today, Sammy. Except for the layers. Is that a new jacket? Has an awful lot of fleece, doesn't it? Pity it doesn't show off those biceps more-"

Sam leaves the room. Lucifer's newest meatsuit flames out three minutes in, and his true form zooms off right after it breaks all the windows and lights.

Plagues are unleashed in the House of Congress in Washington, D.C. and buildings in Seattle the same day, also followed by bloody attacks by the Washington Monument as well as a few other national landmarks.

The reason why he's hit up so many places becomes somewhat clear when Lucifer sends a video of him burning through one vessel as he makes some adjustments to Nick, only to force another hapless victim to say yes with a demon threatening her 5 year old kid. The timestamp is November 6th, 3:24 am.

Sam's clock reads 6:23 am. By now, he's pretty sure all the other killings have been for rituals to undo the Cage bindings on Lucifer's God-gifted vessel of choice, or they are just to throw them off his trail while still vulnerable.

After Sam watches, Lucifer video-calls Sam directly. This time he's wearing a guy who looks a bit like a lumberjack and his voice is a husky baritone.

"If you want this to end, Sam, give up a temporary yes. I could stop all this frantic vessel hopping if you just granted me a loan, and then I could fix Nick up in a jiffy. I promise I'll leave after... Oh, 6 months should be long enough. I promise I won't stay or do anything to anyone else while inside you. What do you think? You don't have to answer now. Sleep on it. If you are on board, meet me at the subway station at the address I forwarded you. And remember, sweetheart, if you don't want to be generous, I'll still get Nick fixed, but there will a lot more people burned through, I can guarantee it. And once I get Nick back, I'll remember you being stingy. Oh, and Sammy, if do decide on a yes... Come alone and unarmed."

Lucifer hangs up before Sam can say anything at all.

\--

Sam doesn't go alone. He's not stupid, even though he knows baiting Lucifer won't end well.

Dean and Cas might not be sufficient backup with only holy oil and whatever they can scrounge together to fight demons and angels alike, although nothing is good enough to take on Lucifer directly, but they are following behind, close enough to follow but far enough it looks like Sam's a single lonely speck in the subway station in Chicago.

The entire place is dead. Silent as the grave. All the subways aren't in the station.

All throughout the terminal there's organs and body parts strewn all over and blood splattering the walls as well as a giant billboard covered in Enochian that says, "Welcome to Chicago!" There's also some bloody English graffiti by the entrance to the terminal, namely: "Knew you'd come through, Sammy. Everyone should be thanking you for saving their skin. Literally and otherwise." Also followed by more hearts and what looks like a bloody lipstick stain nearest to the ticket window.

Sam makes it down without a word. He knows he really shouldn't walk into such an obvious trap, but Lucifer's killed at least 500,000 people by now, and that's a low-ball estimate, and Sam knows that, if nothing else, he won't break his promises. Sam needs to end this before Lucifer single-handedly halves Earth's entire population out of spite.

And that is how Sam ends up being directed into a service tunnel by a makeshift installation of a neon arrow from a gas-station strung up by multicolored Christmas lights inside pitch darkness. He keeps following the chain of lights and signs even when they flicker, his own flashlight shaking in his hands. Everything smells singed, like burnt rubber and wires.

Sam's phone rings. He picks up. 

"So glad you made it, champ. Didn't follow all my directions, but you did come unarmed, so I'll go easy. On you, that is. Oh, and if Dean gets caught, don't go after him. I promise I won't kill him. Just will send him and his caboose on a wild goose chase while we catch up. Understood? Oh, and you're gonna want to take a left when you see the bright light. Be seeing yoooooou, handsome stranger." Lucifer's female voice croons, and then the phone goes dead again.

It's after that everything goes bad.

The sound of a lot of hellhounds baying echoes down another side of the tunnel now, and Sam makes a break for the light he can see past the next curve.

Dean and Cas are closer now but still trailing behind (since Cas can't fly from the warding they know is there but can't quite see), but before they are within 20 feet, they all get hit by the waves of Hellhounds, and Sam is thrown to the ground by one leaping past. It doesn't pay any attention to him, but Sam's phone clatters out of his pocket to the ground in the ruckus, unnoticed.

Sam makes it to the light and now can see the outline of what's going on in the direction he came from, the light hitting the tunnel mouth now. Sam scans to see if Cas and Dean made it, but they are making a hasty retreat from what looks like over two hundred hellhounds and a bunch of demons swarming the area from other hidden entrances to the tunnel itself.

Sam would go back, but if he makes it in, Lucifer might call them off if he begs enough...

Dean falls to the ground and starts getting dragged the other direction by the hounds, and Sam makes up his mind.

However, before he makes it down the hallway, something collides with his head and sends Sam sprawling out cold on the floor.


	88. Come Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by iamx
> 
> originally there was a chapter with Lucifer possessing Mary and rescuing Sam from the Men of Letters in between this, but I hated it so much it's gone forever. (basically, it went down like Sam being captured in S12 because the men of letters got involved due to the worldwide apocalyptic death count, but then the men of letters got a nasty surprise, and I really just wanted to write conflicted Mary angst once she realized Lucifer tricked her after raising her from the dead and then I never did... but either way, for the purposes of this fic, all the brits are very, very dead because i hate them.)
> 
> That being said, it still happened, off-screen.
> 
> EDIT- Here's what was salvaged from mostly canon for it, from the chapter Mama, song title from my chemical romance:
> 
> "No one can take that much pain and not break. No one." A voice says over the haze.
> 
> "What are you saying?"
> 
> "I... Ma'am, if you want him dead, then I'll slit his throat right now." The dark-haired woman's voice permeates Sam's muddled head.
> 
>  **It won't work.** Sam's mind thinks, bleary. Lucifer would just bring him back again.
> 
> He always did. Might take longer this time, with the warding.
> 
> Still.
> 
> "But if you want to take this to the next level, you need to make the call." The woman continues. "Bring in Mr. Ketch."
> 
> "I don't want that psychopath anywhere near me." The other voice is clipped.
> 
> A voice, male, this time, enters Sam's ears.
> 
> "Unfortunate, seeing as they already called me in." A male voice answers from behind them.
> 
> _So another ape has apparently entered the Thunderdome. Big whoop. You staying with me there, Sammy?_
> 
> Sam starts to drift into unawareness, and it's almost a mercy. Sam's been scared of Lucifer for so long that human violence seems like a vacation in comparison. Still hurts, still reminds Sam of too much.
> 
> But it doesn't compare to Lucifer and what he does. Not one bit.
> 
> And Sam's still scared of what will happen since he didn't show and what Lucifer will do and he can't let this fall apart, so he keeps praying-
> 
> Thankfully, Lucifer can't invade Sam's mind when he's unconscious. It would a be dreamless nothing, passing out.
> 
> He barely follows the argument drifting in and out of his ears.
> 
> "We'll stop trying to break his body. We'll start to break his mind." The blonde one's voice suggests.
> 
> Sam feels a presence in the room, cold and too close.
> 
> "Yeah, I think I speak for everyone here when I say that's just not gonna happen." Another familiar voice says, voice gradually degrading into breathy laughter. The intonations are wrong, somehow.
> 
> "Mom?" Sam rasps. His vision is all blurry.
> 
> Sam feels the sharp pang of something inside his chest, something that burns, and he looks up, barely holding on to consciousness.
> 
> "Mm, good guess." Lucifer starts in. Sam flinches as the Devil pats his head with Mary's hand. "But not quite."
> 
> _I mean, she's here, sure. Wants to protect her baby._

When Sam wakes again, he's on a mattress on a metal bedframe without sheets, nothing else in the room. That would scare him even while drowsy because he can feel how close Lucifer's chill extends, leeching out from his temporary vessel more because it can barely hold him, but Sam fights the instinctual, ingrained panic down because there's no reason for it, not yet. Sam is still clothed and Lucifer doesn't have him exactly where he wants him.

_Sam, you're finally awake! Come on in, champ. Let's get this show on the road._

And Sam walks to the edge of where he can feel Lucifer radiating out from, sees an old door with a metal bar for a handle, looking almost like a submarine or an underground bunker or a stereotypical abandoned nuclear shelter.

The metal service door has golden light flickering under it, and it gives a rusty screech as Sam pushes it open.

Lucifer waves Sam over, his vessel a dark-haired 30-something year old woman who is already starting to smoke as he kneels over a circle of runes and spellwork with Nick's body inside. Mary's been discarded, it seems, for now, for what reason Sam can guess but not fully know. Hiding Sam from everyone, perhaps? No witnesses?

"Sammy. Together at last. You want to say the magic words before I burn this one out? She's got two girls at home being looked after by a chick on my payroll. I'm sure they'd prefer it if their babysitter got lost and their mom came back." Lucifer's words are a bit too clipped and fast, each syllable chewed on and a bit twisted, like a salesman making good on a deal.

"Only if you promise-" Sam's voice doesn't shake, for once, as he sets out terms Lucifer could ignore, if he really wanted to.

"Yes, yes, let them go, don't hurt them, blah blah blah." Lucifer's tone remains too thrilled, and he waves a hand, dismissive. "I'm no liar, Sam."

Sam doesn't say anything to the contrary, although he raises his eyebrows. Lucifer keeps going, ignoring the expression Sam makes, tone turning a bit more deliberative. "I promise I'll only stay inside you for six months and won't use your body to kill anyone unless it's to save your life. I'll even help out Dean and Cas if they fall into trouble and let them go without any fanfare or my trademark hospitality if we run into each other. Now, you in?" Even as he speaks, Lucifer's voice starts to fall apart, rough and rasping.

Sam gives permission.

It tastes like death. Like a red-hot poker burning through his spine.

There is a bright, too-perfect light and the flash of wings as Sam is filled up all over again.

\--

Sam wishes that getting possessed got old, considering he's yes to it topside three times more than he ever needed or wanted to. Unfortunately, he never quite gets used to the pure kick he always feels, and Lucifer is the same that way, always giving Sam a heady rush of endorphins, of pure bliss, which otherwise blanks out other reactions when the Devil first nestles inside.

That and Lucifer is so beyond pleased Sam almost wants to rip himself apart with his own hands for housing him. It's an infection carving itself in Sam's DNA, polluting him with Lucifer every time he takes him in, an injection of false happiness, like a mix of caffeine and too much prescribed Prednisone hopped up to eleven. Turns Sam's bones to liquid and makes him clammy with cold sweat from heartbeats too quick and tongue dry with the taste of blood and apples and ice down your throat. 

Lucifer crick's Sams neck and rolls his shoulders, taking control by siphoning some of the tension out of Sam's adrenaline-infused limbs. It's not like the first time, when Sam fought him. And it's definitely not like his most recent invasion, where it was everything all at once. This is more like the complete opposite: a slow, steady pool filling up drop by drop as Lucifer expands outwards, flexing and pulsing around Sam's flash-frozen ribcage.

Sam has tried to numb himself out of awareness inside his mind even though Lucifer keeps him awake, and Sam has backed up inside his own head triple-quick, hiding in the farthest corner he can find while he tries to ignore Lucifer, even though he knows he'll fail, and sooner or later Lucifer will pluck him out and take Sam however he wants him from the inside, because Sam can feel it, and Sam knows this, and Sam has no way to stop it.

The only consolation is Lucifer will stop killing so many people now, no more mass ritual murders or frequent vessel hopping burnouts as cheap as the habits of those with too many discarded cigarettes, which is the only reason Sam consented in the first place.

_You keep telling yourself that._

Sam doesn't respond, but Lucifer keeps going.

_Sammy, baby, c'mon. Us. Together again. I told you I would come back for you. And you're being awful cordial about it, all things considered, but... I almost feel like you're trying to avoid me. Which, you can't. Still, what gives?_

**You know already.**

_But I want to chat, kiddo. You've been so quiet lately._

Outwardly, Lucifer is more subdued. He flies their shared body to a hotel room, somewhere that isn't the United States, Sam can tell that much as he does some digging in the back of Lucifer's mind. It's some place he can't pronounce in Copenhagen, past Hundested, and Lucifer picked it for the balcony by the ocean.

Lucifer, meanwhile, carries Nick's body in his arms before putting it back down atop some heavy-duty sigils. He resumes tinkering and altering the Cage modifications so Nick will hold him permanently, but not quell his power. Sam's theory was more than right, it was exactly what he expected, and his mind is less than thrilled at the prospect as clarity fills it.

_That's because you know me so well. Why the self-doubt?_

**Are you going to talk to me without pause for the next 6 months?**

_Sam, I would never abuse your precious mind like that. You need rest and attention and TLC, and you have to sleep sometime. Oh, by the way. One teensy-tiny detail I forgot to mention: if the pace I think we keep up lasts, my work should only take three months. I'm still going to keep you though. Then we get three full months of an unofficial honey-moon we never had, just you and me._

The feeling welling inside Sam's brain feels like he's biting down on razor wire. It pops and frizzes like static as it hits them both with the same heartbeat drop-off on a heart monitor, the sound screeching and unreal.

_Think of it like a goodbye, Sam. Once Nick here is complete, I won't ever possess you again, unless it's an absolutely unavoidable emergency. Like you dying. Or me dying. Stuff like that. I just wanted to have something special with you before I gave that all away. Almost eight-thousand years too late, perhaps, for you, but I did follow through and eventually come 'round._

Sam can feel the honesty, but it's the first part that keeps him reeling. There is no 'just' with the Devil.

**You... You...**

Sam can't say he can't do that, because he can. The rules of kicking an angel out don't apply the same with Lucifer, with his true vessel, they never have, Sam's always learned that the hard way. And even if Sam could overcome the things singing him into submission that Sam wishes he didn't feel, even if he wants to kick him out more than anything, there's 7,500 years of training compelling Sam to listen to whatever Lucifer says while sharing headspace.

That, and breaking the deal means Lucifer can do whatever he wants and will then have the paltry justification to be even less of the pretend-charitable he almost believes he is.

_Sam, I promise I still won't hurt anyone other than you for those 3 months we're all play and no work, and I'm not planning on hurting you at all, provided you stay on your best behavior. Isn't that a good enough reason, if you won't do it out of loyalty for us? Besides, that's a positive estimate. Setbacks might make this take longer. Optimism, and all that._

Sam tries to curl in on himself more, tries to pretend he isn't hearing this, but he has to, there's no way around it.

**Can you please knock me out for a little while? Please. I'm going to lose it.**

_I'll keep you steady-_

**Lucifer, I swear on everything you have ever done, if I don't have some peace and quiet to process this, I'm going to break apart irreparably and you'll only have my insanity for company forever.**

_Won't let that happen, I promise. But I hear you loud and clear, Bunk Buddy. So I'll give you your own accommodations. Besides, I don't need you seeing the sigils that I'm undoing, might give you too many dumb ideas. That's why I couldn't take your offer up sooner, since I know you'd try to sabotage my gift to you. Which reminds me: Happy Belated Birthday, Samuel! I never had a chance to say it before we had to rush away, but know that I look forward to experiencing many, many more with you. We've got such a long way to go._

Then Sam's safely tucked in a corner of his mind where he can't hear Lucifer and feels like he almost has space, although Lucifer can still feel Sam, and can still hollow him out and numb him. He just doesn't feel like it, quite yet.

Sam waits in the quiet dusk of his mind, wondering just what he'll do when Lucifer gets his own body.

And Sam really should study the sigils Lucifer is undoing, in case he needs to Cage this vessel again. Only Sam can't quite muster the willpower. And if Lucifer feels that thought as more than a quiet, rebellious whisper, he'll get angry.

Sam can handle that, most days. He can fight even while scared half to death.

Not like this, with this arrangement, though. Lucifer would eat Sam for breakfast if Sam got him too riled up.

While Lucifer keeps up his work, Sam keeps hidden, waiting, preparing in the recesses of his brain, ashamed of himself for saying yes, except he can't be, because if he is, there will be even worse consequences...

Lucifer never liked it when Sam rejected him, particularly while possessed. He barely tolerated it when pretending to be kind, back in the day. Now... Sam knows his tolerance isn't really there at all.

Sam can still feel the echoes of Lucifer's self, and it rides the waves of terror and lust and satisfaction and wholeness and need and icy joy always trying to pull Sam under. They're on top of him, invading Sam's every lungful and heartbeat and every suffocated, aborted swallow, because Lucifer is altogether not nervous so long as he keeps burning so bright, so frozen, beneath Sam's skin.

\--

Later, after they've flown somewhere else, to yet another small, white-walled apartment suite, Lucifer stretches inside Sam's limbs and rustles the hair on the back of Sam's neck. The rolled-up the sleeves of Sam's still-bloodied flannel brush against Sam's skin, as he does so, fabric soft and about as warm as the Devil has never been. The Archangel himself temporarily abandons his work on Nick's body on the floor, yawns, and walks their shared body over to the open window, barefoot, having discarded Sam's socks and shoes hours before.

He never liked wearing those. Felt constrained, Sam remembers. And Sam wouldn't take note of it at all, except he still feels the cold wood pressing into the soles of his feet when Lucifer opens the window. It's uncomfortable. A breeze flits over their shared legs and feet and then Lucifer is scratching Sam's ankle with the big toe of Sam's other foot, trailing it down the back of Sam's Achilles' heel. Sam's skin erupts into goosebumps, at the feeling of too much exposure, but Sam keeps himself focused on what matters, no matter how slight the grievance.

Hell, this is still his body...

And Sam wants his fucking socks back. One small thing he wants back out of a list of many.

Still. Socks can be accomplished, if Sam begs enough.

_You'll get them, don't worry. No point in keeping them on for the activities I have planned._

That sends Sam's intestines squirming all over again as he curls up inside the back of his head, insides ratcheted so tight he can barely remember how to even fight for individual lungfuls of air. Sam used to be better at fighting, has been as much as possible this entire time, or as much as he is permitted, always scratching away, but Sam knows the name of this game and knows trying to wrestle back control at the wrong time, at a disadvantage, only wears himself out while Lucifer gets invigorated by each of Sam's successive failures.

That, and winning control is never permanent, and Sam knows what will happen the moment his control breaks. Because Lucifer would do it. Would burn the world, one town at a time. Would stuff Sam far, far down without company or hope of escape until he'd finish the work he started.

Sam can't let that be on the table. So he'll play as nice as he can manage, although deep down he knows the Devil deserves no kindness from him.

_Sure I do. Hell, right now, I'm playing by your rules. If I didn't cater to your needs, sweetheart, I'd have long since ridden you off into the sunset and we'd level the world into what it should've been seven years ago. Only this time, I'd have kept your precious loved ones alive and made them watch as I owned you forever. Least 'til we rebuilt Heaven and moved on. But we're not doing that, since this is your sandbox now. I'm just following your vision of the future, stunted as it is._

**This is not what I wanted.**

_Oh, I'm right there with you. Trust me, when it comes down to the gritty details, this isn't exactly what I pictured, either. But you, "Can't always get what you want..."_ Lucifer's grace sings, _"But if you try some time, you'll get what you need.''* What do ya say?_

Sam pretends not to hear him.

The Devil keeps still and watchful as he eyes the lights of the city and the distant ocean and the fading sun as it stretches below the skyline, bathing a row of clear-glass skyscrapers in orange sunbeams of glinting light.

 **Like the light, on the car door.** Sam daydreams, before he freezes in place inside his own head. He can feel Lucifer drawing in closer, tightening around his soul inside his skin, like an inescapable net stretched taut, so close it would leave a mark...

Lucifer doesn't pounce quite yet, though. He's waiting. Observing, as he feels every microscopic sensation as if on a holy mission. He dusts off Sam's jeans. Sam can feel the icy handprints all over his thighs, burning through the denim, more physical and pointed despite the freezing ice-storm swirling inside his ribcage. The nexus of cold shifts as Lucifer crosses Sam's arms in front of him.

_So how'd you even convince Big Brother to let you even seek me out, hmm?_

**He couldn't really stop me, and he knew it.** Sam admits, and he intends to keep talking because if he doesn't, whatever is coming next will happen faster. Engaging is somewhat safer, when Lucifer gets pensive. Not by much, but still...

 _Mystery solved, then._

Only it seems the Devil doesn't feel much like listening to his own voice anymore. Lucifer pauses and rubs Sam's face with trailing fingers, exploring as if he doesn't know what he might find. It has been a while, but not that long, but he didn't have a chance to savor this last time he jumped Sam's bones. They had been too focused on the endgame for Lucifer to properly relish this, for Sam to really _feel_ it...

Lucifer traces, then licks, his lips. Then he's clicking Sam's jaw so his ears finally pop from the pressure change from below sea level to above.

_You know, from all the way up here, I can see how your species looks down on each other, how one pathetic ape thinks itself better than the rest. It's like watching it all from Heaven the first time, before I told Dad what was what. It's always like seeing them for the ants they are, clueless primates lumbering around on borrowed time... Seconds and minutes and lifetimes you lent them, Sammy. Was it worth it?_

**Yes.**

Lucifer laughs softly at Sam with his own mouth and shifts on the soles of his feet, centering Sam's gravity before stretching on his toes.

_If you say so._

Lucifer's expression turns on a dime, trades nostalgic indulgence for something less tranquil and far more drawn and blank. Sam can see it in the reflection of the window, barely a mirage on the glass. Lucifer stares back at him, using his eyes, head tilted and unsmiling, as if trying to figure Sam out.

Even if he is inside him, Sam's always kept some things so close to the chest, he's hard for even the Devil to fathom completely.

Still. Some things don't change. Sam's blanket refusals being one of them.

After a beat, Lucifer turns back to looking outside, and he taps one finger against Sam's lip, then stops as if the clear absence of Nick's wedding ring threw him for a moment. He cricks Sam's neck and taps the glass where a fly has landed on the outer side, instead.

_A box like this might be cheap imitation of the old haunts, but still. Beats nothing. And nothing else could ever serve as a cheap imitation of what we have right now. It's too good, too perfect, to ever be replicated. Wouldn't you agree?_

Sam doesn't know what to say to that, only because Lucifer isn't really focused on that, never is when he starts undoing the buttons on Sam's shirt. The Devil's movements remain slow and absent and deliberate.

 _Oh, Sammy._ Lucifer sighs as Sam's soul swallows and hides its face in his hands. _You're nothing like the lot of them. You've always been higher than each and every one of your supposed equals. Even if you don't agree, even if you've fought me every step of the way... You've always been mine, worthy of me, even if I've had to punish you and push you down to get you to understand-_

Sam can feel the rising panic and tightness in his own throat. It chokes down like salt. He knows talking won't stop this, particularly once Lucifer rids himself of the first layer of Sam's shirts.

_No need to clam up on me, Bunk Buddy. This is our body, the body I gifted you, and I've seen you in far more compromising positions._

**I thought you were going to fix your new vessel. You know, get this show on the road?** Sam manages to stop his thoughts from quaking as Lucifer shrugs off Sam's final shirt. Unwraps him, layers like torn packaging peeled off to reveal all the _gooey, delicious_ bits underneath. Sam thinks the phrasing on autopilot, seeing as Lucifer has said it often enough...

Sam knows he shouldn't push, but does it anyway. **Then you won't need me anymore, remember?**

Lucifer closes the window with enough force it slams, but keeps the drapes open so the sunset beams over their body, sunbeams slanting to hit Sam's chest between the uneven spacing of the broken, slatted blinds. Sam doesn't feel the heat of the sun, there's not enough of it to counteract Lucifer, even if the hair on Sam's torso rises to meet the star like its starving for warmth.

Up here, they're high enough that their stripping act only puts on a show for the birds or maybe the other glass-ridden skyscraper 80 feet away.

_On the contrary. I'll always need you, occupied vessel or not. Particularly when you could use some appreciation for what you offer up so nicely._

Unblinking red eyes staring back at Sam from inside his own, thanks to the thin reflection again.

Lucifer wets his lips and abandons the narrow, pinched look on Sam's face for another expression, all ogling and intent, using Sam's ducked-down-head to assess the full breadth of their shared body...

 _Everyone needs a break, Sammy. Besides, we need something to take the edge off. You're so tense..._ His True Voice turns both threatening and plaintive as he massages Sam's bare shoulders. _And I missed you._

 **You promised-** This time, Sam's accusations shiver as Lucifer takes Sam's own fingers and lightly flicks Sam's nipples, then start rubbing light, careful circles until all Sam feels a constant twinge crowning his spine from head to toe. 

_I suggested it would take three months if I was being optimistic._ Lucifer chides a bit too gently, all while forcing closed stolen green eyes so that Sam is forced to focus on touch, not sight. Lucifer always used touch as a weapon, leaned into tactile physical sensations because they kept him grounded, and Sam's hands and fingers are always the first on the battlefield whenever Sam tries to wrestle back control.

Icy fingertips slide down Sam's torso and abdomen, sliding the belt out from Sam's belt-loops with a hiss. The friction and belt buckle jostles Sam's crotch with enough force to barely sting before too-steady fingers undo the zipper and two legs step out of both crumpled denim jeans and cotton boxers.

Lucifer opens Sam's eyes and looks down. The undersides of Sam's feet are less cold as they step over the discarded fabric, but Sam feels more exposed, like a live wire shorting out. 

_Doesn't mean I'm not going to make this good for the both of us while we have downtime. I've gotta take care of you, kiddo, since you've been so kind as to let me in again._

A few fingers brush up against the head of Sam's cock as if testing something.

Inside his head, Sam inhales, covers his ears, and falls to his knees.

Only Lucifer's True Form catches Sam's stumbling soul and holds it close, keeps breathing Sam in, feeling Sam up with more fervor than Lucifer has using Sam's own hands as of yet.

 _Even if you do owe me._ Lucifer purrs. He resumes stroking with a lazy absentminded consideration, then pauses to suck off Sam's first two wet fingers, considering his options.

_What to do first...?_

**Stop.**

_Sam. You've been taking such abysmal care of yourself. Only fair I fix that. And come on, Buddy. This is the last time I'll get to savor being right on top of you before our little arrangement turns all business._ Lucifer laments.

He starts sucking Sam's fingertips again, this time with a renewed sense of mission. 

_I know you'll miss it more than me when all is said and done. I know so._

If Sam could control his own body, he'd have bitten through his lip. Otherwise, his soul whines, trapped, as Lucifer's real mouths all yawn open wide, all panting and licking and _starving_ with the need to make Sam scream out Lucifer's name...

But Lucifer doesn't do that. Not yet, anyway. He just keeps holding their posture upright, always constant pressure nestled inside Sam's skin.

Lucifer stops sucking with Sam's own saliva and waits. Each finger tingles with phantom warmth once they make contact with air again, and Sam can't help but notice how Lucifer hasn't bitten down his nails at all, either, too vain and still thinking ahead to all the things Sam's unbroken digits can do for him...

Lucifer makes up his mind. He kicks Sam's jeans over the floor, then uses Sam's toes to push them away from the radiator before he shuffles them towards the bathroom door. Sam's discarded boxers follow in a line along the hardwood, trapped under their right foot. They are abandoned by the doorway once the Devil steps inside.

Lucifer strokes a damp thumb around Sam's opposite wrist, palms over his pulse, the attempt to be soothing anything but.

Sam remembers how easily Lucifer can break those wrists from inside their body. Sam remembers the sound, the cracking noise, the sharp burning throb of pain, the sharp, too-wet squelches as Lucifer fucked him through it-

Sam forces himself to focus on literally anything else.

The tile is warm and smoothed over in comparison to the hardwood. The steamed-up bathroom air tastes like generic soap and smells like oranges, but against it all Sam can only really smell and taste Lucifer, the Devil hanging there like ozone and smoke and ice and burnt, rotten fruit smothered against Sam's nose and throat.

Lucifer crooks their elbows, flexes their fingers, and then massages Sam's skull, giving Sam a wry smile as he stares into the mirror.

"Anything you'd like to say?" Lucifer drawls, eyes glittering, tongue poking out of Sam's mouth with a bit too much force as he licks his lips and exhales. Then Lucifer kisses Sam's knuckles and eases off, shunting Sam to the forefront with a sudden, distinct lack of resistance.

Sam stares back at him. Silent. Limbs falling to his sides, trembling, tongue too heavy in his mouth, and heartbeats jumping in his palms.

**No.**

Despite the Cage, despite it all, despite what Sam knows is coming, despite the routine familiarity of the awful things Sam knows will be done to him...

He always feels betrayed. Betrayed by his body, by Lucifer, by himself...

By the fact that Sam knows exactly what is going to happen, because Sam can feel everything Lucifer feels, and he knows that Lucifer can feel everything he's doing to Sam, that he can still feel how much Sam loves him and Sam _hates_ Lucifer and himself so completely, it burns in his throat, and Sam chokes on the taste of smoke and flames, until he isn't anymore, and then the only sensation pouring into Sam's mouth is the sour, too-bittersweet taste of the Archangel, Lucifer's webbed grace the flavor and consistency of milky, liquefied marshmallows and rotten apples and burnt almonds and sweat and skittering locusts and blood and ozone and pine sap and lightning and moist spider-silk and dry ice all simultaneously swallowed and squished inside Sam's esophagus.

**No.**

_Oh, you'll come around, baby. You always do._

One set of wings press into Sam's eyelids. Another set gets shoved down his throat, and Sam breathes ice and the tang of frozen metal and feathers the space between atoms before Lucifer's True Form kisses the Adam's apple of Sam's soul with so much dulled force that it sends pain shooting through the small bones of Sam's nasal cavity.

Sam tries to use that as a springboard to float away, but Lucifer wrenches Sam back down to earth, greedily cradling Sam's cunt while stroking Sam's perineum.

_You know, I was worried I was getting a little rusty. Only it turns out, I remembered your favorites just fine._

Sam's heart skips a beat and a funny bone hits the edge of the counter as he tries to knock them both out against the edge of the tile sink or drag them out of the room.

Their shared body slumps and catches itself, propped up on the counter by that same elbow, thanks to Lucifer holding him fast.

_'Course, it takes a little while for you to allow yourself what you deserve, but you will always be worthy of my attention._

A muscle in Sam's closed fist twitches, but their posture straightens once Lucifer reasserts full control. Although, he allows a few of Sam's micro-expressions to bleed on through for them both to see.

Floodgates of shame burns in Sam's throat and pricks at his eyes, altogether too much to be contained.

Opposite himself, Sam's neck cricks and his head glances back in a puckered look of serious, rapt attention while Lucifer wears his face.

"Sammy, don't feel ashamed." Lucifer rasps, so quiet and assured. "There's no shame to be had between you and me. You're mine. I love you. And I don't blame you for anything. I really don't. You may have broken my heart, but we're strong enough to survive it. And you're doing your very best. I mean, I know you can do better, of course. But that's on me to keep on bringing out your full potential. Without the right encouragement, you just keep spinning your wheels, stalled in place..." Lucifer trails off as he closes his fist around Sam's cock and lightly squeezes, and his vessel doubles over inside, but even the raw feeling of scooped out rage isn't enough to win back control, not by a longshot.

**No.**

_Could've guessed that one_.

Lucifer keeps talking, a bit more force behind both his voice and his jerking movements.

"And I don't blame you for not coming back, or for saying all your favorite single-syllable refusals, either. I know you never mean it, not where it counts," Lucifer coos. Sam's left hand rubs their chin, fingers glancing over the new stubble Lucifer isn't used to feeling on Sam's face while he uses Sam's other hand to keep stroking the head of their erection. He adds, "Can feel all the lies you've been telling yourself inside that grapefruit of yours, Sammy. But now that there's no walls between us, I've got all the answers I need." Lucifer's voice gets higher and breathier as he smiles, rocking back on their heels. Curled fingers slide over Sam's full length, base to tip.

Sam's soul flinches enough to spasm and make his right knee twitch and hit the edge of the sink cabinet.

Lucifer doesn't miss a beat, just keeps staring and talking as he starts knead all the tension out of Sam's lower back. When he's accomplished that, he bends slightly and shifts Sam's other hand temporarily over to numb the stinging pain over their bruised kneecap. Wet fingers stick slightly to skin once they make contact.

"More importantly, I know you wanted to come back. Turns out you were just scared of how I'd react, yet you still wanted to make things right." Lucifer flutters Sam's eyelids and cricks his neck, concentrating as he speaks. One folded pointer finger digs into their shared philtrum hard enough for Sam to feel the imprint against his gums as Lucifer takes Sam's opposite hand and glides it over the skin of their calf. He lifts their right leg, gives a squeeze, then stretches their hamstrings with pointed toes so Sam doesn't cramp up from how rigid Lucifer has kept him. 

Sam hates how relaxed Lucifer forces his body to be. Hates how the fear is there but buried under layers of physical sensations and angelic touches that sends Sam's soul reeling.

_You know I can make this painless, Sammy. And I fully intend to get you to stop being wound so tight... Although, I'll admit, that pert ass of yours wears it perfectly. Still. Something to look forward to when I abandon ship._

Inside, Sam prayers are just snarls of wordless protest at this point, ones the Archangel muffles with his mouths.

"At least, before Cas let the cat out of the bag and you turned all self-defeating in an attempt to escape your well-earned punishment." Lucifer sighs. A thumb pinches the back of Sam's right ankle, hitting a pressure point, and Sam's mind crackles like a thunderstorm, trying to drown everything out as Lucifer braces their knee against the cabinet, spreading their legs wide open. The hand leaves Sam's face to tease between Sam's thighs again, and Lucifer feels up the sensitive skin he couldn't quite reach earlier. Both Sam and Lucifer inhale, and Lucifer lets Sam's struggling self have some freedom, let's Sam's panting breaths escape his lips and tighten inside his chest.

"I mean, the Trials, trying to rip me out of your skin so you wouldn't miss me, asking Death for no afterlife at all... Heavy stuff." Lucifer continues, voice composed, as if Sam hadn't heaved a shaky exhale out with him. He uncrimps their numbed knee and sets their foot back down, keeping their stance wide in the process.

"So I get why you played hard ball when I got you back downstairs. I really do. Defense mechanism. Still," Lucifer stops short and waggles Sam's pointer finger at their reflection, shifting their weight, "What matters is, you know we deserve each other. That there's nowhere else you belong except right here. As for the rest..." Lucifer trails off, thumbing through Sam's memories.

His grace blares, turns headlights-in-fog-murky, suffocating Sam like lungfuls of glacial, sharp smoke as the Devil broods, distracted, most likely trying to stop Sam from feeling the full totality of the noxious, possessive rage that hit the Devil like a freight truck out of nowhere and might jostle Sam from his cocktail of frantic arousal and crouching desperation.

Sam's soul goes limp as Lucifer cards over him, hugs him close, needy and far more than dangerous.

Then Lucifer's grace calms, a violent boiling ocean turned to flat, still water.

And Sam can see what new subject Lucifer has decide to latch on to and panics. 

**No, no, don't, please, Lucifer, please-**

_What, you think I was going to ignore the frat party no one ever properly cleaned up in here? Think I didn't notice it last time I swooped in to save your hide?_

**Lucifer, please-**

_I'm not going to make this hurt, Sam. But you need someone who knows the best way to handle you and ease you back into things. I know you understand... After all, t_ _his is my territory. And it's so sad. You kept trying to keep the world safe and your two favorite hanger-ons kept fucking it up right along with you. Then all it took was one time for you to go on one too-many benders, and without me to chaperone, well..._

 **Lucifer,** Sam soul sobs, **I love you but please don't make me talk about this, please-**

_Shh, shh. Relax. I've got you. I promise._

Lucifer strokes their throat and rolls their shoulders again, taking in deep, even breaths in an effort to keep Sam's biological parts from feeling any kind of agitation.

 _Look. You don't have to talk, Sammy. I know exactly how you feel. But let's face it._ _Big bro invited another angel to roofie you and let you take one for the team. Never even apologized. What an ass._

 **STOP TALKING ABOUT IT.** Sam's thoughts are such a static blur, he doesn't have time to fear the consequences of fighting.

Lucifer's sighs and Sam's eyebrows raise as their whole body locks up on itself. The gridlock doesn't last, though, seeing as Lucifer keeps fingerfucking all resistance down to the bone.

 _You always pitch a fit when things hit a nerve. But trust me. You need to get this out of your system, seeing as right now you're all shy, all distracted and scared of intimacy. Can't have that. You even tried to hide it from me, kiddo, and you know that's impossible. You know I'd notice. You didn't even want to bring it up because you thought I'd blame you. And Sammy,_ _I don't, not one bit. But seeing as I'm the only one with eternal permission to wear you and treat you right... I need to make this good for us, clear the air, make all that bottled shame melt right off you. Understand?_

**Stop stop it stop please-**

Lucifer's expression softens with his voice, but the blow hits all the harder for it. "I know you felt rented out by _Dean_." Lucifer spits the name, but then his voice goes soft again, gentle as his wings are now as they curl around and into the small pressure-points of Sam's spine. "Stuck pleasuring vermin unworthy of you. They just let themselves in. Hitchhikers. Unasked for. Uninvited."

_Unlike me._

Inside, clawed hands carefully lift Sam's soul over so it's laid out on top of the Archangel's own, each pointed digit so careful that nothing hurts, doesn't scratch, doesn't tear-

And Sam's soul struggles in vain as Lucifer's real form starts to kiss and nuzzle into places Sam doesn't want him to be.

**Lucifer, please, don't-**

_Sam, stop neglecting what you really need. Let me make it all better._

Lucifer's true self pokes and slides and seeps and pools inside every opening into Sam, all icy-sharp edges carefully filed and sanded down so Sam doesn't hurt, only leans into the pressure and feathers and teeth and suckling mouths along with every electrical forces pulling them together like magnets, a conjoined imitation feeling of flesh and melting ice and lips and sticky, tacky invasion both inside and out-

Sam moans.

Lucifer lets their body hang, half-draped over the sink as their knees go weak, before he casually leans them upright again.

"I can feel the echoes of what was done to you," Lucifer adds, head tilting as he uses Sam's fingertips to massages their neck and arms and thighs, "What that pathetic mite, Gadreel, tried to do. He gummed up the scar tissue of your soul, filled it with gunk. But I'll get you all freshened up. Don't worry, Sammy. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Your insides don't reek of _shame and weakness_ , no. You're strong, Sammy, resilient and kind and beautiful. You're brighter than every angel except yours truly. But that's to be expected. You beat me, after all. Temporarily, sure, but you never wanted to win, not really. You know who you belong to. You're my perfect, gorgeous _bitch_ , ready for anything I throw at you..."

_All for me._

Lucifer's voice grows rougher as he fails to stay unaffected, thanks to Sam and his stuttering heart. "Always will be. And you know you can talk to me, confide in me, and I'll keep all your secrets. You know I'll always keep you close. And now that I'm back..." Lucifer smacks Sam's lips together, then huffs out a breath. "You don't have to fear any other angels trying to force themselves inside you."

 **You. I have to worry about you.** Sam snarls, so angry and so scared and so overwhelmed his face twists to match his for a moment, and his body stumbles into the sink with enough to bruise the edge of their pelvis.

Lucifer regains control with an inhale and a tilt of his head, smiling even while he sucks the inside of Sam's mouth, all while Sam's other hand starts fondling between his legs again.

One shared left hand digs into the countertop, squeezes the tile, and then lets go.

_Not after this. Besides, I've got your back, quite literally, and-_

"You gave me permission, gorgeous. And I know, despite all your protests, you still want me." Lucifer says, the sound all guttural from inside Sam's throat.

There's a vacuum of feeling inside of ice cold grace, for a second. Two. Seven. Then it rushes in, all at once, a hurricane, a riptide, all force and electricity and ice as it pushes and thrusts its way inside, wide and sharp and endless-

_You need me._

Sam tries to remember to breath, but everything tastes like cotton and blood and metal.

**Go to Hell.**

_Please. I know you missed us, Sammy. I know so. Otherwise, why would you be fighting me so hard? Methinks thou doth protest too much, am I right?_

Then Lucifer's true form is entering inside him, faster, tighter, deeper, all teeth and lips and fingers and tongues contiguously fucking Sam from the inside-out.

The thing beating inside Sam's chest burns and falters and Sam wishes he didn't feel the scream under his tongue, feel the elastic feeling inside his throat, feel the lightning ringing against his teeth.

Felt the love he has tried to kill even as the worst monster comes to drag Sam down with him and force itself inside him, all so Sam can only feel that pure, perfect combination of elation and awe and completeness and need, all against his will.

_You're so scared and trying to prove something you don't have to, you know. I love you. You love me. You chose me. That's all that's ever mattered._

Lucifer's grace hisses as Sam's soul is rocked into him, as Lucifer slides inside every opening, as Lucifer takes every kiss and scream and prayer and wheezing protest-

In the world outside, Lucifer oh-so-carefully walks them over to the shower, quickly turns on the water so hot it burns, except it doesn't, it feels nice compared to the frozen tundra that took root inside the both of them the Devil crooks Sam's own fingers and makes Sam sing. Sam's body would crumple and his slightly bent knees would crash into the floor if Lucifer didn't focus on keeping them so still, upright, not breathing, as Lucifer alternates between choking Sam out and feeling up Sam's head and stroking his cock and fingering his ass, with Sam's head kept flushed and held flat against the glass wall of the shower while he does so.

_And I know the truth, don't worry. You can't keep any secrets from me._

Sam weeps inside his own skull, Lucifer's true from thumbing the tears away and kissing him and squeezing and kneading until all Sam tastes is blood and ozone and Archangel and his own skin as Lucifer uses Sam's own tongue to suck himself clean. Doesn't let Sam feel the contortions of his body beyond human limits as Lucifer heals every popped joint and internal fracture so all Sam knows is the burn of pleasure inside his skull and the feeling of wings enveloping him.

And Lucifer flies them to the bed while Sam can only taste the kiss of his own mouth on his own body or drink up Lucifer's true form shoving itself down his throat, eternal and suffocating. 

_I'm home, and so are you, Sammy. We're home, and even when I leave you, you won't ever be parted from me. I am your home._

Together, they are chemical animal and holy symphony contained inside the world of themselves. And Lucifer wants Sam to linger on every grunt and squeak and taste of this, the feeling Sam's tried to throw away and pretend isn't real, because otherwise he'd always want it even while he tries to run away.

And Lucifer ushers Sam deeper inside his embrace and huddles closer as Sam fills him up at the same time Lucifer fills him, soul and grace interwoven like too-tight cords bound around Sam's throat and chest and fingers and eyelids.

_Now come inside._

\--

Lucifer stops fucking Sam two hours later. Tells Sam to take a breather and cherish some time to himself.

Sam doesn't argue. He just barricades himself in a roped off section of his mind that Lucifer can't help but provide backdrops for.

The library of the Bunker. Riding shotgun in the Impala. The beach, Devil's Slide, their beach in California Lucifer and Sam marked as their own before Sam even knew the Devil's true name, and long after the Apocalypse started up full swing. The rooftop garden they made above their apartment, high enough to see the freeway and the brackish water heading out to the Pacific...

He screams at nothing until his soul can only feel the burn of its phantom throat.

\--

In the driver's seat of the physical world, Lucifer's true form's roaming digits and chatty motormouth all back off while he slides Sam's clothes back on and then goes back to work, kneeling before his next vessel, a dead corpse in a ring.

Nick's body is not Sam, that's for certain, and not nearly as responsive without anyone inside...

But once he gets it back, he can give Sam the companionship his true vessel's always preferred. It can be Lucifer's body, all his, the body he uses to actually live on the same wavelength instead of having to share...

Lucifer can almost see an upside to living an individual life, instead of a symbiotic addition to a host he'd rather remain attached to. Sam would call it parasitic, but Sam's always been against possession in every iteration its ever taken.

But Lucifer will admit, he sees the appeal and can empathize with Sam's love for personal space. He's gotten quite fond of watching what he does to Sam without having Sam's consciousness trying to take the wheel.

That, and he has plans for his new body, and Sam's own, one where sharing won't really work out quite right.

\--

Lucifer works on Nick for two weeks, only stopping to feed Sam and wash him up.

Sam pretends he isn't there until he can't, and then he hides inside the back of his mind, always on edge in case Lucifer changes his mind.

\--

The next place they fly to, the hotel ceiling is covered in mirrors. 

Sam doesn't like them. It's the first thing he vocalizes on his own without prompting.

Lucifer rewards him by watching a movie instead of fucking him senseless that night.

Princess Bride is still a classic.

It's not like Star Wars, not at all, but Lucifer appreciates them for different, opposing reasons. Star Wars dealt more with their parental issues, while Princess Bride...

Princess Bride encapsulated the romanticism and violence Lucifer considers inherent to their relationship. It was something Lucifer appreciates, and Sam does too, in his own way. Both of them seeing their resolve in the same and different places. 

**Offer me anything I ask for...*** Sam thinks along with the lines, and then he's laughing in his head, cribbing his own lines. **I want my _life_ back, you son of a bitch.**

 _You know, every time you tell me to fuck off, I know you're really saying you love me._ Lucifer can't help but answer.

 **To the pain, Satan.** Sam's thoughts are tired in their refusals. But Sam is distracted, and his heart's not really in it at the moment, because it's distant, towed back to the past again, to the first time they watched this together in Jessica's apartment, to the years in the Cage Lucifer held off on torture to build Sam back up and they both pretended things were fine. Sam sometimes pretends things are like that and retreats back there, because they could be, and because he's so far gone sometimes, buried in the Devil, it's all he has not to break apart. Lucifer lets him have those breaks and appreciates them himself, because Sam doesn't fight so much, then. Bends, more malleable without giving up too easily. Taking a break, that's all. Sam vacillates between two extremes to match Lucifer's extremism. It's how he survives.

_As you wish, kiddo. As you fucking wish._

It isn't a threat, though. Lucifer's as relaxed as ever, because Sam isn't even trying at the moment, and both of them know it. Besides, even Lucifer can't keep up the vitriol all the time. Particularly when Sam does exactly what he wants.

When Lucifer lays Sam down and turns off the screen, Lucifer ruffles Sam's hair and tells him he loves him, and mumbles that he's overjoyed Sam saw sense when he snuggles Sam's body under the covers. He lets Sam take the wheel as long as he promises to just drift.

Sam huddles into a ball inside his head and pretends he didn't hear him, but appreciates the quiet silence Lucifer leaves him with despite himself. And he hates himself for being grateful, except he can't, because if he hates himself, Lucifer will punish him, and Sam just wants some peace and quiet.

Can pretend the feeling under his skin is fine and not the end of everything for Sam, even though Sam's been breaking apart even since he said, "Yes," the first time.

Sam would kick him out and run if the option didn't damn everyone else on the planet.

\--

The day after, Sam tries to send them both flying over the balcony when Lucifer is waiting for his improvements to set and keeps watching the sky.

It works, only because Lucifer allowed them get to close to the edge and let Sam take the wheel, to keep him from going stir-crazy, constantly gnawing away at Lucifer like an itch he couldn't scratch. Frantic and bold and aimless.

Sam's body smacks on the rocks however many stories down, tumbling into the sand.

Aside from a sandpiper, there's no one around to see it.

Only with Lucifer comfortably nesting inside, he breathes new life back into Sam, vessel made good as new. Flies them back to the room.

_Humpty-dumpty. You really made a mess of yourself. I could almost consider that breaking our deal-_

**Wasn't trying to get you out.** Sam protests.

_Not why I'm mad, Sammy._

**I know. But didn't do it out of self-hatred or to fight you. I didn't break the rules-**

_Except the part where you are forbidden from hurting yourself, might I remind you-_

**I was trying to make the pain STOP.**

_Sam._

**It hurts.**

_I'm incapable of hurting you irreparably. You know that. And I've barely touched you the past few weeks-_

**Hurts.**

_I can make every single bit of pain disappear in the blink of an eye-_

**No, you can't, and you won't, and even if you could, it won't work-**

_Sammy_.

Sam's thoughts are a wailing scream.

**It hurts to love you.**

Lucifer's control is jostled as he is overwhelmed by everything else Sam's been towed under with. They fall to the floor, gasping.

Then the Devil hugs Sam closer with his own arms.

_I can make it all better, Sammy. You know I can._

They both know how much Sam fears that truth.

**That hurts, too.**

_I can and will make it hurt less. I will make this better, Sammy. You just have to let me..._

**That hurts the most.**

Lucifer doesn't have a better answer for that. He just lays them both down on the bed and hums Sam to sleep inside his head, and then gets up to work on his new body while he waits for Sam to resurface.

\--

"I've got a present for you." Lucifer says when Sam comes to again.

**I don't want it.**

_Too bad._

"Guess who we're visiting today?"

Sam's on the same page the moment Lucifer thinks it. 

**Dean? Cas?**

_Yep, and all your human buddies. The alive ones, that is._

Joy and loss and terror and shame all battle for dominance. Sam misses them. Sam doesn't want them to see them like this. Sam wants them to be okay...

Sam knows he's not getting a choice here.

Fear of punching them out, choking him, killing them, resurrecting them, of all the things Lucifer might do-

**Don't hurt them-**

_I promised I wouldn't_. Lucifer's voice turns dangerous. _I promised, Sam. Even though it's my right to do whatever I fucking please._

Sam doesn't bother to correct the fact that Lucifer is still a liar, even if he has kept his promises.

_For fuck's sake, Sam, I didn't kill Dean. I just threatened to and bloodied him up. Then you threw us in the pit-_

**You were going to-**

_Only if you kept trying to leave. I could still bring him back, would do so once you saw sense-_

Both of them break off, breathless and angry and overcome by their joint betrayals, joint hatred, and conjoined pain.

 **...Why?** Sam is almost scared to ask.

_Because I can, Sam. It's not like they can hurt us like this._

Sam believes him, and wishes he wasn't so afraid of what might happen.

_Have a little faith, Bunk Buddy._

\--

When Lucifer flies Sam into the Bunker, Dean just stares, Cas shielding him, both frozen but unable to raise a weapon to Sam's body. Mary stands in place, wanting to destroy the Devil, but unable to raise a hand to her son.

Lucifer holds up Sam's hands, palms out.

"Relax. Not here to tear you to pieces. Would've done that with the Hellhounds earlier, if that was the plan. Anyway, see, Sam? They're safe. In one piece." Lucifer says, and cups a hand over Sam's mouth. "Sammy here has been behaving like a saint, by his standards." Lucifer adds with a wink.

Castiel tilts his head, assessing the Archangel for any lies. Doesn't see any.

No one relaxes.

"Why are you here?" Cas growls.

Lucifer shrugs. "Wanted to rub it in. I mean, let's not pretend like you haven't been trying to track me down. Trying to find anything to kick me to the curb so you can fight me properly, even though you know you won't. Adorable, really. But you got nothing that can touch me, so..." Lucifer trails off, then gives a sharp, tight smile. "In the end, I guess I win. Again. Patience really is a virtue."

"Sammy-" Dean's voice is hoarse, and then he's yelling, running towards the Devil, "Sam, you gotta throw him out, I know you can-"

"Hate to be a downer, bucko, but Sam really can't. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll let him out to play for a bit. Reward for good behavior. But he hasn't been able to throw me out since the first time. I made sure he'd never try again once he sent us downstairs. You know how it is. How the cookie crumbles. Besides, he won't break our deal. Too many nasty side effects, when all I'm doing is helping him-"

"You've never helped anyone. Especially Sam." Dean growls.

"Uh, I helped with the Darkness." Lucifer defends.

"You killed God." Cas answers.

"No, I restored God." Lucifer corrects. "And the Wizard of Oz had it coming. Anyway. Unless you're planning on some stupid plan to trap me, which won't work, let's take a walk. You, me, your precious Cas," Lucifer lilts the name, mocking, then turns serious. "And Sammy."

"A walk?" Dean is so thrown he doesn't know how to react.

"Yeah. I'll even let you and Sam chat in the meantime, how's that sound?" Lucifer looks a bit too pleased by the prospect.

"Where we walking to?" Dean can't help but be drawn in, missing Sam, and knowing they have nothing at the moment. They've been looking, Rowena's been scrambling to help them, too, so has Crowley, and Eileen, and everyone...

"That depends." Lucifer says, a bit too keen and airy. "Where's the tin can?"

Dean stares Lucifer down. 

"Your metal deathtrap. The thing that broke my control the first time." Lucifer elucidates.

Cas and Dean look at each other. Mary's eyes haven't left Sam once, but she's remained quiet.

Dean leads Lucifer to Baby, Cas and Mary in tow.

Before they get there, Lucifer lets Sam out.

"Dean." Sam gasps, and Dean hugs him. So does Cas. So does Mom.

Lucifer lets him, eyeing Sam inside his head with the focus on a surgeon in heart surgery.

"Sam, Sammy, are you...?" There's no way to finish that sentence, but Dean tries.

Sam just shakes his head and hugs them all.

"I understand." Mary whispers so only Sam can hear. "I know why you did it."

Sam takes the words to heart and listens as Cas and Dean and Mom say they love him and that they aren't letting go.

Cas and Mary do understand, to some degree. It's not the same, not exactly...

But they've all been possessed by the Devil, the worst shared trauma to have in common.

And Sam pretends he doesn't feel Lucifer talking about all the ways he could rip them apart right now, if he wanted to.

Sam can't quite beg his brother or Cas to fight. Not because he doesn't want to trap Lucifer. But because, big picture, Lucifer will be leaving. And Sam doesn't feel like dying for nothing only to get resurrected again when it doesn't matter right now, with Lucifer holding all the cards...

They get to Baby. Sam tilts, body listing to the side, and then Lucifer steadies the both of them again, hands in Sam's pockets.

The Devil stares the car down. Dean looks at him, face white, Cas holding him tightly, both of them remembering what happened the first time...

Mary watches.

Sam doesn't resurface.

Doesn't even try, in case the worst thing happens. Doesn't want to set Lucifer off. Can feel how pleased the Devil is, that Sam isn't fighting him, that Sam is letting all of the Devil cling to his soul, True Form's wings and claws and teeth and lips caressing, almost-soothing, except Lucifer's fingers are shaky and rough and needy and not quite gentle...

In the world outside, Lucifer keeps staring the Impala down like it offends him.

After five minutes or so, Lucifer sighs and looks at the two of them. Cas and Dean.

"You know, I could keep him forever, if I didn't keep my promises." Lucifer says, so very quiet.

Dean chokes on his rage and fear and hopelessness.

Cas stares Lucifer down, feeling like he's failed, because he has. He let Lucifer out again.

His actions let him do this to Sam.

Mary promises she'll destroy him, and Lucifer glances at her, hearing her vowed prayer.

_Doubtful._

Then Lucifer glances back at his brother and pats Castiel's shoulder, then hugs him close, himself. "You know, I don't really forgive you from taking Sam from me all those times. But I will say you certainly made up for it." Lucifer hisses in his ear, "Thank you for giving me my freedom and my chance to win him back."

"Sam. You can beat him. I believe in you." Cas answers, ignoring the Devil. Then Castiel stumbles away.

And then Lucifer is eyeing Dean. Not touching him, because Dean won't let him, and because Sam's scared to let him, and Lucifer doesn't want Sam to be ungrateful.

"You know, you really owe Sam an apology. Letting another angel trick his way inside?" Lucifer says coolly, and Sam's face turns into a mask of pure, disgusted hatred, twisting Sam's face up into something unfamiliar. The only time Sam ever wore something close was when he was in pain; when Dean had called him a monster. "Someday, I will make you pay for it."

Inside, Lucifer holds Sam's soul to his chest so very tightly, Sam almost feels he'll break in two.

"This coming from you-" Dean's laugh is a snarl.

"He's mine. No one else's." Lucifer spits back, eyes narrowing. "And Sam said yes, Dean. Whatever you might think of me, at least he knew what he was in for." Then he smooths Sam's hair, voice flat as he adds, "Yet you still somehow managed to traumatize him more than me. And I punished him. In Hell. For centuries." Lucifer reminds, a bit too exacting. "Quite an accomplishment."

Then he flies off.

Sam is so overwhelmed that he can't even feel bad, because Dean is safe, Lucifer didn't do anything except twist the knife, and it hurts, but it's not worse things-

_Sam, stop doubting me. Or I might just keep you forever._

Sam fights back until Lucifer starts laughing.

_Imagine if I let all that out when we go visit your other friends. The ones that are alive, that is. Eileen, Jody, Donna, Missouri. Rowena, even, seeing as you've become all buddy-buddy lately. Think you'd tear them to shreds without realizing?_

Sam shuts down immediately.

Lucifer kisses his soul and finds his next target to torment.

_Are any of your other friends alive, now that I think about it? Ah, well. If you're good, I'll bring them back for you. I meant what I said. Fresh new start, you and me._

**So you just want to act like you didn't try to kill everyone and that the Cage and everything afterwards never happened?**

_Didn't say that. Just said we can move on. Live together again. I mean it, Sammy. Look. Just sleep on it. You've got a few months to make up your mind._

\--

Lucifer corners Eileen inside a diner. Flies outside and walks in with very little fanfare, all things considered.

"Howdy." He says, also signing thanks to the rudimentary sign language Sam has in the back of his head.

She forces a wave when Lucifer's smile sharpens, but doesn't look surprised, so Sam suspects Dean and Cas warned everyone of this possibility.

It's not like it's hard for Lucifer to track down anyone, particularly when he's the most powerful creature on the earth when walking around in Sam's skin.

One of the few angels left with unbroken wings.

Eileen doesn't engage much, her hashbrowns and eggs half-eaten and left to go cold.

It's weird, seeing her so subdued and watchful.

Eileen grabs his hand, and Sam looks back at her. Then she signs a message to Sam, just for him, even if the Devil can see it.

"None of your friends blame you," She signs, speaking at the same time. Sam also gets the warning, there. Other hunters might try something. Sam might be safe from it, thanks to Lucifer, but any hunters on the other end... They'd be in danger. 

Still. Eileen doesn't hate him.

Sam tries to keep that in mind while Lucifer sings inside his skin.

"We're all going to get you out of this." Eileen promises Sam, staring Lucifer in the eyes.

"Humans and denial. Never gets old." Lucifer sighs and shakes his head at her. "Still, I know you and the dream team and your other hunter buddies have been trying to come up with a plan to rip me and Sammy apart. So. Here's some friendly advice. _Don't_."

He pays her tab just to prove a point and walks out.

Everyone knows the threat for what it really is.

Piss the Devil off, and he might go after you next.

\--

When Lucifer gets to Jody and Donna's, Claire is there with Alex.

Lucifer fries the angel traps and Castiel's recognizable handiwork and breaks the jars of holy oil before he invites himself inside.

"So I was taking Sam for a walk around the neighborhood. Thought we'd stop in. Say hi." Lucifer starts in, and licks his lips. "Oh, and don't bother running. I'll just," Lucifer tilts his head and snaps, making them appear and re-appear a few inches closer, disoriented, the molotov disappeared from Donna's hand. "Do that." Then he holds up Sam's hands, palms up and out. "Not gonna kill you, though, don't worry. Just figured we were due for introductions, seeing how fond Sammy is of you." Lucifer assures, motioning to the room. 

**Stop.**

_Nah._

Jodi grinds out, "Can't say we've heard the same." Her face is lined and bloodless, though.

Lucifer beams at her and rubs the back of Sam's neck. "Yeah, Sam's shy like that. Still. Word on the street is, you got front row seats to the third inning of our first home game. Way more informed than some of Sam's other pals. Oh, that reminds me. Your son. See, I could bring him back properly, if Sam gets on board. None of that nasty eating-your-husband business. Although, looks like you did well for yourself once you got him out of your life. Congrats."

Jody's hands ball into fists as she remembers, and Donna steps in front of her, shaking with rage.

Claire doesn't say anything. Donna doesn't, either, although she looks more than ready to punch Lucifer out.

Sam almost wishes she could, if it wasn't surefire death sentence.

Alex goes back to making something on the stove and doesn't look the Devil in the eye.

They would fight, except that's Sam in there, and it's the Devil. The same Devil no one else has been able to find any solutions for, except for throwing him in a Cage that they don't have keys for. Or, Rowena might, except Sam's pretty sure Lucifer would kill her for trying, and that Dean and Cas have removed that option from the playing field.

Speaking of which: Dean and Cas happen to be visiting and walk in from the other room.

Sam thinks they tracked him there. Scratch that, he knows they did.

And Lucifer felt them, of course, but didn't feel like being friendly.

Sam is too concerned with Lucifer possibly deciding to paint the walls with everyone's blood to think about much of anything else.

_I'll behave Sam. I promised, remember? And you've been so accommodating. Don't fuck it up._

"About that." Dean says, clearing his throat.

"You again." Lucifer laughs, shaking Sam's head. He always holds Sam to his full height, eyes crinkled at the edges in a bitter rage masquerading as mocking laughter. "Shouldn't be surprised. Must really miss your third musketeer."

Sam wonders what Dean and Cas said to the others about this. or if Jody told the others anything else about the Apocalypse, Hell, Sam doesn't even remember exactly what they know...

He is certain of one thing, though. Well, two. Lucifer being Lucifer, and... 

**They weren't going to let you anywhere near them alone.**

_Yeah. Shortstack feels real protective of his old vessels' kid, even if the body isn't even his original vessel anymore. I think possession plays a part in that. Thoughts?_

**Fuck you.**

_Happily. Not now, though._

"Give Sam back." Dean demands, staring Lucifer down. Again.

"Ah, see. I'm not quite done with him yet." Lucifer answers easily. "He's just getting a break, remember?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he's having the time of his life." Dean's voice breaks, and he looks away.

Lucifer shrugs and settles Sam's hands in his pockets. "I could do worse, Dean. Much, much worse."

Dean doesn't have an answer for that.

**What do you even get out of this?**

_...Clarity._

**What the fuck does that mean?**

_Look, Sam, you tried to leave me to save these sorry specimens. Because you loved them. And if I want to win you back, well, I might as well learn to suffer the few people you find important._

**You said you'd do that before, and then you killed Jo and Ellen. Twice.**

_First time doesn't count, happened before the deal. And they tried to keep you from me, remember? I warned them to back off and leave you, safe in Hell, to wait out the worst of it. They didn't. Besides, they're lives were mine to give and take. Borrowed time, remember? And don't say, "That's not how it works." It is how it works, Sammy. I'm on the top of the food chain. Everything is mine. Your frail human hangups are still not my problem._

Cas interrupts. "You should leave."

"I mean, I could." Lucifer counters. "Or I could just stand here, watch Sam squirm as I get to know the unfortunate souls he's latched on to now."

"I'm sure Sam would be grateful if you left." Cas clarifies.

Sam wonders if Cas has been trying to reach him and can't get through Lucifer's grace, but remains thrilled someone is being pragmatic about this. He doesn't need to let Lucifer into anyone else's life.

"You know, as valid a point as that is- I don't care." Lucifer drawls. "But considering he's been such a good sport, I'll take the gag off. Sound good? Good."

With that, Sam's given back his voice and his body and it still hurts.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispers, staring at all of them. "I'm so sorry."

"This isn't on you, Sam." Jody answers. 

"We've got your back." Donna adds.

"Yeah, we'll kick this creep's ass-" Claire starts in.

Lucifer kicks Sam into the backseat again, interrupting as he points, crouching to her level, "Okay, that is adorable. How old are you?"

"I'm not scared of you." Claire hisses back, staring Lucifer down. Donna and Jody and Alex all huddle closer to her, terrified. Alex grabs Claire's arm and shakes her head, but Claire keeps her eyes on the Devil.

"Cute." Lucifer straightens but doesn't move from his spot, just looks at Sam's nails, then back at her as if she's dirt, still all distance. Can't be bothered to get close, not when he's got the human he wants, and can't properly bloody these ones up without ruining the hook Sam's dangling from. "Guess Castiel's brazen stupidity rubbed off when he was inside." Lucifer rolls his shoulders and tilts his head. "What was that like, by the way? Maybe we can compare notes, seeing as sharing headspace with that bullheaded mug is a singularly boring escapade-"

Lucifer steps forward, and Dean and Cas rush to the side and step in front of Claire and the others.

Lucifer holds up a hand. Sam's hand.

His voice gets colder. "You two, cool your jets. Because if anyone's gonna set me off, it's going to be you." Lucifer points to Dean, smile leaving his face in a flash as he steps closer.

"Leave him alone-" Claire starts, then shuts up when ice crackles over the floor.

"Lucifer-" Castiel growls, wings flickering outwards around in front of Jody's family. Not enough to reach Dean, but still...

"Oh, shut it, you." Lucifer pointedly doesn't twist his fingers into a snapping formation, although his hand flexes. "Don't want to tempt fate and have you be a mess of organs again, do we? Not like you just won't stay down, since Dad can't bring you back for the billionth time. Nope. I'm your only hope there now."

**NO NO STOP please please please-**

_Sam, I'm not going to do anything. They just need to learn to be less stupid_. _And I'm not the one who needs forgiveness, when push comes to shove. Now. Deep breaths. Get ahold of yourself. Good._

Claire's expression falters, then she squares her shoulders.

"If you were going to try something, you would have done it already." Claire counters.

Lucifer makes Sam's mouth twitch, expression all unamused danger as he concedes, "True. But you still shouldn't press your luck. I'm not going to be inside Sammy here forever..." Lucifer lets the threat hang, then adds, "And Sam's the one who's going to be suing for clemency if you piss me off. Seems a bit counterproductive to your goals, don't you agree?"

"My brother is going to kick you out and eat you for breakfast. Like he always does." Dean growls at him, stepping into Lucifer's space. Then he searches Sam's face, like he did before. He whispers, eyes wide, "Sammy. I'm here. I'm here."

Wrong thing to say.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and backs Dean into the fridge, leaning, looming over him, attention laser-focused and rapt. One hand grasps Dean's collar, a thumb pressing into his throat.

"You really want to do round three?" Lucifer hisses, Sam's mouth twisting into an ugly shape, and Lucifer inhales, all sharp and bitter. "I mean, you did cheat our deal the first time. I won fair and square, but you just had to come back and ruin everything. What do you think? I won't break my deal with Sammy with everyone else, seeing as he's behaved. But there's an unpaid debt here with your name on it. So as two-for-one special, maybe we can settle the score here and now, seeing as there's no Cage to stop me this time-"

**NO-**

Lucifer licks his lips, wings out, grace humming inside the room and pushing back against Castiel's.

"And I won't kill you. Promise. But I'm looking forward to taking my time with you. Will build you right back up again when we're finished." Lucifer's hand clenches into a fist.

Then Sam's legs give out and Sam is screaming and cupping his hands over his ears and hugging his knees to his chest on Jody's kitchen floor.

"No, no no no no no-" He's babbling, and he didn't even try to win back control, it just _happened._

Because Sam can't relive this.

**STOP I'LL DO WHAT YOU WANT JUST STOP. IF YOU DO THIS I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU-**

_What did I say about saying no, Sammy?_

Sam thinks he hears screaming.

Only it's him and Lucifer, all noise, all pain. Lucifer is everywhere, pushing against him, shoving him down, on top of him, inside him-

Other voices are saying something, too. It sounds like his name.

There's a hand on Sam's shoulder, but Lucifer wrenches Sam away when he recovers and rises to their feet.

"Whoo!" Lucifer crows. "What a rush. Seems like Sam has some fight left, after all. Thought he was overdo for some exercise. Not like I'd really do it. Still. Need to keep him on his toes." Lucifer exhales, rolls his shoulders, and gives them all a pointed grin. "Otherwise... I think I made my point crystal clear." Lucifer says, too lightly, before he keeps going. "See, as insignificant as all of you hopped up apes are to me, Sam still values you. And it's only fair to remind Sam of what we could be if he just stopped being so wrapped up in the past. Or, failing that, what he has to lose if he tries anything once this blows over. See, I can play nice. Or... I won't. All up to you and your little friends. Anyway. Trenchcoat. Pain-in-my-ass. You two take care of yourselves. As for the rest of you lovely specimens, so nice meeting you. Buh-bye."

With that, Lucifer waves and flies them off again.

\--

Thankfully, Lucifer doesn't find Rowena. He does leave her a voicemail.

She calls back just so Sam can hear her voice. She leaves a very heartfelt message saying she's got his back, then goes back to threatening the Devil.

"Sam Winchester's the only one who will kill me." She also promises.

"Good thing I'm wearing his skin. For his sake, I hope we don't find you." Lucifer hums. Then he laughs, "Kidding. Thanks to Sam's generosity, you're safe so long as I'm inside Sam and you don't try anything. But you try to kick the Cage open, tear me out of Sam, the works, well, then... You know, business as usual, Red. Exercise that self-preservation skill I know you have and back off. Then we can go back to killing each other after I vacate Sammy. Fair?"

**Are you just trying to piss everyone off today?**

_Sam. I exist to make my enemies suffer. That, and we needed to stretch our legs. Got all stuffy inside our cozy corner, even if we're used to smaller, more cramped accommodations._

"Sam, promise you'll kick his ass." Rowena asks, except it isn't a question.

Sam will try his best the first chance he gets.

"Not that it's your business, but trust me, his ass is far better suited for other activities." Lucifer's tone is clipped as he grips the phone, Sam's momentary rebellion noted as Lucifer makes their face tighten with annoyance. The Devil clicks the phone shut, always having to have the last word.

_Don't you agree?_

Sam knows the warning signs and plays dead.

\--

He doesn't bother going after Crowley. Sam doesn't really consider him a friend, and he was already of Lucifer's to-kill on sight list. Has been for a long time.

\--

Missouri sees them coming.

Offers them tea, not too hot or too cold.

Lucifer refuses (because he would only want scalding, to make Sam hurt, to remind Sam his place).

Everyone in the room is aware of that fact. Sam can see it in Missouri's eyes.

Missouri doesn't hold back. Says she old, and not even the Devil scares her.

Lucifer replies he's older, and that humans never really see how their mortality is both easily achieved and conditional.

There's a threat, there, too.

_I could make her live out her long life, watch everyone around her die, in her old, failing human skin. Almost like you, Sammy. But I won't._

After a long silence, Missouri warns Lucifer about playing games with reapers.

Lucifer regards her with blank angelic silence.

Sam wonders if Missouri is trying to give him a clue, or is using the only weapon at her disposal to get under Lucifer's skin.

"You should know the future doesn't like being changed." Lucifer finally warns her. "After all, not like Sam isn't psychic, too. Conditionally. Still. Where do you think he gets it from?"

_Oh, right. Me._

"Don't go shooting the messenger." Missouri warns, rocking in her chair.

The Devil walks out the door just to stain her wall with Sam's fingerprints on the way out.

Sam still thinks it almost feels like a victory, but the danger is too close to ignore.

\--

Lucifer doesn't go anywhere else to visit anyone else, because everyone else Sam loves is dead.

Lucifer doesn't balk at reminding him, and having gone through the list, Lucifer flies Sam back to their hotel.

Sam remains subdued.

\--

They don't leave the hotel with the mirrors for ceilings much after that. Sam wishes they did. But it's home base, apparently far from where Dean and Cas and anyone else trying to derail this horrorshow could find them.

In between working on Nick, Lucifer wanders through a greenhouse and lets Sam pick out flowers to put on the windowsill.

 _Deck out the room. Make it more home-like. Get some oxygen._ He suggests.

When they fly back, Sam tries to chuck a cactus out the window and misses.

**Bite me. Oh, wait. You did already.**

The pot breaks on the edge of the windowsill and sends soil everywhere.

 **Grave dirt.** The intrusive thought, the memory of breaking through earth to escape Sam's grave in Hell, filters in as Lucifer shoves him back down.

_I can't take you anywhere._

**Get the fuck out of my fucking body.**

_Your body is mine, Sam. Even if I'm so generous as to gift it back to you, when even God made you otherwise. Your fucking welcome._

Still, Lucifer works on Nick again.

He can get Sam to remember his place later.

\--

One Saturday, two am hits, and Lucifer makes Sam watch as he fucks himself on the bed, never once closing Sam's eyes of his own volition.

The nights afterward follow suit.

Sometimes, he even takes the gag off and lets Sam respond, just so he can see what his body would do if Lucifer was inside Nick and not buried inside Sam's soul. Watches Sam shudder and close his eyes and gasp and twist as Lucifer's true form fucks him from the inside out, even while the Devil keeps control of Sam's two hands before he takes complete control again.

Then Lucifer knocks Sam's body out cold, just so he can go hunting for Sam inside his own brainstem.

That, by far, is the only perk he'll truly miss more than the others.

Constant proximity to Sam's hidden self has always been rewarding.

\--

When he finds him, Sam hasn't bothered hiding. Knows the consequences for it.

No, Sam is just watching, waiting, cross-legged on the floor of his own mind, inside a fake rendition of Bobby's, the carpet worn and red with its twisting pattern.

He knows which battles he can win. Which ones he is guaranteed to lose.

Sam tries to remember how to keep himself elevated, away from it all, safely tucked away out of reach when Lucifer wriggles tighter and deeper within him...

There's a red angel trap on the floor that Sam sits inside. Contained. Motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest.

The trap doesn't do anything when Lucifer scoops him up and strips Sam's soul bare, all while wearing the facsimile of Sam's body. He makes Sam feel all the glory of creation as he fucks his soul with every atom that owns him.

_You need me to go slower, bitch? Or you want to take me all in like the perfect slut you are?_

\--

Sam is even quieter, after that. 

Lucifer doesn't punish him for it or even fuck him for two months. Instead, he works mostly nonstop.

Even so... The aftershocks of everything else keep Sam trembling every time Lucifer washes them up with suds in their hair, or when Lucifer's quick, sharp smile meets Sam's gaze in the mirror.

\--

Once, Lucifer blinks at him and presses a kiss to the mirror.

 **Narcissus.** Sam thinks.

 _Narcissus was in love with himself, Sam. I'm in love with you, and all the wonderful perks you provide._ Lucifer reproves, and it feels like melted tar and stabbing icicles chafing Sam's skin raw as the sensation pokes at Sam's brain.

Lucifer strokes circles around Sam's finger where he'd otherwise twirl Nick's wedding ring.

"Come on, Sam. Talk to me." Lucifer orders. "I want to hear your voice."

_Just because I'm using your vocal chords doesn't mean it's the same. I know you agree._

Sam swallows when he gets control of his voice-box, but he doesn't say anything. He just stares at his knuckles or the imprints of bruises on his upper arms and the bite marks and hickies on his wrists and then he finally looks up into his own face, mouth twisting as it almost forms syllables...

Lucifer eases off slightly.

Then Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head until he can't stop and stumbles, chin hitting the side of the granite on the way down, and his nose runs with blood and something else is wet and warm is on his face, coming out of his eyes, tasting like salt, and his vision blurs-

\--

Sam comes to three days later. He doesn't remember the lost time, seeing as Lucifer gave him blank oblivion for a while.

_I forgot how easily overstimulated you get when we share the same skin. Different levels of endurance, am I right?_

Sam doesn't know if he wants to vow he'll kill him, or say nothing, because temporary unaware oblivion is far kinder than other options on the table.

Lucifer picks a third option for them both and knocks Sam's body out to find him inside his head again.

Doesn't fuck him when he finds him, though.

Just kisses Sam's soul breathless and strokes the soft skin of Sam's arms and neck and waist. Lucifer keeps him pinned against his chest under an apple tree near the house Sam lived in when he ran away from home, once, in a place where Sam and the Devil picked apples down at the adjacent orchard and cuddled against a tree, back when Sam thought things wouldn't go bad.

Now, Sam's soul is stuck straddling the Devil. They're both clothed in heavy winter gear, same as the memory Sam and Lucifer lived once.

"See," Lucifer mouths in Sam ear, "I can be kind, when you let me. I meant it when I said I missed you. All of you. The tender moments, too."

Sam hides his face in the Devil's chest. Lucifer kisses the top of his head and lets Sam drift off in his arms, too tired to fight back, having fought for so long without stopping.

\--

Sam's gaze hasn't dared to look at Lucifer directly ever since, not even when Lucifer makes Sam's head hold his gaze head-on, nor when he gives Sam control back for a few minutes so Sam can curl up on the floor of the shower and try to remember how to breathe on his own.

\--

After three months and four days total, Nick is ready for use, stripped of all enchantments that would keep Lucifer contained. Sam had tried to see what he did, but didn't get far, and any threat of sabotage would void their deal, and Sam can't bear more people being murdered using his own hands...

That, and Sam is scared. He knows how impatient Lucifer's become, how higher the stakes have gotten, how even though Sam was willing to face down eternity for a consequence, he doesn't know how to face it topside, where his consequences for failure actually destroy people's lives...

\--

Lucifer fucks Sam three consecutive times inside his own skin before he says his goodbyes and vacates the premises.

Then he puts on Nick. Stands up, naked and unbreathing.

His grace feels closer, somehow, colder, when he's outside of Sam's skin.

It still tastes like blood and ice and bitter rotten apple cores and too-sugary, choking sweetness on Sam's tongue, and it's three heartbeats until Lucifer pins Sam against the wall, kissing him, and Sam fights, but Lucifer flies them to the same bed with the ceiling mirrors and wrestles Sam into submission.

Sam can do nothing except flail, gaze pinned to his reflection, watching as Lucifer pins Sam's knees upwards and fucks him sitting upright, each instroke making Sam dizzy as Lucifer thrusts up against his insides. And Lucifer fucks Sam's soul and body until his head lolls back and the white of his eyes show and he bleeds, but Lucifer keeps him conscious and aware of every zing of elation and pain that is overwhelmed by unanswered-need. He kisses Sam on the mouth, wet with suction, before Lucifer shifts and goes down on Sam, then keeps fucking him into the mattress for days.

Sam tastes like sweat and terror and retribution and pure, unbridled love, the kind you can only get from surrender.

\--

The next time Lucifer fucks Sam, he's gentle and feels him up as they lie down, still staring into the ceiling.

_You're beautiful, Sammy. Beautiful. I want to hear you say it like you mean it._

Sam doesn't say anything, so Lucifer says it for him, then he says other things, instead.

It takes three weeks for Sam to answer back, and the sound is raspy from all the times Lucifer has wrapped his hands around Sam's throat to manage him more thoroughly.

\--

The sixth month finally hits.

Half a year promised to the Devil.

Like Persephone and Hades.

Only it's like Brady once said: anywhere the Devil goes, Sam's cage follows.

Eat the fruit, get tempted by the serpent, and you get trapped downstairs.

\--

Sam finds himself losing time.

Sometimes, being unaware reminds him uncomfortably of Gadreel.

Other times, the quiet lack of memory is all he has not to break apart.

\--

_You grateful to have your skin be your own and no one else's? You want to show me how much you appreciate it, baby?_

Lucifer holds Sam close and caresses his face as he straddles him and pushes him down into the sand, ice cold waves still not as cold as the Devil but still making the silt stick to Sam's hair and the nape of his neck.

They lie near the rocks they almost died on, except they didn't, because Sam's not allowed to die without Lucifer's approval, and that approval has only ever been temporary, nothing more or less.

_See, Sam. I promised. Now you gotta remember all those promises you made me. Okay?_

\--

Lucifer drops Sam off at the Bunker while he's asleep, all physically healed and clean and wrapped up in a blanket, then deposits Sam in his bed for Castiel and Dean to find. He did promise Sam six months, after all.

He keeps his promises.

And it's not like Lucifer won't get Sam back with him later.

In the meantime...

The Devil has preparations to make.


	89. Lights Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still a bit peeved i could never get the final part of this to cooperate with me
> 
> S12e6. Tbh I really dislike every aspect of this chapter except the Jody Sam bonding.
> 
> chapter title a song by breaking benjamin
> 
> also in case it is unclear owen gets raised so we have a zombie child who eventually is friends with madga even though I really should've developed what she was doing while everything else was going on, but magda and marin and donna and jody and eileen all had their moments doing stuff and magda was offscreen doing things that were trying to be helpful at some point. i just don't remember who I had staying with Magda during this stretch in my outline since she would've been trying to help sam but also kept out of the action being a kid and also out of her depth so... yeah. maybe kevin or garth depending on who is alive and who is around but that's something i gotta figure out for the next edits of this if they ever happen and if I ever restore the unwritten subplots that aren't sam centric.... but i'm also pretty sure the magda stuff is out of order somehow so i apologize for that, too.)

The first thing Sam does when he's back in the Bunker is hug Dean and Cas.

The second thing he does is get up from his bed and boil water for tea. Green tea. Full of 'antioxidants and shit,' Dean had teased him, once, like he teased Sam for all the other things Sam watched. Calories. Cholesterol. Exercise. Like he doesn't know why Sam has to keep minute control of his body in any way he can.

_C'mon, Sammy. No need to be antsy. You've got two months of freedom before I pop the big question. Take a breather. Unless you miss me already?_

Sam paces in the kitchen, unable to sit still, hand plucking at his rolled up sleeves.

_What am I saying? I know you do._

After the kettle wails, Sam chugs the tea before the tea has even steeped or the steam has cooled.

It burns his tongue and scalds his esophagus.

Sam doesn't care.

_Oh, but you do, Sammy. My Sam. All we've ever wanted is to be loved. That's all you've ever really needed. Why you keep coming back and letting me in; because you love me, and you know what I can do for you, what I will always do. We couldn't quit each other if we tried..._

Sam draws some wards and heals himself and keeps his eyes shut tight as he sits on the floor, back to the bookcase.

Still silent. Hasn't said much aside from apologizing. To everyone. Called everyone else's cells, made sure to check in, and then took a trip to the bathroom to puke his guts out.

_Sam. If the separation anxiety is too much, I could pop in. Take the edge off? All up to you._

The next thing Sam does is ward the entire library and camp out in a sleeping bag, with Cas and Dean keeping him company.

Sam reads through every spell and piece of obscure literature and mythology and ingredient list Castiel and everyone Castiel knows and Dean and Rowena and Crowley and everyone have compiled. In another time, with Lucifer safely locked in Hell, Sam would be thrilled by the prospect of all the research.

Now...

Now all Sam wants to do is curl up and hide inside the sleeping bag. So he does.

It's too hot and stuffy inside, but Sam can't quite care. He doesn't miss having a body next to him and he doesn't miss having Lucifer inside him and he's not reeling from all the self-hatred and the pain and fear, so much fear, because he can't really feel the fear, it's too much, Sam's gone numb from it, just as he's barely aware of the fury inside him that's all directed at Lucifer, and he's not going to let the constant yawning emptiness make him feel like he has to say the one word, Lucifer's favorite, aside from Sam vowing he loves him, because Sam isn't lonely after letting Lucifer have his way-

_Please. I know why you were really afraid to say yes again, Sam. Don't lie to yourself._

**I will do whatever I fucking want to.**

_Have fun with that._ Then Lucifer's grace turns all soft and fuzzy and seductive, a low rumble inside Sam's skull. _Still. Got you to admit the lie. Progress is a beautiful thing. Not nearly as dazzling as you. But small steps get us closer to the finish line._

Sam knows he can't make Lucifer shut up. Problem is, he's not too proud to beg, now, and other than that, Sam is afraid he's grown so used to Lucifer being there, being inside his head, that he might miss it if he stopped, and Sam buries that, too. Reality dictates that coercion and proximity and isolation are not a basis for real love, even if it feels real, and those are the only thing driving this bus, now, seeing as Sam would be punished for trying not to love him, and he hasn't had a choice as to he felt for the Devil ever since he was made for him.

And he's still so full of everything Lucifer has filled him up with, soul and grace singing between them like it always does, so bright and wanting and Sam wishes he could smother himself against the sleeping bag because maybe it might make all the things he doesn't want to feel stop. He tries and stops, hugging his sides, keeping himself flush against the fabric and the walls of the bookcase, hard and flat and sharp.

_Comfy. Not the same, though, is it? You always fit so snug, it always felt just right... It's funny, really. How your flesh houses our light, our grace... Yet inside, I'm the one keeping your soul all bundled up, keeping it locked up tight so that nothing can ever touch your soul without my permission. Safe._

**Nothing about you is safe.**

_Maybe not. But you felt safe before. I can make you feel safe again. Managed it half the time this year, as I'm sure you'll agree._

And too many feelings filter through, hungry ones, gentle ones, dangerous ones, and Sam gives in, for the moment.

**What can I do-**

_To make me stop talking? To get some kindness? Some relief? You tell me, buddy. You know what I'm willing to trade. Take your pick and run with it._

Sam eyes his fingers. Sees phantom kisses and phantom lacerations and burn marks and hickies and and blisters and frostbite and blood and bruises and handprints on them, even though the only scars he has are ones he's gotten topside. Lucifer usually heals the outward damage. Not the memory of it, of all the tortures, all the humiliations, all the gentle, too-kind rewards for Sam taking the brunt of his entitlement...

**I can't give you what you want-**

_And we're back to lying again. One step forward, two steps back._

**I have never been able to give you what you want. Not really.** Sam soul sobs. 

_Yes, you do, Sammy. You give me what I want whenever we cross paths, even if you fight to give it._

**I don't know what you really want anymore. I know you think I do-**

_I want you. I want you to be mine, in all the ways that matter. Let us have that again. Let us be happy, you and me. The rest will work itself out._

Sam allows himself weakness, right now. He's at the lowest point he's been in a while, and Lucifer always makes everything hurt even when he takes the hurt away, and Sam doesn't want to hurt, and the distance makes him brave.

**This isn't happiness. Nothing that you've done the past couple months has been happiness-**

_No, it wasn't. It was a reminder, Sam. Of all the feelings you've been bottling up. So no. It's not. Not yet. But it was once. It can be again. Sammy, this is the start of something. We just need to see where the road leads us._

**You're the one carving the road out. Usually using my skin.**

_Let's dispense with the morbid poetry. You wanna lie to me and pretend you really mind, Sam?_

**You know what? Fine. Let's say I let you walk all over me. Let's say I'm used to you calling the shots. Let's say I knew what I was in for. Let's say I still fucking love you. Wake up, Lucifer. I'm so tired. I'm tired of you hurting me and I'm tired of your petty bullshit and I'm tired of having to survive you and I'm tired of feeling anything.**

_If you were, you would stop fighting, Sam. But you always choose the world over your own welfare. That's why you need me._

**If I chose my own welfare, I would have found a way to erase you forever. And just because I love you doesn't give you a free pass to... To torture and debase and ruin me.**

_You could never be ruined, Sam. You're perfect._

**I feel like shit. And you want me to feel this way.**

_Sure. I've been a bit sadistic. I've always been that way. You know that. Just like we both know you need someone to keep you in line, Sam. You can't be trusted with your own welfare. You used to like my vengeful, possessive streak._

**If you wanted something real, you shouldn't have ruined your chances.**

_Sam. Your heart and mouth and soul gave me a free pass when it screamed out for me, over and over and over. And any illusion of willpower I pretended to grant you, or anything you pretended kept you from me, got crushed the moment you proved incapable of taking care of yourself. Once you threw us in prison, you knew what the cost would be. Why is it so hard to accept when you could before?_

**Because I was trading my freedom for the world. Now I'm trading my freedom for... Nothing, really. You can still hurt people. You hurt everyone when you're free.**

_I have a right to hurt people, Sam._

**Just because you can doesn't mean you should. You know what, forget I said anything. Just... Tell me.** **What are you trying to salvage?**

_I didn't think we needed to salvage anything. You just need to accept the truth and take what has always been yours. Just like I take what I want, Sam. Then it will all work out._

**Even if I wanted to give up...**

Sam's too scared to think of a future where he isn't fighting this. He wants his freedom. He really does.

He just doesn't see an option where he gets it.

Sam feels violated. Has felt violated, and at the mercy of something he can't contain, ever since Lucifer walked into his life and pulled the strings. 

**Why do you think I'd let you make me? Why do you think I'd suffer this-**

_Because you consented to it, Sam. You want to fix the trespasses you've made against me. And you want me to love you. You want me to keep you. You've always missed me. And you were willing to pay the ultimate price of everything I am if it meant you kept protecting people, people who have never deserved it, thanks to that bleeding heart of yours. I mean, sure. You're proud, and stubborn, and forget your place, and always take the wrong advice from the wrong sorts of people. But hey. I'm proud. I'm stubborn. I'm inevitable and endless and forever. I can afford to be more patient. And just because you ruined everything doesn't mean I can't fix it._

Sam has nothing more left to say. He knows when it's not worth it.

He curls up and pretends everything is fine. That he'll get through this. Except he's never really come out unscathed, once he made it to the other side.

Is only ever sucked back in again.

But Sam pretends, for the moment. He'll find some way to break this.

And if he doesn't-

Sam doesn't let the thought grow.

Lucifer finishes it for him.

_You've grown comfortable, in your own way, you know. Made your peace, deep down. I feel it. You feel it. But you fight your good fight, Sammy. It won't change how this ends._

\--

They leave the Bunker after a week.

It hasn't felt safe since Lucifer got comfortable inside it. Not when he's topside.

And Sam can still taste Lucifer on his tongue, feel his saliva in his mouth, feel other fluids, swallowed, so cold it burns, in his chest and throat and stomach and seeping into his bones.

\--

It’s been two months and eight days since Lucifer visited.

Jody and her family have almost recovered from the aftermath.

“Ah, Netflix. What do you recommend to fill my day off?” Jody sings out, wine glass comfortably in hand. “Speak to me.”

She lunges down for the remote, the tv turning on with a flash of static just as a knock echoes at the door.

Jody sighs. _So much for me time._ She mourns.

She answers the door and immediately loses her frustration.

It’s Sam and Dean. Again.

This is their third visit this week alone.

Only they look even more worse for wear than they did last time, although still better than the first visit, when Sam came stumbling in, no longer possessed, a shambling wreck after being possessed and constantly apologizing. He had tried to stay outside after asking what he could do to make up for all of it.

Jody and Donna wouldn’t let him. Neither would Dean, or Cas. The Mills-Hascum family knows it wasn’t him, though. That all those awful things done and said…

That was all just Lucifer.

And Jody will admit, this is above her paygrade, or at least, she wishes it was. And thinking about the old Apocalypse, the Devil, Bobby, the dead rising, Owen-

It feels safer, letting the Winchesters come around more often. Even if Sam and Cas and Dean all have targets on their back.

They’re family by now. You don’t cut family out.

“Wow, you look terrible. What’s wrong?” Jody asks, taken aback. Her hand whacks into the door with a slight thud, and she clutches the doorframe, white-knuckled. She looks at Dean, then Sam, then Dean again. “Did something else happen with..."

There’s her opening. They haven’t talked about Lucifer, or what happened after his visit, much. Jody has been trying to get Sam to talk, to literally anyone…

Only Sam shakes his head. Silent.

Not a Lucifer thing, then. One small relief.

He’s tried harder with Jody, because of what Lucifer said. About Owen, and his offer.

Only every time they go to talk about it they both freeze.

How do you talk to someone you love and consider family when you took a shotgun and blew the head off of their ten year old kid who was dead and came back and then became a zombie because the Devil raised him from the dead to spite Bobby because of an Apocalypse you set off?

They both changed the subject after that in a silent agreement not to talk about it together.

\--

Dean doesn’t even broach the topic this time, just shuts it all down with a forced, “Sure, we’d love to come in.”

Then he hugs her and makes his way inside, double-checking all the wards they set up to keep this place free of anything that might get thrown at them.

After all, Lucifer made his threats clear, and there are other things jockeying for their hides again. Power struggles in Heaven and Hell.

Yay.

Only addendum is, Sam has been given a two month grace period to “noodle” on his decision after Lucifer offered up his threat masquerading as a deal. Like it’s even presented as a choice. The ‘decision’ being: Sam lets Lucifer back into his life, or else Lucifer does what he always does. Apocalypse Part 2, eventually. Tormenting Sam like always along with the rest of the world, with special attention to Team Free Will and everyone they love. The works.

Sam hasn’t been dealing with it well.

And it’s been hard, staying in the Bunker. Jody’s house feels comfier, after knowing how long the Devil’s walked around inside their home base. Can infiltrate it easy, apparently, until they find some other stopgap, so what’s the point in laying low in one place when he can show up anywhere and any time on a whim?

Plus, Sam has needed a lot of changes in scenery. Pointedly American haunts, that kind of gig.

Not even off-the-road motels make Sam feel safer, anymore.

Sam has been pretending to be fine, though. Dean can see it in the fake smile on his face that’s bordering on thinly-veiled exhaustion and pain and hysteria.

“Hey.” Sam answers, pinching the bridge of his nose before Dean gets out of the way. He triple checks the wards while Dean is hugged tight by Jody, having painted the majority of the other two layers himself.

Once the doorway is clear, Sam leans in and kisses Jody on the cheek in greeting, grateful and trying not to flinch.

Jody would hug him, but he’s been jumpy whenever anyone touches him lately, so she doesn’t.

He still sees the look of concern on her face, though.

“Yeah, we figured we’d swing by. We just finished a hunt in Brookings.” Sam answers, rubbing his face. His stubble still won’t grow past barely anything, not quite clean-shaven but not quite anything else. It probably is Lucifer’s doing, seeing as Sam still hasn’t aged since he’s gotten out. At least, Sam guesses that’s the case. It’s hard to tell in a short span of time, but not-growing-stubble certainly isn’t fucking normal.

“And you couldn’t take a shower first?” Jody moans with real feeling, scrunching up her nose.

Sam gives her a grateful look. He’s been begging for normalcy. For something to distract him from all the ways he is not dealing with the worst things all on their doorstep again.

Truth is, they’ve all been pretending everything is normal, on and off. They’ve been scrambling for a way out all the time now, but there’s still very little you can do to fight an Archangel.

It’s easier, sometimes, playing the everything-is-fine card. And it’s clearly the name of the game right now. Since they are all waiting and everyone’s tried everything they can think of already.

Still. Dean. Castiel. Eileen. Jody. Claire. Missouri. Patience. Rowena. Crowley. Everyone’s thrown their hat in the ring by now, seeing as it’s almost End of Days Part Deux. Billie’s even been hanging around more, like she’s trying to drop hints, although she’s still out for the Winchester’s blood. Hell, even Naomi has even tried to make contact and got skin in the game, although none of them trust her as far as they can throw her.

Still, enemy of my enemy, and all that.

Gabriel is still missing. Has been ever since he fled after Lucifer slew Chuck and made God… Whatever unknowable entity God is, they suppose. But God had been hands off for a while, so they suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference compared to the first time, when Chuck pointedly didn’t get involved.

(Dean and Sam haven’t mentioned Mary. Not after she walked out on Dean and Cas before Sam was returned, though. No one’s really wanted to talk about it since, and Jody and her family remains oblivious to her even existing. So whatever Mom is planning or working on, she’s keeping it close to her chest.)

Or, they’ve tried _almost_ everything. Sam knows he has a couple options to try and leverage the situation, but all of them hurt and Sam isn’t desperate enough yet. He might try when Lucifer is almost on top of them again, anyway. Lucifer always liked it when Sam caved at the eleventh hour. Might buy time.

But Sam has a month left of almost-freedom, and he’s not wasting it.

Otherwise, the whole crew has even tried to open a line up with reapers and other angels and other monsters and creatures who aren’t so keen on Lucifer being back, but that’s been a dead end so far, mostly because of in-fighting, and factions, or unwillingness to work with hunters or the Winchesters themselves, or derailed by other politics with groups and individuals vying for Purgatory and access to Heaven and Hell.

Or Lucifer has gotten there first, or interrupted mid-discussion, and then left, or got banished by Sam, courtesy his favorite sigil that he’s taught to everyone they know.

Lucifer let him, since he knows Sam is on borrowed time himself.

Anything supernatural they don’t know well isn’t given the same clemency that Sam and his human friends are allowed, otherwise.

If Sam knows something else to try in the meantime, he hasn’t said anything.

“Heh.” Dean grunts a laugh.

“Ha, ha.” Sam’s voice is shot to hell even as he tries to pretend it isn’t. He puts his hands on his waist, then in his pockets, fidgeting. “We figured we’d stop by on the way home and see you, Claire, Donna, and Alex…”

There’s an unsaid question there: **So I can make things right with them, and you, if you’ll allow it?**

Despite the frequent check-ins, Sam still hasn’t felt comfortably part of the family. Feels out of place all over again, and hasn’t hidden it as well as he would like.

Dean and Cas and Jody and Donna know his tells by now, and they’ve been meaning to hang out more so Sam’s possession doesn’t remain something hanging over them, like a thundercloud, or an aggressive terminal disease. And while things have been awkward, they’ve been trying to make Sam understand…

It’s not his fault. Even if he thinks it is. Sure, seven years ago, he said yes. Sure, he broke the last Seal. But Sam went to Hell to lock up the Devil, and he got out the other side. And okay, Cas led Lucifer back to earth, apparently, rendering the technical consequences of that sacrifice moot, even if the spirit remains.

But the Winchesters literally had to fight God along with the Devil, and way back when the angels and demons broke all the other seals leading to the Apocalypse except for two, and Satan had killed over half a million people in two months and stopped only because Sam said yes, so Jody doesn’t see how coerced decisions count against any of them.

Sam was just doing what he could at a far too-high personal cost.

Jody and Donna have heard some things, after all, about the Devil’s interest in Sam, and other things. Bobby said some things while drunk to Jody, once, in confidence. Jody hasn’t betrayed what she heard to anyone, not even Donna.

And it’s possible Sam doesn’t know about the rumor mill other hunters have been privy to and spreading around, or he’s ignoring it, most likely the same way he’s ignored the whispered conversations or the implied barbs Dean has sent on over on bad days that Jody and Donna have accidentally walked in on, once or twice.

But they know the signs of people who have been abused.

Jody sees it all the time, in her job. Particularly with domestic cases, and she can read between the lines. That, and it’s not like she and Donna haven’t had their fair share of unhealthy relationships, too, back in the day. Forced heterosexuality and being in the closet and not even knowing the right words for what you are tend to lead to mistakes when you are trying to figure yourself out.

Still. They’ve tried to talk about it with Sam. Giving advice and support and asking relevant questions, but vaguely, not on a personal level.

Sam knows what they are trying to do, but can’t quite talk about it, anyway. Draws back even when he’s pretending this isn’t about him when they try to talk about it.

Sometimes he would just walk out and leave, though, not wanting to listen. He did that a lot, when he thought Dean was gone forever. Those days had been bad, too. But a different kind of bad.

A bad when you are removed from the situation, not one where you are driven right back into the fire again.

Jody pats his shoulder, silently communicating: **There’s nothing to make right, Sam.**

She keeps her tone light and gives Sam a gentle look, when she responds, “Aw, that’s fun.” She starts in, twanging voice both dead tired and playful and apologetic, “Unfortunately the girls are in Omaha for the weekend…”

And Sam gives a nervous smile and ducks down at her, like he’s happy they’re doing normal things, because he is, and that he’s not terrified everyone is avoiding him because they aren’t, they’ve told him they aren’t…

Jody’s voice is steady as she continues, “Being angsty,” At the word, Jody shoots Dean a pointed look, her gaze slipping from Sam and then back again when Dean’s lip curls and he swallow and looks away. Jody can tell Dean is barely holding it together, can see that same helpless rage he’s worn for months now, and doesn’t know what to do about it except maybe corner Dean about it later. She keeps going, clarifying, “At a Radiohead concert.” She gives Sam a quick smile, then adds, brightly, “But Donna will be back later tonight, and in the meantime, I can feed you.”

“Oooh.” Sam makes a small noise of assent that is easily drowned out by Dean’s choreographed enthusiasm. Sam swallows when he thinks Jody won’t see it, distracted and pale. (She sees it, though.)

“Yes.” Dean answers with little prompting as he looks back at her again. “Alright. Oh, uh…” Then Dean points, voice a bit too forced with cheer, “Since the last time we saw you? We beat the British Invasion.”

“Oh,” Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes, gesturing at Dean like he’s tired of the swagger and bragging, because that would be normal, if he wasn’t so damn scared of how Dean’s buzzing with tension all the time, and how constantly angry Dean is, again, and how Cas and him have been fighting, again, and how Dean is pretending to be fine in a way that is just going to make them both powder-kegs ready to go off later, because things aren’t okay at all…

And Sam walks away because he sees the looks Jody and Dean are giving each other and he knows those looks and Sam is going to pretend everything is fine. Sam doesn’t want to talk. If they want to discuss Sam or Dean’s feelings or Dean’s avoidance of his feelings or Cas or Lucifer or how Sam isn’t talking…

Sam won’t get in the way.

Dean gives Jody a look of self-assured bravado that he doesn’t really feel.

He stares Jody down, and Jody stares him down as they talk about Sam with their eyes, and Dean and Castiel, too, because Jody knows the warning signs and knows Dean isn’t talking about whatever else is weighing him down along with the Devil gunning for Sam, and they all know that will burst out later somehow in a way that isn’t healthy.

Deep down, they all know things aren’t okay and aren’t sure how long they can pretend, either.

But Jody settles for pretending, gives Dean a measured look of concern that turns still and perplexed since she’s not in the know about the British Men of Letters anyway.

“Thank you, Paul Revere?” She answers, eyes narrowing.

“You’re welcome.” Dean says quietly, nodding his head, but his face is blotchy and there’s tension in his throat and his face is drawn and Jody knows that look, only she only saw it once or twice.

After Bobby died, and when he thought Sam was locked in the pit.

 ** _I’m not talking and you can’t make me. Please just keep pretending everything is fine, for Sam’s sake, if not mine._** Dean’s gaze speaks for him.

Jody might not think this is the best decision, but the look on Dean’s face is so broken, she can’t quite challenge it right now. Donna might be able to get through to him, or something, later, but she’s out.

\--

They all stop their stand-off by doing something decidedly not stressful. Like watching a rom-com.

Jody would’ve changed the program, but Sam insisted she don’t alter whatever she was doing before they interrupted. Like rom-coms aren’t a subject that might dredge things up, too.

Dean keeps scarfing down pizza, mouth full as he asks, “Jody, you watching some kind of chick flick here?”

Jody keeps one leg bent and turns her head to look at him, head still propped on one hand. “Well, Dean. I’m a chick.”

“No. No, no. You’re– you’re a badass sheriff chick.” Dean stammers. “You’re not a-a rom com chick. Wait, are you a rom com chick?”

Sam looks between them, and gives Dean a sidelong glance when he’s not looking.

Jody gives a small nod and deadpans, “Are you?”

There’s an accusation there. Chick-flick moments, Dean. Gotta have ‘em sometime.

Dean looks at Jody like she betrayed him.

Sam cuts in, interrupting with a mouthful of food himself, giving Jody a conspiratorial glance, “He’s more of a, uh… animated Japanese erotica chick.”

Dean looks back at Sam, betrayal more for show. Sam’s sassy quipping usually means he’s dealing with things better than usual. A good sign.

Plus, Sam’s still getting Dean back for the sexism, one joke at a time. That, at least, was something that hasn’t changed much since they were little, although Dean’s mellowed out and stopped being so much like Dad and come a long way, comparatively.

Jody blinks at Sam and leans forward, tone interested and high pitched, “Really?”

Now Dean knows they are ganging up on him.

Sam shoots Dean a scrunched smile, and Dean glares back at him, but Sam just gives Jody an easy grin and another conspiratorial look.

“Mm-hmm.” Sam assures.

Dean catches Jody’s expression and looks down at his pizza. Guess they were back to the inside joke Dean walked right into.

You call Jody “Old” once, and she gets you back for it. Three years difference between them, but still.

The phone rings, and Jody gets up as she says, still too brightly, “I need to leave this scintillating conversation.”

Sam and her mentally high-five as she looks back at him and goes to get the phone.

Dean scowls at his pizza, then Sam, who just shoots Dean a mischievous smile.

Sam and her have been ribbing Dean for certain comments ever since, in some kind of synced-up “let’s make Dean squirm” solidarity. Started as revenge for Dean making some stupid comments about women in general, and then a few things that weren’t the classiest to Donna and Jody before he was fully out of the closet, as a defense mechanism, and Jody and Donna and Sam never let him forget it by pointing out how distinctly non-matronly Jody and Donna are as possible.

Still. That’s one normal thing, at least.

“Don’t tell her that.” Dean grunts at Sam, giving him a look of peeved brotherly upset.

Sam chuckles at him, the distraction as good as any.

He pretends to be the picture of innocence. “Tell her what?”

Dean waves both hands, one brandishing the pizza with reckless abandon.

“It’s Jody, man.” He says, as if that settles it.

“Dude, be proud of your hobbies.” Sam counters. “It makes you who you are.”

Then he snorts and starts laughing again, then bites into his pizza in victory, proud of his revenge for all the anti-feminist things Dean’s done over the years, and the brotherly taunts that almost made things feel right and normal and not on-edge for the moment.

Sam can fight and win small battles, when he isn’t winning the ones that count.

The pizza still tastes like ashes, though.

Sam might be good at pretending to be fine, but inside…

Inside he knows just how not fine he is.

When Jody walks back in, though, she’s holding back tears and every inch of movement she makes is stiff as she brings a hand to her nose.

Sam immediately goes cold.

“Jody?” He asks, abandoning his plate and rising from the couch.

**Did something happen? Did we do something…?**

She shakes her head at him and waves a hand, silently communicating: Not a supernatural emergency, the girls are fine, you don’t have to worry about me-

Sam still follows her. The non-answer is not as comforting as Sam would like, and Sam tries not to flinch when he feels Lucifer latch on to his own feelings of not-calm, interest piqued, and Sam prematurely reaches out to the Devil, because better him than Lucifer invading, Sam’s illusion of calm broken all over again.

**Did _you_ do something?**

_This one isn’t me. Bit busy at the moment, and you’ve got another month, so all your little pals are off-limits in the meantime. Whatever happened is a small-time gig or a human thing. Your prayers are a gift, though, Sammy. No need to be a stranger._

Dean turns off the TV and follows them, too.

\--

They stop in the doorway while Jody keeps packing up some clothes and crying silently and still trying to hold it together.

 _Everything we’ve been trying to deal with, and this is what breaks the camel’s back_ , Jody thinks. _Something familiar. Hunters in the line of fire._

Jody’s face remains drawn as she looks up at them from packing up some clothes.

“Jody, what’s up?” Dean asks.

Jody’s answering voice shakes. “A friend of mine died.”

“Who?” Sam asks quietly, glancing at Dean and then back at her. Dean shifts in place.

“Asa Fox.” Jody whispers, then looks back down at a drawer.

Sam sighs and goes still, because he’s heard the name before. Vaguely familiar, although the name escapes him until it doesn’t. Ellen talked about him.

With that thought, all of it, the reality of hunting life, feeling Jody’s pain out of concern, and the guilt of everything else, of all the death Sam’s seen, settles over him again. Another good man, good hunter, dead. Like Jo and Ellen. And Sam wants to help Jody, knows her pain, but there’s not always something to say…

And Sam doesn’t want to think about how much this must hurt. Especially if she’s still thinking about Owen, too.

Hell, Sam knows Jody is still thinking about Owen.

At the same time, Sam tries not to think about Lucifer, considering the rest of it. One more thing to push down.

_I can bring whoever you want back, Sam. Well, within reason. Less than half the earth's population, if we’re being technical. All you gotta do is give yourself up, and let me give you the world like I promised you once. Like you never let me give you before._

Sam resorts to dry rage in lieu of grief.

**Heard that’s been harder lately, seeing as there’s competition for Heaven and Hell and a lot of enemies all collectively gunning for your hide.**

_Please. I’m winning, and you know it._

Dean’s musings cut Sam’s train of thought off as he asks, “Asa Fox. Why does that name sound familiar?”

Sam speaks too quickly. “Isn’t he the guy that Ellen used to tell stories about back at the Roadhouse?”

“Yeah.” Clarity lights over Dean’s face as he replies, “Supposedly he killed, like, five wendigos in a night.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he was a hunter.” Jody interrupts, walking closer to them, eyes nostalgic and pained. “He, uh. He rolled into town a few months back,” She stutters, and gives a watery smile, “Tr-tried to convince me he was FBI Agent Fox Mulder.” She laughs, sound soft and sharp, and gives Dean and Sam a look, seeing as it’s a stunt they would pull, and adds, “He was chasing a pack of ghouls and I helped. He’d pass through every once in a while after that, and we’d grab co…” Jody’s voice gives out for a moment, then she continues, all hoarse, “coffee or… something.” She bites her lip and her voice whispers, barely audible, “Oh, he was a good man.” She chokes, blinking, lips pressed together, and then she sniffs, voice growing loud as she tries to regain her composure and fails, and keeps gasping, speaking too fast, “The… the wake’s tonight, and, um. They’re gonna salt and burn the body tomorrow. I can’t believe I just said that like it’s something normal.” And then she’s sobbing the last words, all of them muffled. “I gotta call Donna. She’ll want to be there, needs to know-”

“Well, we’re gonna come with you, too.” Dean says, all steady, as Jody doesn’t hold back the tears anymore.

Sam is just as determined, even if his voice is still hoarse, too. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have…” Jody protests, then breaks off with a wave, voice curt as she strides into the other room to not look at them and wipe her face and grab a bag for her suitcase. “I’ll be fine.”

 _You’ve got enough on your plate_ , she doesn’t say. _Bigger things to worry about_. _World ending things_.

“Yeah, no, Jody. We…” Sam stumbles, keeping his tone as measured and gentle as possible, “We know you’ll be fine, but…” Sam tries to find a way to convince her gracefully, without making this harder. “You know, we never go to hunter gatherings, outside of bars. Dad always said they were trouble,” **And I’ve got way too much baggage to deal with them, more often than not, although I probably should try harder** , “So…”

 **Please let us be there for you, like you are there for us.** Sam doesn’t say it, but they’re all thinking it.

Dean jumps in, adding, also gentle, “Yes, you’d be doing us a favor if you let us tag along.”

Both Winchesters give her soft, warm smiles of support and shared understanding.

Jody looks at them, tired and grateful.

“Thank you.” She answers, voice still quavering and hoarse even as she adds, “You’re gonna have to get cleaned up before we spend five hours in the car together. Yeah.”

“Five hours?” Dean asks, thrown. “Where, uh, where we going?”

Canada, it turns out.

Donna promises to meet them at the funeral and is driving up in her car, splitting off from Claire and Alex, so it’s just the three of them. They can’t instant-travel with Cas, too much wasted mojo, and even if it wasn’t, Cas is still out, doing who-knows-what to try and help Sam, an angel possessed, and honestly, a car ride is almost soothing, at this point. No need to involve Cas when it would probably just complicate everything.

Sam wonders if the change in scenery will help, even if they’re surrounded by death and shared grief. Then again, Sam’s been surrounded by death for a while.

He’s just glad they can be there for Jody.

One thing he can do right.

\--

“I know. Everyone is sorry.” Lorraine, Asa’s mother, says, all distant, after celebrating the fact she hasn’t blown her own brains out.

“So. This is going to be fun.” Jody says when she walks away, shrugging off her coat, expression pointedly blank.

Dean hangs up her coat for her, and Sam reaches for Jody’s hand, if it’ll help.

She takes it, squeezing back.

One mother losing a child to another, and Sam…

This is the worst time for this to hit her.

After their tense introduction to Lorraine and some time spent helping Jody ease into things after the rocky start, they mix and mingle and send condolences, sort of the odd ones out, considering their relative distance to Asa himself.

Sam can’t help but raise a glass to Jo and Ellen on his own with Dean at one point, though, along with toasting in memory Asa, of course.

Otherwise, pretending to be fine does help more when he’s doing it to make his loved one’s lives more bearable. Always has, for Sam.

He tries not to think of himself as selfish, catering to others to drown his own demons out.

Or angel, in his case.

When Dean goes off to get a drink and splits, Sam finds himself letting loose a little, despite the occasion. It’s not as tense as he thought it would be. Still a funeral, of course.

But Sam was expecting more hostility towards the Winchesters. That makes being there for Jody easier.

\--

Dean gets a drink in the kitchen.

It goes relatively well, for a while. If you ignore everyone talking about him dying and coming back.

Still. He can be there for Jody instead of Jody trying to get Dean to open up, and hunters are a crowd Dean can mesh with, usually. Or he can pretend to mesh with, when he’s distracted by pretty much everything else, Jody and her family, Mom, Cas, his brother’s imminent countdown with the Devil-

Dean manages to put that on backburner. Holds it together.

At least, until Bucky answers, “You think the stories about Asa are crazy, you should hear what they say about you.”

That makes things hit him all over again, and he finds a way out of there to get some air.

Too close, right now.

\--

In the living room, Sam keeps talking to Max and Alicia.

“Wait, so you guys were raised by a witch, but you're Hunters?” He asks, genuinely engaged. They’re easy to talk to and calming.

Max and Alicia answer in unison, “Yep.”

“She was, like, a good witch. Very Enya.” Max says, very relaxed, hand waving lazily, all slow and fluid movements. “It was the 90’s.”

“Lots of crystals.” Alicia adds, eyebrows raised.

Max makes a noise of assent.

“She taught me to hunt witches. Uh, bad witches.” Alicia clarifies.

“Sure.” Sam encourages, wanting to hear more, and not condemning either of them. Alicia relaxes more.

**Wonder if she knows Selene, if they run in the same circles…?**

Only Sam’s been too scared to check up on Selene and Tamika, considering the body count following Stanford.

_I let them live, you know. Just didn’t have us visit them, since I wasn’t sure if you still considered them friends. Been a long time since you spoke._

Sam turns to Max, pointedly ignoring Lucifer as he asks, forcing calm, “And what did she teach you?”

“Uh, mostly how to seduce men.” Max replies, all bubbly as glances back. There’s an undercurrent of concern following his expression there, though, like he can tell Sam is out of sorts.

Sam gives a smile. Always nice to find someone else in the community. Hell, if Sam wasn’t so fucked up, wasn’t in love with someone else and nursing other wounds from that same person, he’d almost flirt back, just to spite Lucifer. But he can’t, for obvious reasons.

_Do I have competition to worry about? Need to up my game?_

**No. And please… You said you’d back off.**

_And I did and I will. But you had me worried for a second there. Don’t want you thinking you can move on again._

**I have never properly moved on from you, and you know it.** Sam is so very carefully honest and polite, seeing as Lucifer could kill these two with a thought if he felt so inclined. That, and Amelia… Sam and Amelia might have been a thing, but it wasn’t really love. Just broken people latching on to what they could and reeling from all their losses.

Not that loving Lucifer had gone right, either.

_Oh, I know. Just wanted to hear it, Buddy. It’s nice to feel wanted. Anyway. You enjoy that funeral._

So that answers that question. Lucifer definitely knows where Sam is. Just hasn’t acted on it, yet.

_Sammy, give me some credit. I’m still waiting for you to make your decision. You can make everything good if you just let me back into your life, and I can be patient, busy as I am. You still got a month to make up your mind, kiddo._

Alicia rolls her eyes and smiles, all playful, and Sam tries not to check out on them. “She also taught him some magic, which is actually more useful.”

“Eh, mostly the men thing.” Max slings back, just as quick.

Alicia laughs, “Max!”

Someone in a red shirt barges into the conversation and starts sitting on the side of the couch.

“Are you Sam Winchester? You are, right? Oh, this is nuts. Wow. Hi.” He cuts in.

_Unless you need crowd control. Someone call security._

“Hey.” Sam ducks his head down, visibly uncomfortable.

“Uh, Elvis. Um. Katz.” He introduces himself and goes to shake Sam’s hand against Sam’s will, but he stops at Sam’s recoil. “Wow. Look, so thing is, I got this friend down in the States, right, who knows this girl who knew your pal Garth.”

“Garth. Right.” Sam swallows. Garth was dead, too.

_I could bring him back, bring them all back-_

**STOP.**

_Look, I was trying to make you feel better-_

**Just don’t talk to me.**

_Don’t tell me what to do._

**Please please stop talking please-**

_Okay, Sammy, okay. I’ll ease off. But you give me a ring if you need anything. Anything at all._

“And, well, he said that she said that Garth said that you were possessed by the Devil? Like, Lucifer. The actual big, bad Devil, like, a couple years ago.” Elvis says excitedly, and Sam is barely listening to him, mind going a mile a minute, distracted by the very person Elvis is talking about as he adds, “And you lived?”

_Okay, Sam, I can’t not say something. This has to do with me, after all._

Sam ignores both of them, hands shaking, shutting down and visibly uncomfortable.

“Whoa.” Max and Alicia interject, appalled and not here for any of the things Elvis is clearly dredging up for Sam.

“Dude, you don't just ask someone about something that messed up.” Alicia is indignant.

“Seriously, back off.” Max is incensed.

_Oooh, I like your new pals. Protective. You gonna add them to the list of people I shouldn’t go after?_

Elvis is obvious. “But it's pretty amazing, huh? I mean -”

“No,” Sam stutters, barely able to form words. “It… It's really not that amazing. It…” Sam chokes, eyes stinging, then continues, “It just kind of is what it is.”

_Aw. You feel bad for throwing us down there. And here I thought I’d never see the day you admitted you fucked up._

**That’s not what this is, and you know it.**

_Fine. Still. I could come on over… Make some quick introductions-_

**No stop please stop please what do I have to do to make you STOP-**

_Say you love me?_

Sam prays the words and then prays for Lucifer to answer the prayer if it will win any kind of clemency or false front of mercy.

The Devil kindly obliges and shuts up.

Sam’s mouth runs on autopilot, the taste of ashes all over his tongue. “Seeing as he’s back now, so it doesn’t matter.”

Alicia, Max, and even Elvis look thrown. Guess the news hadn’t reached Canada, yet.

“Wait, he’s back?” Elvis asks.

“Yeah. You didn’t know?” Sam asks. They all shake their heads, looking more than concerned.

“All those deaths, the mass ritual ones. That was him. We stopped him there, too, but it’s still… It’s not. I’m…” Sam keeps speaking far too quickly, still stuttering, “Um… I'm gonna get a… A beer. Yeah, you good? Yeah? Good.” Sam leaps to his feet and exits the room to find Dean.

\--

Dean’s looking at an angel blade when Sam finds him.

Sam tries not to think of angels at all. Except Lucifer’s True Face, the main one and all the others, still shine under his eyelids.

“Hey.” Sam starts in, voice a forced calm. No use falling apart in front of Dean. Then Sam would be babied. Again. And Sam can’t afford to be trapped inside for long periods of time right now. Better to play it cool.

“Oh, hi. This is a real Angel Blade. I mean, this guy was legit.” Dean sounds a bit gruff.

Sam wonders what’s got to him, now, too, seeing as they’re both unraveling and pretending otherwise, but cuts to the chase of the other things bothering him.

“Did you know people tell stories about us?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. Apparently we’re a little bit legendary.” Dean grinds out, almost nervous and definitely bitter.

“Yeah, but, I mean, so was Asa. Then a hunt went bad, and he ended up hanging from a tree, alone in the woods.” Sam’s words all jumble together. Old fears come out to play. Newer fears, too, ones where Lucifer brings Sam back again and again-

**I’ve always wanted to be get out and free of this and I thought I was fine, I thought things were better, but now they’re not, they haven’t been for so long-**

Sam’s thoughts are a mess. And Lucifer feels the choked up feelings inside Sam’s chest and throat. This time, he doesn’t send any words over. Just feelings. Supportive ones, gentle ones.

Sam wishes he didn’t feel them. Doesn’t want to be reminded of Jess, or the things Lucifer pretends to be, when Sam is drawn back into the maelstrom.

Dean is adamant because if he doesn’t fall back into old habits, old rules, he might just break apart from the stress. From what’s happening with Sam, and Lucifer, and Cas, and Mom…

“He died on the job. No better way to go.” Dean answers, resolute. Like the way John taught him, because when things break he has his old habits and mechanisms he latches on to.

Sam asks, almost a whisper. “You really believe that?” Sam knows he does, but doesn’t want to think about it, wants Dean to say what Sam needs him to say…

Only Dean is distracted and doesn’t see it.

“Yeah. What, you don’t? I mean, come on, Sam, it's not like we're in the ‘live till you're 90, die in your sleep’ business. This?” Dean points to the newspaper clippings. “This only ends one way. “ The thought bursts out of Dean’s mouth, but he wishes he could take it back immediately once he’s outside his own head and finally sees Sam’s expression.

Dean should’ve remembered with Lucifer topside, even bloody deaths don’t stick.

Or they do, and Sam is back in Hell. Or he’s not, and Lucifer is just making Sam do penance for the swan-dive with all the cruel creativity he can muster.

Thinks about the one-way tickets Lucifer always promises, one way or another.

Dean’s self-hatred reaches new levels.

“We should get back.” Sam finally replies.

“Yeah.” Dean mumbles, then covers with a louder, “Oh, uh, don’t say ‘wendigo’ to anyone.”

To try and go back to pretending everything is fine, like Sam wants him too.

Sam takes the out and gives him a puzzled look, trying to calm himself down.

\--

Most people have left. The ones that remain keep drinking and swapping stories.

Bucky keeps going with his, nostalgic. “And Asa made us go roller skating. And right after these ghouls almost got us. So there’s the three of us, all banged up, with a ton of ironic teenagers skating under these neon lights. You remember this, Jody?”

“Mm hmm.” She replies, sipping her drink.

“Oh, it was classic.” Bucky assures everyone else. “I mean, you know, until the two of you snuck off to grab more drinks and got cornered by ghost when Asa tried to nab a smoke break. Then the whole building went dark and we had to calm down these teens while trying to figure out how to get to you. That one,” Bucky points to Donna, “Ended up riding in to save the day. Rock salt and all. Had a flamethrower, too.”

Elvis whistles, “Ooooh!”

Jody is both smug and proud. “It was romantic.”

Donna basks in the praise, “What can I say? I got street cred.”

Sam turns to Donna, asking, “How’d you know they were in trouble if you were out of town and they had no cell signal?”

“Jody and I check in at the same time each night.” Donna turns serious. “She doesn’t get back to me, I know somethings’ gone south. We ping each other our last location after a hunt. Narrows down our options if someone’s gone missing.”

Lorraine cuts in, quiet. “Smart.” There’s an awkward silence as she shuffles in place and drinks, likely thinking things would be different if Asa had done something like that.

Donna tries to fix the awkwardness, stumbling but then recovering nicely, “And Bucky. You left a part out. Disservice to Asa. It was three ghosts, only you never saw two of ‘em, seeing as Asa and Jody pulled their weight… He was good man. A good drinking buddy, too.” She raises her glass, and they all toast in Asa's memory.

Dean gives her a look with raised eyebrows, impressed, “Two hunts in one day?”

Jody smiles at him and answers, “Yeah. We tag-teamed it. Pretty easy once we knew what we were dealing with.”

“Didn’t know you two moonlit hunts separately.” Dean says, considering.

“Just because we’re married doesn’t mean Donna and I have to do everything together.” Jody replies breezily. “I do have a life when you guys aren’t around.”

“Still. Thought you were joined at the hip?" Dean counters.

Jody opens her mouth to counter about Dean and Cas, then doesn’t, considering the fact Cas isn’t here.

Can’t say it about Sam, either, considering how close they are to losing him again.

“Oh, they were. Snuck off for some sweet, sweet time alone.” Bucky answers, covering a moment he didn’t even know he was covering.

“Oh, you.” Donna waves Bucky with a conspiratorial gesture and kisses Jody, drawing her in close. “Not like it’s a crime.”

Dean gives her another look, all arched and leaning forward as he says, “Sweet, sweet time alone?”

“Don’t give us that look, Dean.” Jody clears her throat, trying to regain composure.

Dean’s body language relaxes, and he holds his hands up, “Hey, you clearly deserve your sweet, sweet time alone.”

“Good, 'cause if you said anything else, that would honestly be weird. You were at the wedding.” Jody snipes. _And you should just propose to Cas already_ , she doesn’t say, because once again, sore subject.

“Just don’t like thinking of you that way.” Dean counters.

“And why’s that?” Jody asks, all arched eyebrows.

“Because you're family.” Dean answers.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t work it.” Donna answers with a wink.

“We’re adults, Dean. Not some washed up middle aged nuns.” Jody corrects, sipping more of her drink.

“You’re still kind of like an aunt.” Dean replies, as revenge for all the ribbing Donna and Jody and Sam have conspired to inflict on him together as the night wore on.

“You…” Jody waggles a finger at him. “We’re not much older than you. In fact, with all the things you get up to, you might be older than us-“ Jody argues.

Donna interrupts, “Eh, if your talking about his liver, I could give him a run for his money-“

On that note, Randy cuts in, “Beer, anyone?”

Sam calls, “I’m good.”

His head is pounding. He smells sulfur, too, all muted. He wonders if it’s just him or something he should be worried about. Lucifer’s grace feels like it’s faraway, underwater, and Sam tries not to feel how much of it is still inside him...

The others also answer both negative and positive, Donna going for another round. Randy heads to the kitchen.

Jody is still trading friendly barbs with Dean. “And, uh. Here’s a news flash. It’s not like I just turn into a boring, small-town sheriff when you guys are gone. I do stuff. Roller skating with my ruggedly hot friends is a healthy hobby as any.”

“Yeah, especially when you try to matchmake him afterwards.” Bucky interjects.

“Hey, don’t blame a girl for a trying.” Jody shrugs and laughs, “Cindy liked all the tricks he could do on those skates.” Then she looks at Lorraine, gauging to see if she overstepped. “It was just… it was just a casual thing. Sorry, Lorraine.”

Jody also knows how much Lorraine wanted Asa to have a family.

Lorraine doesn’t mind, reminiscing. “Asa was always popular with the ladies.”

“Yes, he was.” Asa’s friends all answer in unison.

Max cuts in, “Our mom loved him. She used to talk about him all the time.”

Lorraine is teary and considerate. “See?”

“And Asa worked those wheels.” Donna nods to Lorraine.

“Amen to that.” Lorraine answers. Then she spots a silhouette behind Dean and Sam in the doorway. “Come on in, don’t hover.”

It’s Mary.

Dean and Sam go very still.

 _Think she was expecting you here? Because, judging by that expression, I’m thinking no_. Lucifer can’t help but croon.

**Lucifer-**

_Alright, I’m gone._

Mary stands there, looking very out of sorts and out of place and looking at Sam and then… Not looking at him, instead looking at Lorraine.

“Sorry, I knocked.” She announces, apologetic, but more thrown.

Sam looks at Dean, mouth twisting, eyebrows rising and falling, hands clenching and unclenching and chest tight-

Dean gives him a dead look back.

“Door was open…” Mary adds, trailing off when Dean looks at her.

Everyone else shuffles awkwardly.

“Hi.” Dean finally says with a swallow. Not really able to say anything else.

Dean walks over to Mary and goes to talk to her alone.

Sam follows them into the hall with Jody.

Mary dares to meet Dean’s eyes and asks, a bit too casually, “What are you doing here?”

Dean doesn’t bother holding in the frustration, all accusatory. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Sam cuts in with his answer, and his voice remains soft, and he tries to hold it together, even if he doesn’t succeed. He hasn’t seen her since Lucifer and the Impala.

“We, uh…” Sam clears his throat. “Asa was a friend of a friend. Uh, friend of Jody’s.” Sam finally stutters out, then regains his composure, focusing back on Jody herself as he gestures between them, “Jody, Mary. Mom, this is Jody Mills.”

“Mom?” Jody asks, looking back at him, blinking, “Mom. Wait, uh,” Jody points at Sam, “Your mom?”

“Yeah.” Sam says quickly.

Dean still hasn’t said another word.

“I thought– I thought you were…” Jody’s question hangs as she looks back at Mary. The word “Dead,” doesn’t quite make it past her lips.

“I was.” Mary answers. Expression flat and closed off even though she’s trying not to be.

Jody stares at her. Sam can see her putting two and two together, thinks she can guess how that happened, all things considered. Looks over, concerned, hoping this isn’t dredging it all up again…

Mary glances at Dean, but Dean glances at Jody and gives her a nod, confirming her suspicions.

Jody still stays very still, multiple emotions flashing over her face. Realization. Shock. Grief. Acceptance.

Only Jody tries to take it in stride, because talking about how that happened…

Not a good call for anyone right now.

“Wow… Wow.” Jody says quietly, but warmly, growing louder. Not her fault she got raised from the dead, and Jody tries not to think about other things, of the Devil and things that eat people, and Sean, and Owen, and Owen eating Sean-

Mary smiles at her, not knowing the things she’s dredging up just by being alive, and Jody makes up her hugs her, very tightly. Maybe a bit too tight, but she’s trying. “It is so nice to meet you.”

Then she turns back to Sam, and Dean, face pointedly excited but also a bit too tight, a bit too pointed at Dean.

“Wow!” Jody exclaims, but when she looks at Dean, there’s an undercurrent of: _You could’ve told me about this, Dean. This goes under the umbrella of THINGS YOU TELL YOUR FAMILY._

Dean ducks his head.

“Yeah, we could have done the introductions earlier if she bothered to show up after Satan popped by.” Dean says.

Jody flinches. That explains part of the reason Dean has been a wreck, at least, when discounting the other obvious reasons.

“Dean.” Sam hisses.

“Look, Sam. Not trying to dredge things up for you…” Dean says. “Or you.” He adds, and turns to Jody, apologetic. “But she ditched me and Cas when we went to check on Donna, Claire, Alex, and you-”

“Dean-“ Mary’s voice is quiet.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation-“ Jody says, quieter, but then she trails off and backs down when the tension gets too much.

“Not in my book. You deserved better than that.” Dean says.

 **And Sam deserves better than this.** That accusation stands, too.

“Dean.” Sam cuts in, eyeing Jody when she looks down. Trying to figure out how to salvage this, seeing as Dean’s had too much, clearly, if he’s running his mouth like this. Sam can tell.

Dean stares Sam down and says what else he hasn’t yet, because someone has to. “So did you.”

“I'm gonna...I'm ju… I'm gonna give you guys some, um, some family time.” Jody says, setting her shoulders as her expression crumbles. She starts walking away.

Sam goes to follow, scurries to say some apologies, to make up for Dean, for all of it…

She pats his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about me, Sam. It’s okay. I’m okay.” She assures. Like Sam doesn’t know that song and dance.

Sam follows her anyway, ducking into another room to talk.

\--

“Look, what Lucifer said, about Owen-“ Sam tries not to let his voice cut out, and still fails.

That’s the one thing they haven’t talked about directly. They probably need to, now.

“Sam. That’s… I don’t-” Jody stumbles.

“If I could get him to bring him back.” Sam answers quietly. “Would you want me to?”

Jody shut Sam down with the bare bones truth.

“Sam. There is no way I could ever ask that of you. We know the price is too high, and whatever he’s offering…” Jody sighs. “If it’s not a trap, and any price you pay won’t be worth it. Particularly if he makes you foot the bill.” Jody adds.

The unsaid: And that’s if the world is still standing, after a month. No need to say that out loud.

Sam looks down and rubs the nape of his neck and nods in agreement, because knowing Lucifer, he’d use Owen to try and bring back the Croatoan virus or something.

It still hurts, though. Jody will always miss her son with a furious, endless gnawing pain that hollows you out and never fully stops hurting. That kind of grief…

It doesn’t leave you. Ever.

Still. Jody knows how this goes.

“Sam.” She says quietly. “My son was dead already. Sometimes… Sometimes you have to let go, even when you don’t want to. When you can’t…”

Jody’s voice dies in her throat.

Sam swallows, tasting raw, swollen air and cotton and blood.

Jody looks him in the eye, not giving ground, for herself or him, and claps him lightly on the arm as she adds, “Sam. I love you like a brother. I wouldn’t want you to pay the price for me not letting go. I know what happens when I don’t.”

Then Jody walks back to the others.

And Sam backs off, knowing that this is too much for him right now, too, and because he wants to give her space.

That, and he needs to attend to whatever new damage is festering between Mom and Dean, now.

\--

Dean looks back at Mary, beyond accusatory.

“Where you been?” He grills. The crinkles around his eyes are all taut, all skin stretched against the hollows of his cheekbones and bags under his eyes from not sleeping well for the past half a year.

Mary is hesitant, but not quite apologetic. “All over.”

Dean clenches his jaw and grounds out, “Yeah, well you could’ve picked a better time to go on a site-seeing tour.” His spine hunches, and he grabs his arm where the Mark used to be, like an ingrained habit. Like Sam would pick at his hand, sometimes.

“I wanted to see if there was something I could do.” Mary explains, trying to be patient but not giving ground. “When he brought me back, I figured… Maybe I could find something with the little amount of immunity I have...” She trails off.

“Yeah, well, have you found anything? No. And you know why? Because Cas and I already tried everything, we _know_ we have, we’ve been looking for a way to fix this for _years_ …”

And stuff with Cas was wearing Dean down, too. He wasn’t okay right now, either, and Dean almost doesn’t want him to be, if it would change anything, would stop Lucifer being omnipresent, always popping back up like an evil daisy…

Cas was all cut off again, all distance, all deliberate angelic resolve trying to get some kind of drop on Lucifer, to fix the consequences of the monster he let out, like Sam has been trying for years, and it is killing all the Winchesters slowly. Cas is pushing himself too hard, going off alone, not listening to reason, trying to protect Sam and knowing he can’t and knowing he doesn’t have the power to take on Lucifer, not directly, and knowing Sam doesn’t have any other outs, they’ve all been exhausting everything, and it’s barely enough to keep Lucifer at a distance, from just waltzing in whenever he likes…

Dean keeps going, “And you could have come back after Sam returned, when you realized your plan wasn’t working.”

Some of the condemnation and endless fatigue isn’t directed at Mary, though. It’s more directed at Dean, by Dean himself.

“Sam didn’t need me there.” Mary answers, gazed pinned beyond Dean’s shoulder.

“Sure he did.” Dean growls, blinking, looking down at her like he’s never seen his mother before.

“Dean….” Mary inhales and closes her eyes and opens them, looking as old as she really is, not the age of a woman brought back in a younger used-to-be-a-dead-corpse body, “Lucifer used me to get to him. I thought I’d be the last person he’d want to see.”

“If he didn’t want to see you,” Dean’s voice gets more heated, “I wouldn’t have kept texting you.”

“Dean. I couldn’t fix this.” Mary almost apologizes, looking down, almost defeated. “I came up with nothing. How am I supposed to face him, to look my son in the eye-“ Mary trails off at Dean’s expression.

“Try not saying yes, next time.” Dean accuses.

**_How can you look us in the eye, now?_ **

Mary swallows.

“I didn’t know what he really was, Dean. He just… I was dead. And all he said was Sam was in trouble.” She flounders. “I didn’t know. And once I said yes… It was too late.”

Dean doesn’t want to give ground, even though he’s heard something similar before, from Cas. That it was a desperate gamble, that he didn't know just how much the Devil twisted the truth so he wasn't lying but it still felt like one, even when he knows he's being played, or in Castiel's case, thought he could play the Devil back...

Sam never really said that, though. Sam knew what he was getting into and had faced it head-on. No, he just had other issues with the Devil to regret still eating him alive.

“Fine. We… We don’t have to talk about it. What else have you been doing while you’ve been avoiding us?” Dean clutches at straws, pacing a bit, then stalling, all jerky movement and unreleased tension.

“Well. After Sam got back safe...” Mary starts, crossing her arms.

 ** _After you started avoiding him_** , **_you mean_**. Dean thinks, but Mary doesn’t falter at his expression.

Mary keeps going. “I went back to Lawrence for a few days. And then, um, I’ve been using John’s journal to retrace a few things. Try to catch up on what I’ve missed.”

Dean is accusatory and brimming with ill-disguised, desperate rage again, “You could’ve just asked us, you know.”

**_You keep leaving. Why does everyone keep leaving? Why can’t you be there for us?_ **

Dean wishes that was a fair thought to think, even if he knows he’s older than his mother, right now. She’s just a dead woman risen by the Devil, thrown into the deep end of the world, like someone who has lost the ability to swim who gets thrown in a pool thirty feet deep.

Dean knows she’s drowning, almost like Sam did, when he came back, or when Dean did, if he didn’t have Sam.

**_Are you just waiting to die for a second time, just waiting it out and staying aloof before Lucifer attempts to set the world on fire when Sam says no to him again?_ **

“Dean... “ Sam catches the tail end of the conversation and interrupts, rejoining them and leaning to grab Dean’s arm after Jody has headed back to where Donna and the others are. Sam suspects why Mary has been avoiding them, and Dean hates that he knows what Sam suspects.

Dean is inconsolable from the fact he really believed in Mary, and she more than disappointed him, “She could’ve.”

“It’s okay. He’s right.” Mary concedes, still unable to look Sam in the eye. “But… This is something I needed to do alone. I… Listen, most of the people I knew are dead. And then I remembered Asa. He was so young when I met him, I thought he must still be around.” _And I thought that I could hold on to something that wasn’t my sons, my sons who grew up without me, my sons who are strangers, who have seen things far beyond what I know, who are older than me, now_ , and Mary pushes all of that down to say, “And then… I saw an article about his death, and, uh…”

 _I lost it. Being dead, being not dead, having everything familiar ripped away…_ Mary thinks.

Dean’s voice is more than cutting. “Well. That’s just swell. So you’ll text us once a week, maybe, but you’ll drive all the way to Canada to see some dead guy? Nevermind everything else…”

“Dean-“ Sam tries to smooth things over with how tired he sounds. As much as Dean wants to let him, he knows how ground to the bone Sam is right now. When he hasn’t been aggressively pretending to be fine, to pretend to relax and that things are normal because he only has a month before Lucifer hunts him down, he’s been scrambling for any solutions. Working with Rowena and Cas and Crowley and Dean and everyone nonstop to try and find some way to slow Lucifer down or trap him or inconvenience him or anything that might help…

“None of us should be going off on her own. Not when _he’s_ just running around-” Dean accuses.

“Dean. He’s not interested in possessing her. He’s…” Sam inhales and forces himself to keep his composure. “He’s got his own body, now. And if… If he was going to try something, use her as leverage... He’d have done it already.” Sam answers, voice is shot again.

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have other plans-“ Dean counters, not wanting to think about the fact Sam probably knows how this goes.

“True. But it doesn’t mean she needs to stay cooped up-“ Sam challenges, and now it’s not about Mary any more, not really. It’s about Sam.

“What, so she takes a vacation tour of the states while you’re locked up in the library with seven cups of coffee and haven’t slept in three days?” Dean explodes, voice so shot it’s a hiss, and Sam flinches.

So does Mary.

Dean slumps, and rubs his mouth. “Sorry. I’m just saying… Sam.” Then Dean goes back to the subject they’re supposed to be discussing, not wanting to fight Sam right now. “She could stay in contact instead of dropping off the map-“

“I didn’t want to put you in danger by sticking around. Figured if Satan came after me, Sam shouldn’t be in the crossfire.” Mary interjects, voice measured, as she thinks, _More than he already is, at least._

“Mom, I appreciate the thought. But, with all due respect, not having us in the same room doesn’t deter him at all.” Sam answers, a bit sharp this time, because he knows there’s a half-lie in there.

There’s the unvoiced: **And he possessed you. You should know that.**

This time, his gaze lingers when he looks at her. “And that’s not why you’ve been avoiding us. Not really.”

Mary looks down and back up again. “I… I know.” She answers.

Dean twists his head and looks anywhere else.

“Well, that’s awesome. I’m gonna get some air.“ Dean grunts, and then he’s stalking away.

“Dean, wait... “ Mary calls and goes to follow, but Sam stops her with a hand on her shoulder. So careful, as if afraid he’ll break not. Not because of who she is, but of who hitched a ride in Sam’s skin.

Mary finally looks at her younger son. His expression is remote as he stares beyond her, a statue with glassy eyes.

“Why are you lying about this?” Sam asks, and then his lip twitches, and his throat tics as he placing his hands in his pockets.

Mary’s shoulders sag, and the worn lines around her mouth are thrown into sharp relief.

“I’m worried I might do something stupid, if I get too close.” Mary admits.

That isn’t a lie. Sam can tell.

 _She’s worried she’ll make another deal_. _Honestly, though, you’ve always been the most persuasive member of your family, Sammy. If you want an extension… I’m sure we could work something out._

Lucifer’s grace is a whisper, an ice cube sliding down Sam’s throat. Or it’s a phantom fingertip running down his spinal cord, cold and purposeful and close.

\--

Jody stops Dean before he makes it to the front door, leaning with her hand flat against the doorhinge so he can’t make a fast and easy escape.

“Hey.” Jody’s voice has recovered slightly. Donna probably gave her water, or something.

“Hey.” Dean mumbles. He doesn’t want to meet her drilled gaze head on, doesn’t want to see kindness he doesn’t deserve after being an ass, but meets her eyes anyway, because he respects her too much to hide.

“You okay?” Jody asks, and saint she is, she is actually trying to be comforting, when Dean knows he’s the one who should be comforting her, not falling to pieces.

“Swell.” Dean rasps, and then his head ducks down.

Then Jody’s voice turns harsher, throatier, more determined to get to the thick of things, of the avoided conversations Dean’s been refusing to be a part of, of how he keeps pulling away and Jody is just so angry for him not realizing that just because they are all falling apart, doesn’t mean they can just sideline Jody and Donna and the rest of them.

“Huh. Is that why you spent the entire ride up here telling me in extreme, excruciating detail how you defeated the British, but, uh,” And Jody’s voice let’s some of the rage out, some of the simmering hurt that is part of the things as-of-yet-not-talked-about as she continues, “You neglected to mention the fact that your mom is back from the dead?” She asks. She doesn’t have time for the bullshit anymore, for the avoidance, and she’s gonna stop Dean from self-destructing even while she’s not on her A-game, herself.

Dean tries to be open but he can’t talk about this. This must have been what Sam felt like, he thinks, all those times Dean demanded answers and Sam never had ones for him.

“Yeah, no big deal. “ Dean’s throat jumps and his eyes stay glassy.

“That’s a lie.” Jody’s voice is exacting. Her eyes are still wet, and her posture ramrod straight.

“Jody… “ Dean trails off, gives a shrug, opens his arms then abandons the movement for them to fall and hit his sides.

“Look, maybe this isn't my place, and this is epic stuff, but, you know,” Jody says, and then she stops staring Dean down to look past him, shifting her jaw, grinding her teeth, and her eyes remote as she rasps, “If I could have my son and Sean back? I mean really back, even if Sean and I would never be what we once were, if there wasn’t some awful price?” Jody chokes off, shaking her head, then holds herself so still, voice so certain and low, “I would give anything, absolutely anything to have that.” Jody’s voice is smothered and wistful, brimming with too much inside it, and her lips trembles as she looks down.

Dean recognizes the same sound in her voice that he heard when Sam would talk about Jess, or other things Dean didn’t understand. The things Sam missed from when he left from Stanford, from when they were young, the same haunted note Sam still gets when he almost talks about what happened in Hell when he’s so far gone he doesn’t know where he is, and the same sound he made when he used to look at Lucifer like he wanted nothing more than to just let him in even though he wouldn’t in the days before Lucifer broke his heart completely and tore him apart again and again. The same broken sound Sam’s voice would get when it held the emotions that Dean’s little brother still-half-hated himself for missing, after the Cage and after the Wall came back down and Sam remembered and would whisper in a language Dean only heard from their angel, Sam staring off into space like he was afraid to be alive again, like he didn’t know how to be alive, again…

The sound he would get when he would whisper he wishes that Dean and Cas left him there, if it meant everyone would still be safe and that his sacrifice meant something.

Like he’d almost sound at his worst moments, now, if they both weren’t too afraid to talk about what happens if Sam doesn’t have any other options than to let Lucifer win this time, only Dean can’t let Lucifer have Sam, but he can’t lose him, either, and he can’t let the world end, and Sam doesn’t want to say yes, but he doesn’t know what to do, none of them do…

And Jody concludes, definitive, “And it would scare the hell out of me.”

Her gaze is far away and not looking at Dean any more, and her composure is so close to breaking, and all Dean wants to do is hold her close and apologize and tell her he can fix this, except Dean can’t fix anyone or anything and he knows it.

He settles for looking her in the eye again, and seeing her strength for what it is.

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice is muffled.

“Yeah.” Jody answers, looking back up at him. “Because I know I’ve changed. I’ve learned a lot about myself over the years. And what if they changed? Or wanted things to go back to how they used to be? What if Sean didn’t accept me? Or Donna? What if he fought to keep Owen away?” Then Jody pauses, swallows, voice trembling, “What if it just didn’t work out the way I wanted?”

And Jody looks at Dean, really looks at him, and Dean knows he can’t keep hiding from her and owes her a clean, honest talk about everything. He just can’t give it to her right now. Not tonight.

“If you wanna talk about anything, absolutely anything, I’m here.” Jody assures, eyes locked on to Dean’s and voice not wavering anymore. There’s a promise there, too.

 _We’re all looking out for each other, Dean. We need to rely on family. And we’ll make a plan and get through this, even if we don’t see a way out. Even if I don’t know the extent of all the things on our plate right now…_ _Don’t shut me out. Let me help you, like you want to help me._ She thinks. Even the small details… They matter, too.

Dean nods and his expression softens and his voice turns husky and raw.

“Thanks, Jody.” He grates out. “But we’re supposed to be here for you-“

“Family means everyone has each other’s backs, Dean. You know that.” Jody answers.

Dean glances at the door, so tired and worried and drawn, and still clings to this like a lifeline. Dean nods, all stiff.

Jody nods back and goes back to Donna and the others, knowing Dean needs to get some air.

He owes her a talk, though, and a lot of explanations.

\--

Sam splits from Mary and the rest of the group. Splashes water on his face in the bathroom. Locks the door behind him.

Looks at his face in the mirror, all pale and bruised and exhausted.

A face Sam has seen mangled by the Devil’s glee and smug assurances and confidence and wanting, needling gentleness, and Sam hates being tired of looking at his own face…

It’s his face. No one else’s. He worked hard to be who he is…

Only Devil has always seen the body on loan, and now that it isn’t…

Lucifer acts like giving Sam back what already belonged to him is an act of generosity.

_It is, Sammy. You were made to be mine. Every particle of matter and space and nothing that makes you, you, is mine by right, owned by me. And it was so, so hard to give you up again. We were so very close, and you can’t hide from me, can’t restrain yourself when I’m with you. But I learned. Adapted. Changed, for you. You should be proud, Sammy. Only you can get me to warp the laws of God’s creation. Only you get to defy me, even if I hurt you, because you’re the only person I’ll ever forgive. I can never stay mad at you, kiddo._

Sam slumps over the sinks and keeps his head down, counting his breaths.

**Back off.**

_Sammy._

**Right now.**

_As you wish, beautiful_.

Sam’s hand trembles when he grips the edges of the white porcelain, sink digging into skin so hard, Sam sees it turn white at the contact.

When Lucifer was inside him, or outside him, he shined so brightly so that Sam’s skin glowed red from the blood vessels sometimes, always housing an icy sun that only felt like vindictive pleasure and wholeness and forever.

Even after Lucifer vacated, Sam could feel the discarded stardust he’d left behind, every icy swirl of a grace a promise. Like filling up gaps in broken up cement. Ripping Sam’s soul apart and stitching it back together, liquid poison doubling as safety pins.

Sam tries to stop the chatter of his teeth, and attempts to wash out the taste of blood and salt and skin and ice and too-sweet angelic wavelengths.

The glass of water barely helps.

\--

Sam finds Mary on his way out, stopping short as he passes through a doorway. He puts a comforting hand on her arm, partially to show no hard feelings, and partially to ground himself.

“Hey. Everything all right?” Sam asks, voice careful and low.

“I’m fine.” Mary answers. She hands off the box in her hand with a bit too much motion and walks away into another room. “It’s fine.”

She doesn’t mean to lash out. Not really. She just thinks if she pushes Sam away…

He shouldn’t be the one comforting her.

Mary knows she’s poison. She’s the one who ruined Sam’s life, when all is said and done. She gave him to the Devil, and the Devil wouldn’t let her forget it.

Sam knows that look, and that voice. In some ways, he can see how he’s like Mary. In this way, however, all he sees is Dean, trademark lashing out avoidance, and old habits kick in, easy.

“Are you sure?” Sam asks, wanting to salvage what he can.

Translation: **Neither of us are fucking fine. We don’t have to pretend otherwise.**

Mary gets the damn message. Clicks on the light in Asa’s office, still keeping her back to her son.

“I saved Asa when he was a boy.” Mary says hurriedly. And then her voice shakes as she gestures at the room, at the hunting wall, back still to Sam, “All of this. It’s on me.”

Sam knows she’s not just talking about Asa’s death anymore. But she can’t talk about it directly, and Sam isn't sure he’ll hold it together, so he focuses on the smaller details.

“Well, no. Obviously, Mom, he made his own decisions.” Sam answers. Like Sam made his, despite everyone trying to take those away. “And he helped a lot of people, you know?”

 **Like I try to. Like Dean tries to. Like Cas tries to. We do good work, despite everything. So did Asa. So did you. You did your best.** Sam thinks. **We all made mistakes. But we try.**

“Yeah, I just don’t know anymore.” Mary grunts and shakes her head, gruff like Dean. “Everywhere I go, and everything I do just…” And then she pauses, shifts on her feet as she adds, "Feels wrong.”

Sam understands more than she knows. Everything has felt warped and vaguely unreal for him ever since Cas pulled him from the Cage years ago.

Sam fidgets with the postcard and stuffs it back in the box.

Mary sighs and turns around, “But I’ll get used to it. Being back here. I will. I just…”

 _I want to fix things there’s no fix for._ She thinks.

Sam understands. Sam knows what it is like to be thrown back into life when you’re used to being dead. Knows what it’s like to feel like you need to find a solution to a problem that doesn’t have an answer.

“Yeah, mom. You don’t have to explain anything." Sam's voice is clear, and unfaltering, one hand held out as he assures, "I get it. You need space." Sam gestures out with his hands again, all aborted motion. He continues, "And... And so does Dean, you know? I mean, he… He's just…" And then Sam is grasping at nothing again, taking in a sharper breath, the sound hissing between his teeth, "We just got you back," Sam settles on, knees bending as he tries not to keep too stiff, too wooden, "And he's just scared we're gonna lose you again, that – with everything else going on, with me, and…" Sam runs a hand down the back of his neck, head bowing again as he adds, voice a bit lower, "He thinks you're gonna walk away." Then Sam looks up again. "But I know that’s not true. Even looking at these…” Sam motions to the box, stepping forward to hand it back, “I mean, you saved Asa in 1980, um, after Dean was born. After everyone thought you quit hunting." Sam trails off for a moment when Mary looks up at him, mouth curling, eyes haunted but so sure, and Sam finds his voice again and says, "Seems like you couldn’t stop then, and…" Sam takes a deep breath, measuring his words as his hands curl up in his pockets and his gaze finally glances up from the floor, "I’m guessing you can’t stop now, either.”

**Like I couldn’t.**

“Doesn’t mean you can’t live a life. Doesn’t mean we can’t keep going. And yeah, this job, this life, is crazy and insane. But it’s in our blood.” Sam admits. He comforts Mary the best he can, because helping others is like lancing a wound Lucifer left bruised and bloody inside Sam, somewhere. “And you want to help people.”

Mary, internally, appreciates the attempt to make her feel better, but, much like her eldest son, continually berates and beats herself up for making this a situation where her child... A stranger, really, older and kinder than she is, she suspects, has to go out of their way to tend to her feelings when she should still be the one helping him. Not just because he is her son but because he's clearly been through something she can't really comprehend, not even with the inkling she could grasp from housing Lucifer inside her, too. This was all wrong, every bit of it.

Once Mary isn’t so overcome with emotion and has regained her composure, Sam guides her shoulder with his hand and takes his mother to the kitchen to say goodbye to Asa.

On the way, Mary takes a deep breath in through he nose before letting he shoulders fall and they both stop short before the shrouded body.

Sam's eyes skitter away from Mary's when her eyes finally flicker to his, and Sam's shoulder hunch and his mouth tightens as he thinks of other things, older things, the two Winchesters oblivious to their synchronicity as they ponder their own dead bodies in other times and places.

Both thinking of resurrection. Of the blank empty unawareness in between living and dying before your soul fully manifests in the Veil.

That is, until blood drips on Asa’s forehead.

Like it did on Sam’s forehead, with Jess.

Sam looks up.

Only Randy's body isn’t burning. It's roped off, gutted, but not the same as Azazel.

Mom inhales next to him, and Sam knows Mom is thinking about her death, on the ceiling, burning alive because bleeding out from evisceration is slow and wet and messy.

Just like Sam is thinking about every time he burned with Jess in Hell.

_Oooh, one of mine is doing something they shouldn’t. Want me to pop on by?_

**I’ll handle it.**

_I did teach you well. You do me proud, kiddo._ Lucifer's grace pauses. _Fuck up and I’ll come for you, though. So don’t get hurt, if you don’t want company._

**Fine.**

Sam and Mary rush into the other room where the main group has camped. Dean still hasn't come back in yet, Sam notes, and that makes him shakier than he otherwise would be. Not like he can't handle this, he can, he just doesn't know if Dean is okay...

“Guys, we need to leave. Now.” Sam insists, hands all movement from the energy he can't quite let out.

Jody is thrown, can see all the emotions Sam isn’t holding in. “Sam?”

Asking: _Is it demon-related? Is it something else…?_

“Randy’s dead.” Sam emphasizes, the thumb of his clenched fist aiming back at the kitchen, held level with Sam's throat.

Jody gives him a look that is all shock and raw stillness.

Alicia leans forwards and asks, “What happened?”

Her eyes glued to the both of them.

Mary’s voice shakes, very quiet, “Someone gutted him and roped him to the ceiling. That’s what happened.”

Elvis returns from behind them, and Sam stiffens, gearing up for a fight even as the other man asks, “Anyone know why the water’s shut off?" He wrinkles his nose and adds, "God, what’s that smell?”

Max and Alicia answer together, a knowing look dawning on both of their faces. “Sulfur.”

The lights flicker.

“It’s a demon.” Mary announces.

“Yeah.” Sam backs her up. He doesn't wonder how one slipped past him. With Lucifer's grace still sloshing around inside him, so full from a possession still too close, he should be able to smell it out immediately.

The fact he hasn't... 

This was probably planned in advance. Or it's a more sophisticated demon.

Probably has nothing on Lucifer, though, so Sam has a plan for if this goes further south than anticipated.

Bucky says something that throws them all, though.

“It’s him.” He grits out, guiding Lorraine out of the room as they all head towards the main entrance.

“Him?” Sam asks. More information the better. If everyone was lured here for a reason, then it would do not to show his hand too quick. Let the demon draw its own conclusions.

“Jael. He’s a crossroads demon. And he hangs people. It’s his thing. Snaps their neck, slits their throat. He’s a real piece of work.” Bucky adds.

“Hanging? Like with Asa?” Sam clarifies. While Bucky talks, people keep trying the front door, trying to figure out the means of keeping them locked in. Sam keeps trying to catch the demon slipping up with Lucifer's leftover grace, to little avail.

“He’s the one that killed him.” Bucky assures quickly, adding, "Son of a bitch." With a groan as he tries the door with Elvis. Then he looks back at Sam, door still glued to its hinges. "Look, back in ‘97, Asa was working on this case in Yellow Knife, all right? A possession of a First Nations girl. Got real bad, real bloody. Asa exorcised Jael, but not before he killed the girl. He made her tie a noose around her neck and he made Asa watch. And an exorcism ain’t like an angel blade.”

“Yeah, it’s not permanent.” Sam interrupts, trying to sense outwards with his powers without anyone noticing. He feels something webbed and decayed and decidedly not-holy, but it's vague and malformed and illusive, the signals coming from all over the place, not pinning the demon down.

So much for that.

“Exactly. Right, so five years later, Jael, he came back, and he came for Asa.” Bucky continues.

So it's a personal vendetta. Less likely to be a ritual, then. And Sam thinks about how five years passed out of the Cage, only for the sixth to bring Lucifer back, and tries to bury that deeper than the rest.

“How so?” Jody asks.

“Asa was seeing this woman, right? She had a kid.” Bucky answers.

Lorraine cuts in, “Marlene.”

“Yeah, Marlene. Jael got into her. It didn’t matter that he was killing people, he wanted Asa to know it was personal. He gets off on it.”

Sam figured as much. Demons are like Lucifer insofar they are predictable like that.

"And now he's here." Sam says, mostly to himself. His hand stays glued to his chin, cupped over his mouth, as he closes his eyes to focus.

The front door remains sealed shut.

“We’re wasting time.” Max says, and Sam opens his eyes at his deep voice. Max waves a hand to reveal red sigils. They glow.

Sam recognizes most of them. Explains why the signal keeps going haywire, if nothing else.

Premeditated, then, if Sam didn't notice them on his way in. Which means the demon wants to keep them in for a reason. Hopefully not a ritual reason.

Except nine times out of ten, it's always a fucking ritual reason.

Sam hopes personal vendettas trump ritual sacrifices, just the once.

“The whole house has been warded, inside and out.” Max adds. Sam can feel the wards if he tries hard enough, once he knows what to look for. He could take them down himself, slowly, but if this really is on a timer that's not the best way to go.

Not that it will kill him. Just everyone else.

Jody looks around, “What does that mean?”

Alicia is nervous. “It means we’re trapped.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Sam answers, certain.

He's having one of the worst years of his life. He'll be damned all over again if he lets this one get the drop on him after everything else.

He starts drawing sigils on the floor in his blood to counteract the demonic ones just in case, and starts cataloging his options.

"What's that?"

"Insurance. If we had enough time, I can break us out. However, we probably don't have a lot of time before the demon shows, so if anyone has any faster solutions-"

"What if we narrowed it down? Clearly, the demon is possessing someone in this room..." Bucky muses.

"Alicia wasn't with us when Randy left-" Elvis accuses.

"I went to get a drink!" Alicia counters.

"I don't see your brother here, either-" Lorraine starts in, eyes darting around.

"Guys, there's no use guessing." Sam tries to keep his yelling courteous and his tone level. "If the demon wasn't warded, I would've sensed it."

"How-" Bucky interrupts.

Sam shakes his head.

"Doesn't matter. Point is, if the demon slipped past me, then it was already inside someone before they got here, so this was premeditated, and the blame game will get us nowhere." Sam answers, all weariness. "Although, Dean and I are protected against demonic possession." Sam shows off the anti-possession tattoo for good measure. "Not that it will do anyone any good right now..."

Sam wracks his brain on the best options available.

What is fast and effective versus the least traumatic...?

“Anybody packing holy water?” Sam asks. Normally, he'd kick himself for the oversight, but right now, he's been so distracted by Lucifer and knows he could take a demon easy when push comes to shove, so he can't really knock himself for not having Dean and his usual staples on hand. Not like salt and holy water keep out an angel, after all.

Everyone comes up negative.

Great. That knocks that option.

"Can't we make more?" Elvis asks.

Mary shakes her head. "Uh, no we can't. The water is off..."

Sam has a running tally of the best to worst scenarios, and half of them dredge things up he doesn't want to have to deal with.

Using his powers is probably the fastest solution to pin the demon down, provided he can break whatever warding is keeping it hidden or get it to reveal itself, but even if it spares the victim, then Lucifer might get other ideas, or Sam would just be forced to deal with the humiliation of using them, again, when he didn't have to, and Sam won't take on that burden right now if he can help it, particularly since all it will do is make him a pariah in the hunter community again.

Exorcisms take time and aren't foolproof, since they telegraph your movements...

Stabbing killed the victim, and Dean had the knife on him, so that's out...

Depowering the wards would still work, but it would release the demon along with them, and it would consume too much time they might not have...

\--

Outside, Dean has a visitor.

“Go away.” Dean orders at whoever is approaching him, taking a swig from his flask while leaning against Baby.

Billie isn’t amused. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Dean doesn't stumble when he turns to look the reaper in the eye. “Billie. What’re you doing here?”

“My job.” Billie replies, her eyebrows raised and arms still crossed. Her leather jacket gleams in the moonlight, but it's the fake kind of gleaming. The kind when you know there's a void of nothing making up shit in front of your face to fill in the emptiness of the atoms in front of you. A vacuum of power: like Death always felt like. Dean doesn't like the comparison, even if she is just a Reaper and not the Horseman himself.

Because Dean killed him. Dean killed the one being that might be able to keep Sam away from Dean and Lucifer forever.

Dean looks down at his flask and forces out a chuckle. “Well, I’m not dead yet.” He growls, screwing the cap of his flask tighter, repetitive motion not quite soothing.

“Shame." Billie answers. And then she's stepping closer. "But actually, I just finished inside." She adds, glancing Dean sidelong in the face. The whites of her vessel's eyes show around brown irises, but there's still that thrum of living fire beyond them, like there always is with Cas and Lucifer and all the other angels ever made, Michael included.

"I was reaping a fresh soul.” Billie tacks on, her voice twanging with a note of warning.

Dean's heart pounds, and his hands turn clammy, and he marches to the door as fast as his feet will carry him and tries to batter it to pieces.

"Sam. Sammy! Hey!" He's too afraid of what that might mean. Of what exact angel might have come early. Billie follows the exact tred of his footsteps.

"You can huff and puff, but that house is on supernatural lockdown. They can’t even hear you." Billie keeps talking, hands on her hips, voice to Dean's back as she eyes him, expression revealing nothing.

Dean hurls the kitschy lion statue on the porch and slams it against the front door to no avail. With every word Billie says, Dean rams it into the door again, each attempt more furious and violent than the last.

It's futile, though. And Dean buries his hate to turn back to Billie, substituting helplessness for quiet, omnipresent rage.

"What did you do?" Dean asks, because better her than something else, and she's the only available target Dean can fight-

"It wasn’t me. I don’t get my hands dirty." Billie answers, and then her eyes narrow as she growls, "Rules." Something no one appreciates enough, apparently, Dean can see that much telegraphed on her vessel's usually blank face. "I just clean up the mess. Still, between us," Billie hums, hands back in her pockets as her head tilts, "It’s always nice to see a Winchester who can’t get what he wants." There's a hunger in her face, now. A patience.

Dean runs a hand over his mouth and gets in her face.

"You think this is funny? Huh?" He rasps. Then he's shouting as he points, "Hunters are dying in there."

"Everyone dies." Billie's voice is flat and empty with a specific type of expectance. _That's what humans were made to do,_ she doesn't say. _Not dying isn't exactly the name of the game for mortals, here._

"You got in." Dean accuses, pointing. Not one to back down, not now. "You got in there to reap that soul. You can get me in."

It's not really a question.

"I could, I suppose." And Billie's voice isn't betraying anything as she adds, "But–"

Dean doesn't give her a chance to back down. "Do it!"

"But," Billie's voice lingers on the word, the reaper not one to be interrupted. _We're on my timetable, Dean, not yours. I'm doing you a favor like this._ "It’s a one-way ticket. And you’re gonna owe me one."

"Fine."

"Oh, and Dean. It's not Lucifer in there. You can breath easy about that." Billie assures.

Dean once thought she was without mercy. It seems he was mistaken.

Then she gives him another look, assessing. "For now." Her voice is steel.

Scratch that.

\--

The front door glows.

Sam doesn't bother to shield his eyes. He's glad it's not the glow of Lucifer. Can tell that automatically.

Lorraine gasps, "Holy…" Then she panics and shrieks, "It's the demon! Kill it!"

Sam hears the familiar yell of his name.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean then turns, all frantic and trying so hard to hide it, his voice is a husky muffled kind of loud. Dean climbs to his feet with Sam's help after falling to the floor, genuinely taken aback, although his eyes never leave Sam. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy, lady. Look," Dean stands up slowly. "I’m not a demon, okay? I’m one of the good guys."

Sam nods, then looks at the door, eyeing the wards again in case he missed a quick fix.

"How'd you get in?" Sam asks.

"Billie. One way ticket. Won't happen again." Dean answers.

Sam nods again.

 _Oh. **That**_ _one._

And Sam doesn't like the sound of Lucifer's grace at all.

"What's the damage?" Dean asks, clasping Sam's shoulder.

Sam gives the lowdown. "There's a demon. Jael. Killed Randy and Asa and is possessing someone right now. We've got zilch on salt or holy water, and the pipes are dry. You got any ideas?"

Translation: **You got anything that's fast enough to derail a potential ritual and isn't putting my own personal freakshow on display for the everyday hunters and civilians?**

"Devil’s trap?" Dean suggests. "Everybody's in, everybody's clean. Someone won't get in..."

Sam feels stupid for not thinking of that himself. Still would take time, but it beats other ideas...

"On it." Sam clamors to get it done.

"What kind of Devil’s trap?" Max asks, bending down to help.

"Standard pentagram. Nothing fancy." Sam replies, buried in work.

Max keeps on drawing, conversational, "I like a Fifth Pentacle of Mars. It’s got more character."

Alicia responds, "Because character is really what matters right now."

"Look," Dean starts in, eyeing everyone with purpose. "Everyone needs to stay calm. If you stick with me, do what I say, everybody’ll get out of here, okay? Everybody."

"Well, not everybody." Jael answers.

Sam whirls around.

Dean tackles Elvis's possessed form with Ruby's blade in hand. Elvis rolls his eyes, the red eyes of the crossroad demon showing through. Jael dodges the knife Dean aims at him and wrenches it out of his grip, throwing Dean telekinetically into the wall.

Dean starts chanting.

"An exorcism? Nah-ah-ah. Elvis is leaving the building." Jael answers, and he snaps Elvis’ neck and stuffs his smoke down Alicia's throat instead.

Exactly the outcome Sam was afraid of.

“Wow. I have heard so many stories about you Winchesters. And I gotta say: you are no fun.” Alicia's voice cuts in, intonations all wrong. "So boring."

Dean and Max stare each other down, at an impasse for what to do.

Sam stares down the smirk on Alicia's possessed face and raises a hand, Lucifer's grace still singing, an ice-cold touch and bone-deep noise humming his skin, but before he can send this one packing, Alicia's mouth coughs up black smoke, her passenger checking out early. Alicia crumbles, winded but alive, Max helping her up as black smoke only gets shoved down Jody's throat next.

This time, a telltale brand gets burned into her wrist.

An anchor for possession, like that one time Sam was stuck with Meg. This one is definitely getting outside help, then.

Sam's patience snaps.

“New plan." Sam growls and keeps holding out an arm, pinning Jody to the wall. "Get the fuck out of her before I make you.” 

“I’m trembling in my boots.” Jael deadpans.

When Sam takes a step forward, Jael adds. “Ah, ah, ah. You want to chance me snapping this one’s neck, too?" Jael shakes Jody's head and clicks her tongue as he gestures to her throat. "Or doing something worse on my way out, since you're all out of practice? Didn’t think so.”

“You really want to test me?” Sam growls.

“That depends. You a gambling man? Maybe that's the wrong question. Anyone who takes a willing nosedive into the Cage gambles. Guess the real question is: you quick enough on the draw?”

"Are you?" Sam plays the trump card he wishes he didn't have. “Maybe I can't get you out of her fast enough. Sure. But you know I’m off limits and you know I can call Lucifer over any time I damn please. You willing to stake your life on that?"

Hey. It's worth a shot.

"Who says I’m on Team Lucifer?" Jael challenges, mouth growing thin. "And that's an empty bluff."

"Is it?"

Jael narrows Jody's eyes. "We both know you don't really want to chance him taking you up on that offer. And it's not like he cares about these lumps, so if I leave you untouched, I don't think he'll give a damn."

Sam doesn't really have the heart to argue with that, except he knows leverage when he has it.

"If I pray, he'll come running." Sam answers. “And I’ve only got a month to live."

“Not how I hear it. No, Lucifer is going to make you live forever.” Jael makes Jody's lip curl with the words.

“Same difference.” Sam hisses. "You think I have any pride left to lose?"

The demon waves Jody's hands, sending everyone except Sam sprawling. "No. But I know the odds are in my favor."

Ruby's knife clatters to the floor, ripped from Dean's hand.

Mary grabs it and goes after Jody.

"No! Mom!" Dean wrenches the knife out of her grip and holds her back.

"What are you doing?" Mary shouts as she's tackled to the floor. "She’s a demon. We kill demons." 

"No, but she’s Jody." Sam explains, a muscle ticking in his jaw. 

Jael is still pinned to the wall, red eyes never leaving Dean and Sam.

"Aw, so sweet. I might get cavities." Jael mocks.

"How about you go to Hell?" Dean growls. He doesn't use the knife, like Jael knew he wouldn't.

"Please." Jael snorts, and Jody's mouth twitches. "It's a complete train wreck down there. First Lucifer sent Crowley packing and took over again, only now he's gone topside and off the grid for half a year thanks to you." Jael uses Jody's hands to point at Sam, accusatory. "And do you think he's nice to any of us? No. No, he isn't. All those loyalists are chop meat..."

"What are you even doing here?" Sam concedes. "What's the point of trapping us?"

"Oh, you know. Business. And some mingling. See, I know all about every single one of you. For example, the twins. Too frightened to tell anyone that they actually came to say goodbye to their daddy. Or the grieving mother who hated the fact that her son was a hunter so much she’d hide his gear, she’d sabotage his Jeep, anything to keep him from hunting. Not that it worked. Could’ve tried harder, huh? And this meatsuit you all seem to care so much about. She lied to you, Sam, she would make a deal to get her son back in an instant–"

"Shut your filthy mouth." Bucky yells.

"And you. Bucky. Brave, brave Bucky. I was there that night. Tell these nice, stupid people what you did. Tell them what you took from me. Asa was mine." Jael snarls. 

Demons really did take after Lucifer in the worst ways.

Sam keeps Jael pinned, but Bucky doesn't get close enough before the truth comes out. Jael goes on to tell them of how Bucky killed Asa, quite graphically, which no one takes well.

That doesn't change the fact that when all is said and done, that's not their own reason for being here.

"-So you see, Winchesters. I'm here to right wrongs. You hand Bucky over and not everyone here needs to die. How's that sound?"

"Bucky is going to pay for what he did," Max interrupts. "But not from you."

Jael turns to him, thoughtful.

"See, that kind of optimism is just sad and misinformed." Jael says with a smile.

"What's the real reason you're here?" Sam asks. Lends a kick with the icy fire Lucifer left inside him to compel Jael with his mind. 

Jael can't refuse the call singing under Sam's skin, and capitulates.

Jael laughs. "To take Lucifer out, of course. What? You think we were here by chance? No. See, we were tracking her-" Jael points to Mary. "And then you showed up, and it was like buy one get three free-"

When Jael's concentration slips, Sam uses the kick of Lucifer's leftover grace, leaps forward, and burns off the brand with a match, catching Jody as she falls. Sam is able to throw Jael out fast enough before any more damage is done, but Jael doesn't get banished to Hell thanks to the warding, only issues out of her mouth in black smoke, which flies off, and then Randy's corpse is shambling back in from the kitchen, with bright red eyes and without a care in the world. 

"Fine. Have it your way." Jael mopes, then slams a hand on the warding. Everyone is driven to their knees. "I'm surprised, though. I thought you'd be all jumping for joy for icing him."

Sam keeps struggling to undo the warding with Max as Dean keeps Jael's attention.

"No offense, but we don't exactly make deals with crossroads demons-" Dean answers.

Jael looks offended, "But Dean, you've made more than one. I mean, you're buddies with our old king."

As Jael talks, the wards flare.

"And to be honest, I was just a distraction. You've pissed off some people in some real low and high places." Jael adds.

Three figures Dean and Sam don't recognize on site stride in, one hunched over and frail and supported by the figure in the middle, a nondescript man. The other one wears a biker jacket and shades, mouth flat and bloody. 

Recognition breaks once the other funeral goers start coughing their guts out and the rising hunger, the need to destroy, buries itself under Sam's skin, and they see the rings on three fingers- one gold, two silver.

Rings Dean remembers cutting off, and interlocking shapes Sam knows all too well, from opening the Cage door.

"Winchesters. Let's talk." Famine wheezes.

"Oh, son of a bitch." Dean moans under his breath. "Not this again."

They should've stayed down.

Unlike the last time Famine got unleashed, Sam's been dealing with worse, and the ringing need for liquid ice and the Devil and any of it is not enough to bring Sam to his knees.

**You-**

_This isn't on me, Buddy. Although now I might just make a house call._

**Like I believe that for a second.**

_Looks like the Darkness' interacting with the Cage had some unintended side effects. Michael still might be trapped, seeing as his wings are shattered, but seems like those little suckers broke through..._

_\--_

"Thought we killed you. Back for another round?" Dean growls.

War rolls his eyes and attempts to throw Dean into a wall, twisting his ring.

Sam holds out one arm and stops him, every particle inside him burning with Lucifer's grace.

War, Famine, and Pestilence look at him, eyes narrowing in tandem.

Sam tilts his head, listening. Hearing the drone of power, thanks to Lucifer's grace sloshing around even louder than usual.

"You're all still bound." Sam announces.

_Mm. My rituals held, even when you cut them apart. Even when their essence tied us back down to the Cage._

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees Jody leans against the wall, winded, next to Max and Alicia, both of them half-dragging themselves out of the way.

The opposing forces of Lucifer's grace and the Horsemen's power crackle in the air and bounce off each other, nullified at contact.

War looks between the two brothers, half-smiling, glancing back at his two compatriots before they look back at Dean and Sam.

"Look at Paul Bunyan here, he's cracked the code." War laughs, but then the smile drops, never once meeting his new vessels eyes. "You should know better, Sam Winchester. We were down there in the Cage with you. How do you think the bindings work? Why do you think we are the keys? We are an embodiment of Hell, and just ripping our rings from our fingers, that doesn't change the reason we were raised, or sent back down in the first place. So have a history lesson, since we're killing time. You can't kill a concept. Not permanently. Not until the real Apocalypse starts full swing. And considering our dear fourth Musketeer is Death-"

"Who is unfortunately AWOL-" Famine sneers.

"Kindly sliced and diced, but not gone," Pestilence growls.

War pops his collar of the leather jacket.

"Well, let's just say we're not too thrilled with you two. Family business stays in the family, you know?" War says, too calm as he eyes Dean like he's an insect he wants to pin to a corkboard.

"The only reason you're still upright is because you can be useful." Famine adds, glancing back at the door. Then he mutters about being hungry. Pestilence tightens his grip on Famine and doesn't let him sulk, already short on patience.

"Yeah?" Sam asks. "How?"

Pestilence looks at his watch. Counting down. Waiting.

"You're bait." Jael croons.

Sam keeps drawing wards in blood, wards to hold back the damage happening to the others thanks to whatever sickness Pestilence cooked up for the funeral stragglers.

Max and Alicia scramble to help, being less affected thanks to the hexbags sewed into their clothes. The non-malevolent kind. Eventually, everyone stabilizes, still dying, but incredibly slowly. But it's clear the Horsemen are stalling, not needing this to be quick. Waiting for what, Sam and Dean don't know.

"For who?" Dean asks, and he keeps thing one and two occupied, lunging for the rings and talking while Sam tries to keep undoing the wards holding them in place. The three other Horsemen play with their food, not getting close enough to touch or maim but not far, either.

Then everything stops.

Billie sucks the air out of the room as she arrives, looking less than thrilled.

"They're trying to draw me out." Billie answers. "Me along with a few others."

She gives Sam a pointed look, and Sam swallows.

_So they're goading me now, hmm? Challenge accepted._

**You knew about this?**

_Sam. I've been trying to get a hold of the three sympaticos for a while. Although, I gotta say, this arrangement is much easier than chasing them all the way around creation..._

Sam's not sure he can feel any more fury. It's all been buzzing inside him for so long, reminding him of all the times Lucifer just reached out and used it- 

**You never change-**

_Sam, I told you. No Apocalypse is set in stone. But I gotta get all my ducks in a row. Can't hurt to be prepared, yadda yadda._

**Then what the Hell is this?**

_Oh, that's what I want to know. These three busy bees have been cooking this up for a while. So I suppose we'll find out when I get there._

War smiles at her and inclines his head.

"Right on, sister. Unfinished business." Pestilence answers, looking every bit as vile as what he is, the expression on his face so inhuman Sam's not sure how to name it.

Billie then turns to Dean. "Remember what I said about that favor? Well, I'm coming to collect. Right now."

"Okay, you lost me." Dean absorbs that with a look of confusion, nose scrunching as he looks back at the other Horsemen. "Since when do you go after lone reapers?"

Famine growls, pointing a stubby hand at Billie. "She's not a lone reaper, boy." He rasps. "She's the next incarnation of Death. Why do you think she's been handling your cases personally?"

Dean looks both lost and all the blood drains from his face.

Billie waves his look of lost confusion off with an absent flick of her wrist, like it's a personal affront and below her notice, every bit of herself carrying the old mien of death she once shouldered before Dean Winchester stabbed Death with it's own blade.

Billie stares Famine down, unblinking. "I was unbound. Unmade. Dean set me free, and I was set apart from you. No longer part of the set. Taken out of the narrative. Able to balance the scales properly, without cosmic interference. And now that God was benched back into the state of primordial creation-"

"So you got unbound. Big whoop." War holds out his hands, interrupting, "You'll come back."

Billie straightens, eyes burning, her voice cold and bothered, as distant as the freshest, untouched snow. "Oh, will I?"

Pestilence nods, adding, "You want Lucifer gone as much as the rest of us. So none of this take-the-high-road above-it-all balance crap. Take the plunge. Become our fourth wheel again. And we can destroy that uppity brat once and for all."

"After you ice everyone in this room and all of Canada with next ritual you kicked off?" Billie asks, arching her eyebrows. Then Billie looks bored and doesn't deign to give his meatsuit the time of day. "We can't all play games with the universe now that everything is askew. I have a balance to maintain, unless you've all forgotten." Billie eyes them one by one.

"A balance that is directly counteracted by Lucifer." War interjects, licking his lips, holding out his arms like he's the one being reasonable, here.

Billie's eyes narrow as she argues, "You know as well as I, that I cannot act-"

"He has your ring. We have your scythe." Famine wheezes. "And the moment he finds us, he's going to try and bind you again."

Billie's expression doesn't change from placid indifference, but the room turns heavier with promise. "He can try."

"You're best chances are with us-" War interjects.

"Whoa, whoa. Back up. What kind of favor are we even talking about?" Dean interrupts, looking back at Billie.

Billie crosses her arms. "When you 'killed' Death and damaged the Cage with the release of the Mark," She motions, miming quotes, "You reset certain rituals from back when Michael and Lucifer were gunning for the end times. 'Cept, now that Lucifer has taken God out of the picture, and the Archangels aren't all accounted for, creation isn't running as smoothly as it should. Not to mention Heaven's locked up and less of what it used to be, thanks to all the dead angels, the Veil's still over-saturated with souls, and Hell is... Well, with Lucifer back, it's militarized and on lockdown again. Don't even get me started on Eve and Purgatory and the Leviathans you let out. Point being, the past few years have led to a collapse in the order of things, which you've started to undo, with limited results. To compensate, the Fates have been clamoring to fix the mess, but Lucifer is getting in the way with his new vision of how events should go. I've been cleaning up loose ends, preventing the spread of primordial chaos. In an ideal world, the cleanup would be neater. And it would easier if you and your brother and your family members stayed dead, I'd have way less of a headache. Would start fixing all the split ends of creation you've snarled up."

"So, what, we die, everything gets fixed?" Dean asks.

The three horsemen laugh. "I wish." War mutters under his breath.

Billie sighs, ignoring them. "No. But if your brother or Mary die, there are rituals we can use to seal Lucifer again, same as I was, before the Mark undid the bindings. Dean, all the alterations from the path of what would happen seven years ago, and all the times after that... Death comes for everything, one way or another. I'm just doing my job. But I need you to stop me from being bound again. If I get that ring... Lucifer gets what he wants, and all the work I've tried to salvage with the aid of the Fates will be undone. The problem is, some of us," And Billie eyes the other Horsemen, "Keep turning to petty, unrelated agendas which directly counteract the balance I am trying to preserve."

"Lucifer is the problem!" War argues. "Kill him, take him out of the equation-"

"And you step up and take his place, unbound, ready to eat all of creation alive." Billie argues, getting in his face.

"Why do you care?" Pestilence asks. "We are the unraveling of all mortality. We- and you- exist to wipe the slate clean. This is our time-"

"No. It isn't. You cannot have death without life, which you would end." Billie answers. "And I'm not one for dying prematurely. For everything there is a season."

"No. There's nothing set in stone now. It's all chaos, thanks to them." Famine answers, pointing at the Winchesters.

Billie looks at Sam.

"My other offer still stands. My promise. You die... I can make this work, Sam Winchester. You would be out of his reach. Archangels can be bound forever, deathless. You would pass into the Empty and never see him again. And with all he's done to you- a strong enough vessel, a strong enough sacrifice, can bind Lucifer, Sam. All you have to do is let me reap you, when the time comes."

_Is that so?_

Sam swallows. Part of him desperately wants to take the offer.

"Something tells me it's not that simple, no matter how much we might want it to be." Sam answers.

The other part of him just wants to find another way out. A third option.

He wants to believe her. He does.

But after Lucifer sent God packing...

After feeling all the grace settling deep inside every piece of scar tissue in his soul-

Sometimes it feels like there's more Lucifer inside him that Sam himself, and Sam isn't sure he'll ever rip it out of him.

Not even in Death.

And Lucifer has raised him, over and over, too many times for Sam to trust any promises of oblivion now.

Sam thanks his lucky stars they've all been kept distracted until now, and Sam bleeds his last minute changes to the newest Enochian he's drawing over the wall, humming the Song that once sang everything into being, songs of unbinding of the Archangel Host, under his breath to make the bindings end faster.

And in an explosion of light, warding holding everyone to the floor gets busted, and everything erupts into chaos.

Pestilence lunges for Dean, and Sam gets swarmed by War and Famine. Max lunges for Famine, who goes to twist his ring, but before he can, Sam sends a stab of white-hot grace to keep him pinned to the other sets of wards he's drawn, ones he remembers on the edges of the Cage.

In the scuffle, Jael advances on Sam, who is holding two horsemen back, and Jael pins him to the wall again, keeping them in a stalemate while Sam is otherwise unable to divvy up his scope of influence.

"I gotta say, however this cookie crumbles, I desperately want the Lucifer thing to be true. Such dirt." Jael gloats, gleeful, "The idea he left his old meatsuit alive is just so deliciously weak-”

“Wanna say that to my face?” Lucifer's voice echoes as he flies in.

Jael gets a fist crushing his heart as he burns out from the grace and the burning imprint of Lucifer's bright wings.

"Surprise." The Devil winks at Sam. “Hi, Sammy. Told you not to get bloodied up. And yet, here we are.”

Sam is already halfway there to slam his hand on a hastily drawn angel banishing sigil, having long since anticipated he was on his way. The wards must've held him off longer than Lucifer wanted.

Except Sam stops short, because Lucifer is holding a bloodied Cas in his arms, and Sam's afraid it might kill him.

"Cas!" Dean yells.

"Oh, relax. I'm not here for you three." Lucifer ignores Dean and keeps his eyes on Sam, hoisting Cas up only to toss him at Sam's feet. "Although, not gonna lie, if you could tell I Am Legion here," Lucifer kicks Castiel for good measure, "To stop getting his hands all up in my business, I'd be grateful."

"You promised-" Sam rasps in Enochian, the strain of everything he's done nearly making him see stars now that he's not trying to keep everyone alive. The Horsemen are being counteracted by the Devil, so much power in one place, keeping the worst of it from over-exposure with every human caught in the crossfire.

Lucifer's grace roils inside him, sickly and cold, and the want still burns on his tongue from when Famine twisted his ring. Every one of the funeral goers would be berserk from the strain, but they're still coughing and flat on the ground, barely hanging on, still laid low from earlier.

"I promised I wouldn't harm any humans you consider family while we keep our little truce." Lucifer corrects. "Didn't extend that to anything else, angels included. And Cassie, for all his faults, is still an angel. He really should be thanking me, though. After me, he's always been next up on the chopping block. I'm doing him a favor, keeping the other schoolyard bullies out. Moving on." Lucifer turn on to the horsemen and Billie. "I gotta ask, did you really think this was a good plan?"

Pestilence smiles.

"We knew you'd take the bait." War answers for all of them.

Famine nods at Sam, "He's your favorite, after all."

The warding sings, and the droning gets louder as whatever ritual they tried to use hums to life.

Except whatever was supposed to happen... doesn't. War and Pestilence and Famine look spooked.

"Well, that worked." Lucifer says. Then he smiles and snaps.

The Horsemen scatter, trying to take him on.

Sam uncorks the vial of holy oil he's been keeping prepped for occasions like these, and starts spreading it on the floor. Cas still lies crumpled and bloodied at Sam's feet, near the crook of Dean's arms, feathers, ripped out and bloody and large gashes all over him.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean murmurs.

"Get the ring." Cas grits out, chin nodding ever so slightly in Lucifer's direction.

Pestilence lunges and tries to rip Dean's heart out for whatever other ritual they've kept as a backup plan.

Mary intercepts the blow intended for Dean.

Pestilence gets ripped to shreds by Lucifer a millisecond after. Billie nabs her scythe from him in the struggle, holding it close to her chest. War and Famine flee, exiting through the same backdoor custom made for them.

"Mom!" Dean yells, watching her bleed out.

"She’s really not okay, if you were wondering." Billie answers, appearing crouched down next to him without a ruffle in her disposition.

"Billie-" Dean pleads.

"I told you, Dean. What dies stays dead now, for better or worse-" Billie answers. "But I can reverse this ritual, the one they started, with a soul that should be long dead already-"

"You." Lucifer hisses as he points at Billie. "You don't know when to keep your nose out of other people's business."

"Not really in my job description." Billy deadpans back, straightening, holding the scythe out as Lucifer advances.

"I didn't resurrect her just for it to go to waste." Lucifer's points at Mary. She coughs up blood, not yet healed.

Billie ignores him and looks down.

"Mary, I’m here to offer you mercy. A one-way ticket upstairs, away from all of this. Reapers don't kill people. Rules. But with this.... Your sacrifice can mean something." Billie says, still staring at Mary.

Lucifer waves, and Mary is in tip-top shape again, no longer gasping for breath.

"You, your siblings, and the Fates really have been trying my patience lately, you know that?" Lucifer growls, advancing on her, and the two beings circle. "Atropos, Clotho, Lachesis. Trying to set me up. You think I didn't see my enemies trying to trap me? And then you come along, threatening Sam with permanent death. When will you learn: Sam belongs to me. He dies on my say-so." Lucifer holds out Billie's ring in his palm, and then his fist closes around it in promise. "And he's not going anywhere."

"Humanity is born to die. You can't fight Fate." Billie answers. 

"No. _You_ can't." Lucifer isn't smiling now. His voice flattens, his eyes two chips of ice. "See, now I make the rules. Fate bows to me." Lucifer snarls, advancing on Billie. "I'm older than you. I saw God breath day and night into being, saw him create time and space and ocean and stars and sky. I existed before time and I will exist after." Lucifer threatens. "And you will not take what is mine."

Sam unclicks his lighter and sets the circle of holy oil alight.

Lucifer's mouth thins and he glares down at Sam. It will only hold him for a few minutes. But a few minutes might be enough.

"Billie." Sam interrupts. "Hypothetically speaking, to kick off rituals that need a lot of firepower, you need a lot of dead people. Is it the quantity of souls the issue, or the act of dying itself?"

Billie considers, tilting her head. "You want to undo the one my brothers started."

"Redirect it." Sam clarifies, pulling out his gun. "If all of Canada and everyone is this room are slated to be used up, maybe we can harness the power without kicking off what War and the others tried to do. I die, I come back. Rinse and repeat until all the energy is used up."

Billie narrows her eyes. "You're asking me to go back on my word."

"Sam-" Dean warns, looking spooked, holding an arm out to grab Sam's, but Sam shrugs him off, staring Lucifer down.

Sam shakes his head and looks back at Billie, a bitter smile curved on to his face.

"No. I'm making a deal." Sam answers. "Postponing our old one. You can reap me permanently when we'll know it will stick."

Billie's expression turns closed off.

Lucifer looks incensed.

Dean looks terrified.

Sign of a good compromise, when absolutely no one is happy.

"Sammy." Lucifer growls, every speck of the archangel radiating out as he leans as close to Sam as he can get inside the flames-

Sam stares him down.

"You said you wanted a truce. And I don't want Canada taken off the map, or anyone in this room to die. This way, get to let off some steam, prove your point. We both know you were just going to kill me and bring me back to prove a point, anyway." Sam counters.

**You like live demonstrations.**

Lucifer's expression turns alien and cold. But Sam can still read his tells. He's not happy, but he will not begrudge Sam his point.

_You're just hurrying along the inevitable?_

**You could say that.**

_Fine. We'll do this your way. It's always easier when you cooperate, Sam. Don't say I can't be reasonable._

"Sam." Dean asks, begging. Castiel is still huddled against him, barely conscious. Lucifer did a number on him.

Sam turns to him. "Look. Dean, trust me. Do you see another way out of this? If I die, I'll buy us some time to get out of here. I'll be in the Veil. My soul can dreamwalk, buy us some time to make a plan. And the more I die and come back, the more we use up the spell so it doesn't take out most of North America. And this way, Billie, you get a chance to run before Lucifer gets the juice to break out and bind you again. And let's face it. He's not gonna let me die." Sam answers with a shrug. "Might as well make the best of a bad situation."

Billie considers. Then she shakes.

"Just the once, Winchester. And only because I have a balance to maintain." Billie answers, true voice leeching through.

"I fix the messes I create, when I can." Sam mumbles, starting to slip as his gaze slides back to Lucifer.

He can't help it. It's ingrained.

Always keep your eyes on the most dangerous element in the room.

Sam looks at his brother and squeezes his hand. Dean couldn't stop him. He's still pinned, thanks to whatever the Horsemen did.

Everyone in this room is going to die slow, if Sam doesn't fix it.

"Everyone should close their eyes." Sam says. Most of the people in the room can barely keep their heads up.

Lucifer turns contemplative, and keeps staring Sam at Sam with as much intensity as he can.

"Are you asking for permission?" Lucifer hedges, all calculation.

Every muscle inside Sam, every bone, aches with exhaustion.

He feels as old as he knows he must be, as old as he ever lived down in the Cage.

Sam's mouth curls into a snarl.

"No." He answers.

**I could let you stay dead.**

_You won't. You can't help yourself._

Then Sam closes his eyes, clutches the pearl handle of his gun and holds the barrel of the gun to his mouth.

He pulls the trigger.

\--

Death always feels like floating. Disconnected from the actual act, as Sam's soul loosens from his body.

Billie doesn't reap him.

Sam doesn't waste time.

He doesn't have a lot of time to wander around in the Veil and get down to Hell. To find Gabriel.

To find the Archangel blade, and end this.

Once Lucifer escapes the holy oil, all bets are off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stuff that I still can't make work with me:  
> \--  
> Castiel looks at something Dean can't see, tracking Sam's trajectory as his soul makes it's way down to find Gabriel. Billie's and Lucifer's eyes follow the same pattern, and the hackles of Dean's neck rise.
> 
> "His soul is so bright." Cas mumbles, not with it.  
> \--  
> "Toasty." Lucifer lays down in the circle, making fake snow angels. He sighs.  
> "It's so boring when Sam leaves. He knows how to liven up a room."  
> \--  
> (Lucifer getting free of the trap)  
> \--  
> (Cas has to make a choice.)  
> (Billie gets the ring but gets skewered but escapes)  
> (Cas possesses Sam in clutch while Sam dreamwalks)
> 
> (Crowley gets involved in Hell)
> 
> (Sam tries to find Gabriel)  
> \--  
> (Lucifer and Billy playing tug of war with Sam's soul)  
> (lots of resurrections)  
> \---  
> Sam traps Lucifer in a circle of holy oil and sets it alight.  
> (Sam questions if the ritual can be completed without everyone else dying)  
> \--  
> (Lucifer trapped in Holy fire)  
> (Everyone getting the explanation that if Billie dies, she becomes the next reaper, so either way, Lucifer gets what he wants, since he wants the horseman or billie dead)  
> (Sam using African Dreamroot and soul-walking and amplifying angel radio to try and track down Gabriel to get the AA blade location)  
> (complications)  
> \--  
> "Sorry." Mary mumbles an apology for attempting to kill Jody as they pass.  
> "I've had worse." Jody commiserates, holding Owen close.  
> "I don’t know what’s going on between you and your boys, but I gotta tell you, mom to mom, they are good men. Best I’ve ever met."  
> "I know. They’re not the problem." Mary answers, before going off on her own to get Lorraine, Randy, and Asa somewhere safely.  
> Donna takes Max and Alicia. Dean, Cas, and Jody all pile into the Impala, Owen on her lap. Sam takes the drivers seat and speeds off. Cas remains hunched next to Dean.  
> Sam puts on the radio. He sings along softly to Mumford and Son's "Broken Crown," and just plays the song over and over again.


	90. Blue Monday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S12E4.
> 
> I'm also pretty sure this was the chapter i wrote backwards.
> 
> i'm also pretty bummed i never got to a new church scene with Lucifer and Sam this was supposed to call back to but it never got written.

The man in the suit raises his gun to Magda's head.

Magda catches the movement and turns, feeling the thoughts in his head, the intent, throat closing with sheer animal self-preservation.

She acts on instinct. Breaks his arm and throws him back, his neck twisting without her meaning to-

But not before the bullet leaves the chamber, headed straight for her skull, muffled from the silencer-

When Magda stirs, she can still feel the imprint of the bullet in her skull, the blood tacky against her temple, before the flesh heals over.

It's cold.

Her teeth chatter.

And Madga heaves in a gigantic breath of air, shocked back to life, two fingers on her brow and what feels like Magda scrambles back against the lockers on instinct, every muscle and neuron in her brain screaming the danger, more than ever-

The blond thing with bright, blue eyes smiles down at her before crouching to her level. There's something red and bloody beneath his fingernails.

"You know, we never got properly introduced before. Seems like a damn shame, seeing as your family thought we were so chummy already." His voice is light and full of laughter but beneath it rings something dangerous.

Magda slides against the metal of the locker, legs unable to hold her weight as the cold, sharp thing before her stares her down like she's a science experiment. Magda doesn't really register the words that this thing, holy and bright and ringing in her skull, encroaching all around, says, even though she tries, because she knows it's not wise to not heed whatever it wants, but nonetheless, she keeps her gaze pinned to his shoes, unable to look up. All the air feels squeezed out of her.

"I gotta thank you, though. You got Sam to pray again. That takes skill. Guess I should've expected as much." Lucifer muses with a tilt of his head, holding a hand out for her to take. "Seeing as we're almost related. Azazel sure was a busy bee. Bet he would've been a better uncle than all your folks, truth be told, if he hadn't gotten taken out of the game so early. Such a shame. But hey, Sam's always one for family. Think if he knew how connected you were, he wouldn't have dropped this case so fast. Extenuating circumstances. He hasn't been thinking too clearly lately. Probably wanted to give you a fresh start without his influence. Thing is, you've got nowhere else to go. Mr. Rogers over there iced your auntie, so you're orphan Annie for the time being. Still a better deal than being with your folks, but I'm sure Sam wouldn't want you being a homeless vagrant. Nor would you, I suspect."

There's movement above Magda's head. She looks up, seeing the pro-offered hand held out to her to help her up.

Madga tries to say anything. Ask anything. The words feel like unmixed concrete, rough and chalky in her mouth.

"Why...?" She doesn't ask who or what. She has an inkling now, of what's before her. And seeing how vast, how terrible, feeling the presence of it...

She was never big enough to draw the Devil in. The Devil is too much for anyone, taking up too much space. 

Magda can almost see the vague shadow of icicle-covered, sharp wings against the light.

"Let's just say I want to make sure you make it home safe. And since I owe you a debt, I figure, best to be square. I mean, you have been taking the wrap for me. And while normally that would be beneath my notice, well... Sammy isn't." Lucifer purrs. "So consider yourself lucky. You get a get out of jail-free card for the indeterminate future. Provided, of course, you help with me a little quid pro quo."

Madga considers.

Lucifer leans closer, breath smelling like carrion and spoilt fruit you find at the bottom of a curdled, wizened tree. Magda always smelled the apple trees in the yard from the chilly gusts in the basement window in the fall. That was always a constant smell she knew well, for the past five years, for the past time she's been locked away...

Madga takes the hand. She knows when there isn't a choice in accepting.

And whatever this is...

She knows it is a lot bigger than just her.

Or maybe not. Maybe it's personal.

Because Sam had said- you're like me. The first person who'd ever rescued her, felt connected to-

She was important to him. He'd say so. He'd checked on her, fed her for a week, made sure she was okay for a while before sending her off, made sure she knew coping tactics and breathing methods and ways of calming down, of dealing with being locked up, of the headaches...

She'd been important to someone, for once. Been cared about.

And then the Devil is snapping at her heels, more focused on getting to Sam Winchester than even paying attention to her.

She wonders what the Devil really wants.

But she doesn't wonder what it has to do with Sam. Some things make more sense now.

The impressions she got from his head.

The disconnected thoughts.

The pain.

The love.

The agony.

The prayers.

Magda had seen something Sam had tried to stop her from seeing.

And now the Devil was coming to collect.

\--

**The Past, S12E4**

“Sounds more like Aramaic than Hebrew.” Sam muses, startling the priest.

Dean hums in agreement.

“What kind of priests are you?” The Father asks.

“The old-fashioned kind.” Dean answers, all abrupt before turning to leave. Sam follows, but only after thanking the priest for his time.

“So no sulfur means no demon. You think the Padre's right? We talking about Lucifer here?” He grumbles, still on red alert. Lucifer hadn’t stopped in to make any new housecalls since the funeral, being otherwise preoccupied.

Sam looks grim, but considers, knowing he’s the best bet for predicting his movements. “Little small-time for him.”

Even if it is a crucifix. Even if _he_ knows where Sam is and keeps cackling inside Sam's head, knowing exactly what he's thinking about.

Sam makes himself stay calm. He can function. He can do this.

He's just glad they didn't see the event firsthand. That would've messed some things up for him.

_Aw, buddy. You remember how you strung yourself up for me? Proof of your eternal love? I gotta say, being in the opposite hemisphere is a bit of a drag. But I could always bring you a souvenir!_

Sam doesn't flinch. He just bites his nail, then thinks better of it, and tries again, racking his brain. “I don't know. Maybe a rogue angel?”

Dean stands and watches a kid light a candle, red light of the glass glimmering from the light inside. It dredges things up. He'd lit a lot of candles, for Sam, back with Lisa. When Cas kept avoiding him.

When Sam was in Hell.

“Dean.” Sam snaps him out of it.

Ever since Mary’s been in the wind and Lucifer’s been free, Dean’s been spacing at random. Not like Sam does. He’s on top of that. But he isn’t dealing well, either.

“Yeah.” Dean roughly answers, adding, “Uh, I'll make a call.”

He calls Cas, not just for reconnaissance and an opinion, but because he could use the grounding.

“Wait, wait, wait. What? Are you serious? Yes, Cas, that's weird. It's really, really weird. All right, yeah. Um... Thanks for the heads up.” Dean hangs up after Cas tells him he has to go.

Sam hands Dean a cup of coffee. Sam is on his fourth cup of the last two days. Dean’s stopped pestering him about it. The dream-invasion holdup of Lucifer invading only could’ve lasted so long. He’s amazed they got this far before the bleedthrough started again.

“Hey. So what's the word? Cas have anything?”

Dean clears his throat and answers, “Yeah. Uh... Well, good news, uh, there's nothing on angel radio, and Heaven's still on lockdown,”

To keep Lucifer out, among other things, although after the last Heavenly plan went wrong, Sam can't help but feel there's more they're missing…

And Dean adds, “So rogue angel is out.”

“Bad news?” Sam presses.

“Cas is chumming it up with Crowley in Hell.” Dean doesn't sound thrilled. There's an undercurrent, there, and Sam shares the sentiment.

“That’s not-“ Sam starts in, voice low.

“Yeah, I know. But they’re searching for some artifact, and Rowena after she blasted Lucifer to the bottom of the ocean to save our asses. You know Cas when he gets like this. I’m surprised, though. I thought Crowley would keep a low profile, but I guess he’s decided the stakes are too high, if they're hunting Lucifer together. One angel, one demon, and apparently, they solve crimes. Or in this case, act avenging angel and try guerrilla warfare. World’s their fucking oyster.”

Sam can feel a headache coming on. Cas better make it back safe.

He can’t handle losing more people.

Only saving grace is, he knows Lucifer is otherwise occupied right now. Billie and the Fates are giving him a run for his money.

Sam changes the subject to back to the Aramaic they dug up, and then they decide on their next course of action before hitting the road. Joining the fight is out of the question right now- if Lucifer hasn't tracked Cas down thanks to Dean and Sam, he'd make it a priority the moment they tried to get skin in the game. Their best bet is staying out of the line of fire and keeping Lucifer disinterested in paying a visit. It's not a matter of if he can visit, he can find Sam, eventually, with enough focus. But it's a matter of convenience and priorities and how long it will take the Devil to eat through the wards. The last batch were heavy duty, and while Lucifer will recharge, Rowena's banishment still meant he was less juiced up than he otherwise would be. Deterrent enough, for now, when he's trying to destroy larger threats than Sam and Dean are at the moment.

And Sam doesn't want to think about losing people, or Lucifer paying them a visit, or Rowena still being on the run, and Gabriel (and the angel blade, the whole reason Sam's been trying to track his ass down, to find it) still in the wind.

 **I'm fine. It's better this way. Working cases. Helping people. It matters. You can't help others if you don't help yourself, and we need a distraction right now, so if I just keep my head in the game-** Sam tries to keep a hold of the strange illusion of calm he doesn't really feel as a shield.

_You know, I don't get your peptalks, Sam. It's not like you even believe them. Who are you trying to preach to? I know you too well not to bite, and you are smarter than that, I know you are._

Sam chugs his coffee in one swift gulp and wipes the residue from his face, fingertips shaking before he keeps one hand on his bouncing knee.

Dean notices the sharp, uncoordinated moment, but keeps his suspicions on Sam's mental state to himself. He hugs the road, foot heavier on the pedal than before.

\--

Dean gets crankier and antsier the more he examines the autopsy. Sam notices and tries to stay calm. Stays distant. Upbeat. Professional as you can get when you're investigating bodies with your brother, as usual.

Problem is, Dean knows his tells. Dean knows Sam is trying to offshoot his problems by dealing with his emotions instead of his own, and he can't have that. For once, Sam needs to be honest and step off trying to manage his own problems by dealing with everyone else's. And if he won't back off, Dean isn't going to be cheery about it.

"Little, uh, tough on Carl, don't you think?" Sam tries, easing into things.

"Ah, he's a big boy. He can take it." Dean scoffs, flippant.

"You okay?" Sam asks, looking up and then down again.

"Peachy." Dean grits out. Still not looking at him.

Sam tries for lighter topics, trying to give Dean an out. "You sure? 'Cause ever since Mom left again, you've been a little, uh... cranky."

Dean sighs. "Cranky, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean, to the priest, to Carl. Heck, on the way here, you wouldn't even make a pit stop." Sam jokes, but it falls flat. Like he doesn't know why Dean's a mess. Worrying. About him.

Dean stares him down and bites his lip, then looks down, eyes looking at the vic's forehead.

"So now your tiny bladder is my problem?" Dean jests with a groan, trying to lighten things if it means Sam will stop trying to push things. But they keep dancing around the issue. About what they haven't said, all day. After Sam said nothing. About how they have a week until Lucifer comes knocking at their door, and they still have nothing.

Dean doesn't know why Sam wanted to take this case, of all cases. They had other options...

And the moment Sam found this one, Dean's gut clenches.

Hell, Sam can't look at the damn body.

He tries, makes a good show of it out of the corner of his eyes.

But his mind isn't there at all.

Dean knows when Sam's back in Hell.

Dean has lived moments like that himself.

And after being a demon once, well...

He knows what happened in the Cage, even if it's secondhand accounts.

The demons have a lot of jokes downstairs about it, Sam being their long-suffering messiah after he hung himself up after Lucifer's... encouragement. Crowley didn't exactly halt all contact, back then, and while a demon, Dean wasn't too fixated on defending Sam's honor.

After the fact, it's enough to give Dean nightmares, not only of his Hell, but of what else Sam was asked to do.

It was bad enough the last time they had to deal with demon-possessed Vince Vicente. They were going to exorcise him, per Sam's preference, after they got what even had them in town in the first place, but then Lucifer was there and time was spent getting out of dodge, instead, seeing as he'd have confiscated their next attempt at trapping him otherwise.

The vic, the groupie, who had been urged to hurt herself to prove her devotion, well...

Sam hadn't responded well to that, either. Got all distant all over again.

Dean knew that hadn't been Vince Vicente's passenger talking to that victim, either, goading them into self-harm.

No, that had been a message for Sam, from Lucifer. Which is why they were also staying out of the game until all their contingencies were set and their larger plans functional. No use jumping the shark.

That, and Dean doesn't forget the way Sam won't quite look at crucifixions while in the church. That's half the reason they checked out this case, though.

Sam had been trying to get over things. To prepare.

Something.

Dean's not sure what he's trying to do here, if he's being honest. He's not sure Sam even knows, at this point.

Helping people. Hunting things. The only thing they know how to do in crises.

"I'm just saying-" Dean interrupts, patience worn thin once he realizes Sam isn't giving any ground. He doesn't know why Sam is doing anything he's doing right now. He doesn't know how to help. He doesn't know how to make light of this situation. So he just cuts to the chase. If Sam wants to pretend he can keep it together, maybe blunt delivery would make him back off and they can take another case, wrap this one up fast. Just because they need to solve something doesn't mean this is the right one, right now.

Sam's not okay. He hasn't been okay.

Dean is tired of Sam pretending to be okay and ignoring that he isn't.

"Olivia Sanchez." Dean says, cutting straight to business, knowing a losing battle when he sees it. "When the body was found, it had deep cuts on her back as though she'd been whipped. Holes punctured through her hands and her feet, and pinprick wounds around the top of her skull. What's that sound like to you?"

"Stigmata." Sam whispers.

"Bingo." Dean tries for flippancy, and his voice doesn't break, but something curls inside him, shows on his face as he realizes Sam isn't backing down, even when he flinches. Dean tries to ease off, tries to get into the rhythm of things. "Gets weirder."

"How?" Sam asks, thrown.

Dean hands him the autopsy report with a flourish.

"The victim's skull was filled with a goopy mush." Sam reads as he scans.

"That Carl paints quite a picture, doesn't he?" Dean grumbles. "All right. What can do all that?"

"I got nothing." Sam answers, shaking his head.

"Me neither." Dean answers.

 ** _Hallelujah._** Dean thinks. Sam is stumped. Stumped is good. It means he's not thinking about things he shouldn't be thinking about. Dean will settle for confused, perplexed, whatever.

Just not the blank glassy-eyed ten yard stare.

Except Sam still is going under when he thinks Dean isn't looking directly at him.

A shiver of something makes Sam run his hand through his hair and look away again, at his feet, and his tone slips as he starts to say something.

Dean doesn't let him.

Dean can't handle another attempt at Sam pretending to be fine.

"Well, maybe we should focus more on the case and less on the Dr. Phil crap." Dean growls.

By the time they make it back to the Impala, the rest of their car ride over to the next subject for questioning is fraught with pointed silence.

\--

They go to child services to get any leads. It's thin, but in Dean's mind, it seems like a cut and dry case, for all it matters.

Take the witch out, leave.

Sam protests. No hexbags. No proof.

The age old argument: no ganking monsters without proof.

Except Dean's much more shoot-first-ask-more-questions later right now.

That's worked out better than talking to the monsters, in his opinion.

Maybe if they had done that earlier, things wouldn't have ended up how they did.

\--

Sam doesn't sleep all night, despite everything.

Dean doesn't, either. Even if he pretends to, if it means Sam might try otherwise.

\--

The next day, the Wiccan case worker whose boss died gives them a lead, and one point of consensus. Two, if you count outrage over not going to a doctor leading to the death of a child by pneumonia, but Dean won't talk about that with Sam, seeing as talk about "God's will" gives him that blank look all over again.

"Weird, creepy, off the grid, 'Children of the Corn' people? Yeah, I'm in." Dean tells Sam with gusto, and he means it. Gotta snap him out of this.

And creepy is okay.

Creepy religious nuts appropriating Amish country isn't staring at crucified vics.

Or dealing with child services.

Dean had seen Sam's face when the case worker mentioned splitting people up. The conflict. Sam look he'd get when he'd ask other young hunters if they ever wanted out of the life when they worked cases with them.

It's not like Dean hadn't hidden from child services, too. Or hidden Sam, back when Dad told him to never let anyone in.

There's a reason Dean and Sam didn't exactly frequent hospitals and patched up their own wounds as kids.

Overall, the experience of being in the building leaves a bad taste in Dean's mouth, even if he can't quite hold anything against the workers.

If either of them had been taken away, they probably would've been happier away from Dad, if Dean's honest, provided they were together.

But they would be even more of a sitting duck for the things come to claim them.

And that kind of vulnerable isn't something Dean wants to think about.

\--

They make it to off the grid lala-land. Cut electrical pole and everything.

"Hey, about yesterday..." Sam starts in, having decided the next day is as good a day to hash things out.

Dean's not sure he wants to humor him.

"Oh, all right. Next time you gotta take a leak, I'll pull over." Dean jokes.

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about you and Mom." Sam answers. Like Dean and Mary making peace with each other is on the table, after what happened at the funeral. Dean hasn't forgiven her for that and it's not exactly high on his list.

"What about her? What, she took some cash, she took a cellphone she doesn't answer, and she bailed on us. Again." Dean answers.

"I mean, think about what she's going through. After everything, she probably just needs some space. We've been there. We've both had times where we needed time apart." Sam muses.

"And we both came back." Dean reminds.

"You don't think she's going to?" Sam sounds almost put out. Like he believes in her.

"I don't know." Dean answers. What he wants to say is: She keeps leaving, Sam. Why bother believing in her when she's done nothing but avoid us for months?

Sam continues on, pointedly oblivious. "Well, you know, sometimes families do better after a little time apart."

"Yeah, who? The Mansons?" Dean growls.

Now he knows why Sam won't fucking leave it alone.

Sam's not thinking about Mary, not really, and not in the right now at all.

Sam's retreating back into thinking of the good old days, where if he just ran off and chose what he'd wanted he'd get a choice, have a future...

Except there had been no choice.

And Dean doesn't want to think about Sam leaving. He's already so close to being taken away, and...

Dean doesn't want Sam thinking about leaving, because that means Sam's about to do something reckless and probably suicidal or worse, like he's already distancing himself for whatever hackneyed plan he's trying to hatch with the Devil breathing down his neck.

Sam notices how tense Dean gets, realizes how transparent he must seen, how much he must be slipping. Sam backs off.

Dean says nothing until they reach the house, and pretends at professionalism to hide how much all he wants to do is drive with Sam next to him forever, never looking back, if it meant nothing could touch them ever again.

\--

Any veneer of professionalism slips the moment the Petersens mention God.

Dean had been prepared for it.

Problem is, he wasn't exactly thinking glowing praises of the guy.

And knowing just how useless God ended up being, how he'd told Sam that the plan to beat the Darkness would work...

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, we're... We're besties." Dean manages.

_Sure are, buddy._

Sam doesn't say anything at all. White knuckle grip, inhaling in through his nose with as many measured breaths as possible.

God had made him for the Devil and he hasn't yet been able to get away...

Dean gets air when Abraham asks for help with an actual wagon. Can't look at Sam. Can't keep his head on straight.

So he asks Abraham why they did this. Abraham talks about the horrors of technology and consumerism and how the world keeps getting screwed up worse and worse, while everyone just looks on.

"The things you do for family." Dean answers, understanding the premise, but truth be told, he's not quite listening.

He's distracted more than he would like.

They need to get out of town already. Wrap this case up quick.

\--

After that, Sam grills Gail with more control than he otherwise would manage. Needs something to distract from all the memories in his brain.

Possession doesn't feel far away, even if Lucifer promised otherwise.

Sam focuses on family photos. Asks if they were happy.

Gail says otherwise. Talks about how God sent a car accident to set them straight.

Gail keeps talking, bitterness hidden by something else in her voice. "I saw doctors. No one could stop the pain. Best they could do was give me drugs, which helped for a while." There's an aching note there.

"Yeah." Sam whispers. Thinking of hospital beds, and oblivion, and what would have happened if he'd just stayed in Hell, or died after the Trials, or...

Drugs and pain.

And Sam won't think of the demon blood, or angel blood, or anything that makes the rest of everything done to him feel distant.

Addiction eats you alive from the inside out. Never really lets go.

But Sam can't think about that. Not right now, with the Devil ready to bargain and Sam is just so tired...

Gail continues, "But the more I took, the more I needed. And when I didn't get them... And then one night, when things were at their worst, I was... lying in a puddle of my own sick. I heard a voice. It was God's voice."

That sets more than one thing off for Sam. His first instinct is distrust, and caution, because anyone self-righteous enough to think God is speaking through them is dangerous.

The second is just a ball of agonized shame Sam keeps pent up inside his chest.

Problem is, Lucifer is used to digging.

_I doubt it. Still, this one's full on cuckoo for cocoa puffs, am I right? At least you had a reason for thinking God sent you a line. And I mean, I really am I God to you, if we're getting technical. You rise and fall on my whims, kiddo. But I know you haven't forgotten._

Gail finishes, "And he said, "Go, live a life of simplicity and humility, and all your pain will be taken away.'"

If only God were that simple.

Sam tries not to laugh.

 _I could make your life real simple, Sam. And humility looks good on you_.

Sam immediately jumps into questioning Gail about the delivery boy, the last vic in connection to this house. Their only damn lead connecting Olivia and anything at all.

And when all she says about dead delivery boy is, "I see."

That's when Sam's patience snaps.

"You see? That's it?" Sam growls.

"God has a plan for us all." Gail maintains.

"So what happened to your daughter, was that God's plan?"

"Yes." Gail answers. Like it's that simple.

"She didn't have to die. She was sick. If you had taken her to a doctor–"

 **If your choices** -

Gail interrupts, "God does-"

Sam talks over her, every ounce of everything he's ever endured burning through the air. His voice is a gust of hellfire on his tongue, ready to flay the presumptuous alive. "God doesn't care what kind of life you live. Trust me." Sam insists. And then his mouth twitches, teeth bared despite himself, as he insists, ever so sure, "And God didn't kill your daughter. You did."

Dean and Sam get dismissed. Both on edge.

_See what humans really are, Sammy? I know you do. I know, that sometimes, you'll even admit that I'm right._

\--

By the time they've hit the pavement they find their convictions are opposite, still. 

Dean thinks it's the Wiccan case worker.

Sam isn't convinced. He knows something isn't right at the Petersons.

He's just not sure what.

The next victim throws Dean's conviction out the window, and everything they haven't said comes to a head.

Dean wants to ice the witch. She has motive. But more than that, Dean just wants a quick and easy kill. Wrap up the case in a tiny bow and get Sam the fuck out of town, like he didn't fucking lose it back there.

Sam wants to check out the Petersons because he knows they're lying about something.

He can feel something. Energy. Ghost. Whatever. EMF worthy.

Dean just knows Sam doesn't want to admit he's wrong, or wrap up the case quickly.

Not if it means hitting another brick wall dead end.

Sam had run himself into the ground trying to find solutions.

Thing is, when you have the most exhaustive libraries and archives and access to Lucifer's Vaults, thanks to the fucker riding shotgun in your head, and angel allies, and demon allies, and weapons, and none of them make a fucking dent while Lucifer skips along on his merry way, rounding up the Horsemen of the Apocalypse and menacing Heaven and managing Hell all over again...

There is only so much running in place you can do.

There's a reason Sam has been talking about running away, in the past, about distance, about things they haven't talked about in ages after deciding to go it, Team Free Will, one unit for the rest of their sorry, bloodstained lives.

Sam's trying to be distant. Objective.

Like that's going to protect him from anything.

Dean knows Sam is going to crash. It's inevitable.

Sam's human.

And when he does, Lucifer is going to be there.

And Sam, instead of eating some food and drowning himself in beer, is running 5ks in the woods and making Dean fruit salads in the name of cholesterol while not eating anything except for five shots of expresso himself, while Dean pretends he doesn't see the way Sam's paint is slowly peeling off the walls from sleep deprivation and the helplessness he hasn't been able to stop feeling, not once.

Sam had died over twenty times in five minutes back in Canada. Dean counted, while Billie and Lucifer played tug-of-war with his soul.

Sam's so used to dying and coming back for more, because Lucifer wouldn't let him go.

But if Dean dies... There's only Cas trying to pull him back, and Cas doesn't have that kind of juice, not anymore.

And Sam can't let him die.

He can't.

He's the only singular certainty Sam has aside from Lucifer and Cas.

And knowing Lucifer, if Dean and Cas are gone...

Rowena's already in danger, and isn't going to stick her neck out more than she already is. Jody can't stop the Devil, even though she'd try her best. She had her whole family to worry about, and Sam won't let himself put them in danger.

Mary's already jumped ship, far as Dean's concerned. So has Gabriel, like always.

No. If Dean and Cas are gone...

No one else will help Sam out enough to make a difference.

And it's not a stretch to think about what Lucifer might leverage the moment this week ends.

So he just keeps moving. Keeps helping other people and neglecting himself and asking Dean if he's fucking fine.

Dean wonders if this is how Sam felt before Dean got dragged to Hell the first time. 

It's not that different from the feeling Dean got when Sam said he was going to jump into the Pit.

Except with that, Sam believed in something.

Believed what he did fixed things.

Now, there's nothing to fix, because Lucifer is doing whatever he damn well pleases, and getting all obstructions out of the way before he gives Sam yet another threatening promise.

\--

Sam hears the muffled cries first. Then Gail’s chanting.

Hears the crack of a whip. Recognizes it immediately.

No way not to.

Sam crouches by the basement grate.

Sees Magda.

Sees Magda whipping herself, with Gail egging her on, pacing as Magda sobs and shudders and keeps whipping herself, choking on her own shallow breaths-

Sam’s eyes water and his mouth can’t quite close and he needs to get her out of there, needs to break the damn window and get her **out** -

Except Sam is frozen.

“Do it for me, Samuel. Oh. You didn’t put your heart into it, that time. Have another go.“

Sam remembers, doesn’t want to-

_Oh, Sam, Sam, Sam. You taking a little trip down memory lane? Making me all hot under the collar when you’re so far away..._

And Lucifer’s voice, this time, isn’t the Cage, no, it’s all real, all too close, yet so far-

“Again.” Gail orders.

Magda sobs and complies. Her hands shake.

He should use his powers, reach out, melt the grate and pull Magda through-

But there’s a lot of ifs, there. A lot of potentials for someone to hurt Magda, first, for her to bleed out before Sam could heal her…

Sam knows.

_What do you say, Bunk Buddy? We could rescue little Flowers in the Attic, if it’s got you so beat up and bent out of shape. I can clear my schedule. Or we could show that homemaker bitch what true repentance and devotion looks like. You are so good at live demonstrations… Although, I will say you’ve been a real peach lately. You know, despite your need for guidance back then, I meant what I said, Sam. We can leave the past in the past. Start over. No need for you to worry your head about not being good enough. You never have to suffer like you did, once. We did our time together. It’s all on you, baby. You and your pesky choices._

Sam’s phone buzzes.

Gail looks up.

Sam ducks against the side of the house, out of view, and hides in the grass. Gail could hurt Magda too quickly if he tried something. Sam knows all too well.

Sam would use his powers, would reach out and pull, melt the grate and pull Magda through-

But there’s a lot of ifs, there. A lot of potentials for someone to hurt Magda, first, for her to bleed out before Sam could heal her…

Sam knows how easy it is to bleed out after flogging.

Especially with the extent of Magda’s wounds.


	91. Hellbent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still not sure how i'm reworking this because it sucks and I never got to write Madga and Sam and Cas stuff before Jack was in the picture due to altered canon but for now it's a dumb bridge section with atrocious dialogue
> 
> chapter title a song by mystery skulls

"Hey, Sam. Just thought you might want to know I have your newest pet project in custody. Turns out, one of those nasty redcoats escaped getting iced last time you and Dean shut down the Britons little operation and tried to kill her. Who knew? And before you ask," Lucifer stresses, noting the actual hitch of Sam's voice and almost hoping he finds the strength to interrupt anyway. Sam doesn't. Lucifer's disappointment is palpable, but he keeps talking, "She's fine. I intervened, per our agreement to play nice. No human causalities on my end. So everything's good now. Anyway, as her current chaperone, I'm perfectly willing to drop her off." Lucifer sings across the line.

_Would you prefer home delivery or to meet up somewhere? I'm game with either, Bunk Buddy. Long as you don't mind a face to face meet and greet or unlocking that deadbolt you keep latched tight..._

**...Is this a choice or are you just going to show up?**

_Sam, I'm wounded. Here I am, looking out for the welfare of little Orphan Annie. Babysitting. And I mean, I can keep doing that. Have you chase me down to get her back. But a quick wing-pool to your little bomb shelter would be faster, and convenient, with less time for layaway and connecting flights and all that-_

**I swear, if you hurt her-**

_Sam. I saved her life. You could try being grateful, after I raised Carrie from the stone cold clutches of the Veil and everything, when I could easily toss her to the wolves. And seeing as little Matchgirl here is all alone in the world save for you, and me, and her brother, who is miles away in Idaho and still won't look at her... Wouldn't you rather she had a friendly face to keep her safe? She just died, after all. Kinda could use a friend. And you've got a way with kids. Warms me to the core, really._

There's a pause as Sam reigns his breathing in through the line, harsh and tinny and grating and oh-so-satisfying for Lucifer to hear.

He's got him right where he wants him.

"Let's just get this over with." Sam sighs.

Lucifer can practically see him in his mind’s eye. Hunched over the table, hair in his face, hand sliding down his chin as he tries to keep his breathing even. It didn't work, but hey. Sam never was one for backing down in a losing battle.

Lucifer takes the concession for what it is.

He's so close.

Three days before he fixes everything with Sam, depending on how his other half plays ball.

And it's almost poetic, really.

Sam's been adopting stray kids to give life advice to for a while now.

Only fair he gets some more practice in before the real thing.

Lucifer flies Magda to the front door of the Bunker, grinning ear-to-ear.

Magda shivers in his grip, collar of her shirt tight around her neck where Lucifer barely touches the fabric. He'll suffer some human contamination for once.

After all, she had been one of Azazel's later generations. He can suffer those children, a little. They're family, seeing as Lucifer made his children, and Azazel had been one of his best and brightest, even if he had been a sycophant to the extreme.

The door opens a hairline crack as Sam steadies himself and looks out. Clearly has some trap rigged for Lucifer, just in case he tries to slip inside.

"Magda, are you okay?" Sam asks, then backtracks, realizing that's probably not the best question. "I mean..."

Always asking about others.

Magda nods.

"I'm fine." She answers, shrugging. Not looking at anyone or anything except Sam's shoes.

Lucifer's arm falls to his side, fingers looped in his pockets, like always, as he lets go of Magda and lets her walk inside.

Sam becomes a flurry of moment where he was still, and he hugs her close to his chest once she makes it past the threshold.

Then Sam looks up, can't help it, as he goes to close the door.

Faster than a viper strike, Lucifer grabs the wood, and Sam flinches as he stops it from closing all the way.

Lucifer winks.

Sam swallows and holds Magda closer, almost without realizing.

Lucifer doesn't attempt to welcome himself inside. This is a delivery run, after all. He's got other errands to run before he visits properly.

"Three days, kiddo." Lucifer promises. "Then you gotta make your choice."

_Pick the right one, this time. I've given you so many chances._

Sam swallows and shuts the door.

Lucifer flies away.

_But if you need anything for little Firestarter, don't hesitate to give me a ring. You're not always the best at caring for others when half-dead yourself. Might need to stop by to make sure you're going like the little energizer bunny you are. Oh, and tell Dean and Cassie I said hi. Don't let them get any ideas. Anyway, 'night, Bunk Buddy. You dream of me tonight._


	92. Every Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by mystery skulls
> 
> there's a timeskip in this one and i don't remember my exact reasoning for it because it started off as a cage flashback and then changed

"Are you happy like this?" Sam rasps. Lucifer's left hand is still holding his head up by the roots of his hair, twisted in every strand, pulling so it hurts. "Making other people miserable just so you aren't alone?"

The sound of a zipper closing is loud in Sam's ear, loud enough to make him flinch. The concrete of the floor digs into his broken kneecaps. Not having a body doesn't really feel like not having one. On the contrary, it only makes Sam's soul feel more substantial here, like its constantly on fire and being eaten alive by something hungry and grainy like pins-and-needles jabbed into every strand of Sam's soul- all except where Lucifer flares out and grasps, where everything is just solid, unbreakable ice. It's so cold Sam's head throbs at the contact. But it feels more real, like Sam isn't being ground into dust. In some ways, it hurts more than anything else Hell can throw at him right now, it all the ways it used to feel like relief, and was instead turned into something far worse.

For a long time, Lucifer says nothing, just leans back on his heels as he gives Sam a look from up above. Head tilted, too bright to look at even wearing Nick's face. Holding his false body straight and sure, and always higher up, as holy and celestial as he makes himself, with Sam his only supplicant. Only Sam would rather spit in his face and disappear into thousands of pieces, for awareness to ebb away and be replaced by absolute nothing, if it means not seeing himself be torn apart, if it means not being torn apart by someone he has loved for so long, only to be broken over and over again-

Sam doesn't know when the love just felt like a black hole inside him. Like he was dead inside already. Not even having a body changed it. It was always there, a physical pain in his chest, and it hasn't left him. Not for a long while.

Sam didn't know a broken heart could feel so... literal. And he's had his heart ripped out before, fleshy and warm and wet and crushed in Lucifer palms. It had made him gag before Lucifer even tugged it out, once upon a time. He hasn't felt the need to repeat the experience in a while. He'd made his point the first time.

Sam can't stop looking at nothing.

Lucifer keeps eyeing Sam, not even twitching. Concentrating. That is, until he smiles, ever so slightly, and cups Sam's chin, bitten fingernails digging in.

Then Sam shivers, can't help it, and coughs up blood. He wipes his mouth with his knuckles, hand still unsteady. The Cage swims in front of him, hazy and indistinct, and Lucifer's legs are two blurry pillars in front of Sam's face, more solid, more real, than anything else.

Lucifer kneels down in front of Sam and forces eye contact. (Sam would track the movement anyway.)

Lucifer taps Sam's lips with his other hand, and his voice, for once, isn't half-laughing, and his face isn't a wry mask meant to pluck out every chord of pain he can get his hands on. Lucifer had started vacillating more frequently after Sam's body was ripped away. He went from as much cold, hellish rage intent on making Sam suffer his attentions to as kind and gentle as possible- like Sam would break with a whisper, like Sam was holier than him- because he was afraid he was losing Sam even after he'd already lost him where it mattered.

And Sam's stopped trying to keep track of all the times he's been taken along for the ride. All he can do is endure, and hide, and fail at hiding.

Lucifer's expression turns serious, rapt as it looks at the one human capable of going toe to toe with the Devil and winning, even if the win wasn't much of one, not for Sam.

"You already know the answer, Sam." Lucifer supplies, false patience dangling there like a lure. His eyes remain blue- but Sam can see the red sun inside them, can see the endless edge of wanting, of waiting, of exhaustion, there, too- something bitter and long left abandoned, still a blizzard behind Lucifer's true eyes.

Lucifer presses his forehead to Sam's, lets loose the deathgrip he has one Sam's scalp to caress the nape of Sam's neck, although he still holds Sam up so he doesn't tumble face-first into the floor.

Lucifer's eyes crinkle around the edges, and his mouth snarls open- and then Lucifer kisses Sam's lips and his eyes watering before he narrows his eyes and holds them back as he whispers, "Why can't you just love me, Sammy? Why can't you just let go, and let me guide you, and protect you like it was supposed to go? Why do you have to fight me every step of the way? I'm doing this for you. I'm teaching you so you never give up on yourself, on us, ever again. So we can fix this. You're forcing my hand, here..." Lucifer's tone turns entreating, turns soft. "You only respond to pain. I tried love. I tried understanding. But it didn't matter to you, Sam. You hate yourself too much to let yourself take what I'd give you. This is the only option I have."

"No." Sam dares answer back, closing his eyes, and the fear blooms into something cold and wet and slippery down his throat even if Lucifer doesn't tear out his tongue for daring to defy him, but even so, Sam's wavering voice carries, "You could've learned to be happy. To be kind. You don't want to, Lucifer. That's never been what this was about. This is easier for you. You want me to love you and nothing else."

Lucifer's grip on Sam's chin tightens, and Sam dares to open his eyes again, just before he lets go.

"Is that so wrong?" Lucifer's tone remains soft, and breathy, and Sam tries not to shiver, tries not to hide his face from the one staring back at him and only half-succeeds in not flinching.

 **Yes.**

Sam's ankle rolls, and pain laces up his side, and Sam whimpers in spite of himself, every survival instinct shot and the sobs tear out of his chest and the pain rams itself under his eyelids from broken parts inside him, from all the feelings choking out his throat and making everything too tight and from the black hole that's opened up inside his chest all over again. "Why can't you give up, you already gave up on us, why bother pretending-"

Something cuts off Sam's air, chokes all the sound in his throat, invisible and silent. There is a rush of wings, and cold, and feathers and a hand is tightening around Sam's wrist enough to break that, too, if Lucifer so chooses.

Then he lets go.

"I have never given up on you. I love you. And I have the utmost faith in you, even after everything you've done. You don't get off that easy." Lucifer answers, and then he's hugging Sam tight enough that all his pain is temporarily flash-frozen into nothing, until all Sam breathes in something too tight and crushing against his chest, wings and apples and ice choking down his nostrils and throat.

Sam is almost used to the mood swings by now (except he never is, it's always made his heart leap in his throat and every sense turn into flat static as he tries to make himself as small as possible no matter what Lucifer might do- anything not to be a target, to face all the naked fury of an Archangel with nothing to lose, and the love that hurt more besides). Lucifer got more possessive the moment he realized Sam could be smuggled out, provided he didn't keep a tight enough grip. Ever since, it's been one rollercoaster of pain and small talks in the dark and frantic assurances he's never letting Sam go, that Sam belongs here, and Sam can hear his grace whispering that too, a thin ringing in his ears, every time things get quiet again. He would almost crave silence, but silence is worse. Silence means he's all alone down here, a floating brain in a jar with no senses, only a panicked feeling of being kept too tight and choking without air without being able to drown.

Lucifer pulls away again, then smooths down Sam's hair, brushing Sam's cheekbones with a stray thumb.

Sam flinches. Starts to list over. The pain comes back with a dull roar before it's too much, too sudden, radiating up his legs and spine and shoulders-

Lucifer picks Sam up without healing him. Every step Lucifer takes, every time his fingers jostle Sam's calf or knee wrong, causes Sam to bite down on a scream as his broken legs protest every movement.

Sam doesn't know how long they walk through nothing. One step, two- it doesn't matter. He's living pain one way or another, and as far as this goes...

As far as torture sessions goes, Lucifer has been less invested in doing the most damage possible today. Still brutal- Lucifer always is, even in his attempts at kindness- but it's not meathooks and chains and whips and chainsaws and paring knives. It's not tearing chunks of Sam off with his teeth. It's not breaking his ribs and splitting the edges of Sam's veins and tying them into knots, only worse because now it's Sam's soul being shredded and stitched back together, not his body.

No, today Lucifer just plucked out a few teeth from the root with his fingers digging into Sam's mouth, and then healed him, stopped, broke Sam's shin and kneecaps so he'd be unable to crawl on the ground, and after that, he was just focused on his own pleasure, and his own need to recreate the intimacy he wanted. This is more dangerous, in some ways.

Lucifer and conflicted feelings never end well down here, either. Guilt or pain or regret- they all lead to the same thing. With Lucifer taking it out on Sam, because obviously Lucifer's feelings are his fault, too.

Eventually, Lucifer just sets him down on the ground, props his own head up with one hand, elbow bent, and heals Sam with the other, body laying atop Sam's with a weight that almost like being crushed by a freight train.

"I'm never going to be what you want." Sam whispers. Trying to look away, only there's nothing else to look at. Just them, and the lightning of Hell, and the distant closing in bars of the Cage.

"You will be, Sam." Lucifer promises, nuzzling Sam's ear, one hand dragging over Sam's chest. "You will be."

\--

**Post- The Darkness and Magda, One Day Before Lucifer Demands Sam Make a Decision, While Sam is Asleep**

When Lucifer comes to visit Sam's dreams, before the last day of his ultimatum ends, he has the audacity to smile and gesture for Sam to sit beside him.

Sam doesn't. He just hugs the wall and tries not to freeze.

Lucifer snaps and changes the scenery to the roof of their old apartment. Sam's next to him now, thanks to that.

Sam would rather not be anywhere Lucifer can touch him.

Lucifer sits and drags Sam down with a sharp tug of his arm, because Sam can't pull himself out his grip, even if he dislocates his arm in the dream, and it's not for lack of trying-

Lucifer curls his arm around Sam's shoulder and forces him to look out at traffic, like they used to.

"Look, Sam. I get it. I'm not kind. I'm not gentle. I'm not easy to deal with. I demand a lot. I know." Lucifer sighs, giving him a sidelong glance. "But I want you. I love you."

Sam chokes on his own laughter, a small, strangled noise. Lucifer's hand is still curled around his own.

Sam's hands are balled into fists.

Lucifer continues, still amiable, still calm, "And I want to be a part of your life. Is that such a price to pay, if it means your plan works, this time? I'm not even asking for forgiveness. Just another chance. We can have things go your way, this time-"

"Nothing you say or do is going to change what this really is." Sam manages to hiss through gritted teeth, still hyperventilating. He's gone completely still in Lucifer's grip now that it's grown tighter. Force of habit.

"Really, Sammy?" Lucifer's tone turns warm as he tries another angle. Sam can see how desperate he is, that he's not even trying to hide it. "You're all about second chances. Redemption. Being good. And I won't pretend I'm the posterboy for change, this time, but I can leave my old dreams behind. All I want is you, Sam. I want to be a part of your life. To leave the past in the past. You can, too. Wasn't it you who told me we could break the script? Leave everything behind?"

"You have no right to ask that of me. Not after the Cage. Not after everything." Sam spits, still struggling.

**Not after you gave up and destroyed everything I've ever loved about you.**

Lucifer blinks, and sighs, then sits Sam in his lap, facing him, denim riding up against the inseam of Sam's jeans as the scenery melts into Sam's room Flagstaff. Like Sam is a puppet on a string, fit to be moved however Lucifer wishes him to be.

_So many lies in that grapefruit of yours. Maybe we don't change. But we can still have what is ours._

Sam keeps his head bowed even as he squirms. Lucifer sinks lower in the couch, like he's human and not the stuff of Sam's nightmares that hasn't once let him go, not once.

Sam scared it will be easy to say yes this time. Not because he wants to.

But because he's used to saying both yes, and no, so many times, in so many lives, and all he wants is for this to stop, to go back to his life and pretend he isn't breaking apart at the seams, that Lucifer doesn't know every strand and argument to make to unravel him all over again-

"Maybe not." Lucifer concedes. His eyes burn, wide and open, for once. "But I am still asking, Sam." Then he inhales, traces the leap of Sam's pulse before he puts two hands on Sam's shoulders, giving a deceptively light squeeze that doesn't hide the threat underneath at all.

"And you still belong to me." Lucifer says, lips brushing Sam's own. "You always will. Just like I belong to you. I can't change it. You can't, either. No matter how adaptable you are."

_Let me make the pain stop, Sam. You don't have to feel broken. Not with me. I'll always fill up the parts of yourself you are scared will eat you alive. And you're beautiful. You always will be. Just let yourself choose us, for once, instead of choosing everyone else. That's all I need from you. To choose us, one last time, and not let go. You can do that, can't you? I'm not asking for a yes, or the end of the world. Just you. And you've already given yourself over. You already are mine. Why keep fighting? All you do is fight, Sam. Aren't you tired? Because I know I am. Just give it a rest. And let yourself rest. Is that so hard to do?_

**There is no way I can suffer your love again.**

_Yes, you can._

**I can't-**

_It might be messy, and it might hurt, in the beginning, with all our rough starts, and old baggage. But I'll follow your lead, this time. I promise. And you know I don't break my promises, Sam. I might not be who you want me to be, but I have never given up on you. I have never lied about that._

"All you want is to be loved, Sam." Lucifer says in his ear. One hand still keeps Sam's head pinned to his chest, Sam's own chest heaving with a heartbeat he'll never hear echoing under Lucifer's chosen form. "All you want is safety for your family. For your life to be your own. To know what's real. Let me give you that. Let me give you your family, and be a part of it, for real. It's the least I can do, after everything else..."

"You don't deserve me." Sam chokes out. "You never have. And I can't give this to you. I won't-" Sam keeps trying to wriggle out of Lucifer's grip.

"At the price of everything and everyone else? We've played these stakes before. You know me, Sam. Better than anyone." Lucifer's tone remains deceptively light as he shrugs, then lets go as if contact with Sam burned him. "You know what saying no means. I'm being generous here, giving over the wheel. Don't throw it back in my face. I'm trying to start over with you. The least you can do is meet me halfway."

Sam falls against the coffee table and to the ground and crawls backwards on autopilot, hugging his knees to his chest despite himself thanks to the gleam he sees in Lucifer's eyes, the monster of the face beneath his stolen humanity every bit as dangerous as it always is.

"You don't get to make me choose you-" Sam says, holding the line even though he knows Lucifer can do whatever he wants, because he always has, and he keeps shaking on the ground and just staring down the Devil, no weapons to keep him out no matter what Sam does.

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, leaning over the edge of his knees, arms out and supplicating. "I'm not making you do anything. You'll choose me. I know you will, this time, when it matters." Then wings creep over the edges of Sam's vision as the smile lights up Lucifer's face, sharp and cold and white, white and bright and burning hot as a star, as he adds, "After all, we've been through too much together. This time, I know you'll make the right choice."

"You have no power over me-" Sam yells. His knees are still jelly and he can't get upright. He's just frozen, stuck there, staring down the same thing he's always been. The same thing promising him dreams and kindness and completion, even as it promises everything else that hurts, too.

Lucifer shakes his head, and the light dies down, and he looks so very human, then, even if every inch of him is not.

"But I do, Sammy. I do. I always will. You know that." Lucifer answers, every kind intonation belied by the force behind his words.

Lucifer stands up holds out a hand for Sam to take.

Sam doesn't.

Lucifer hauls Sam up anyway, Sam headbutts him, one hand covering his mouth, his own hands and nails scrambling at nothing, only for the ground to sink under his feet and the memory to change as Lucifer turns his face to the skyline, to the sea where he and Sam once made so many promises to each other, to the place Sam once considered the bed of all his hopes and dreams-

Lucifer releases his grip.

Sam stumbles forwards, the Devil at his back. The one place he should never be, and Sam turns on his heels-

"There is only one way this ever ends, Sammy. So just be kind to yourself, for once, and give yourself what has always been yours." Lucifer says. The words curl around Sam's neck, like a noose, like a promise, like a threat-

When Sam turns around, Lucifer is gone. All he sees is the waves cresting on the beach and a horizon bathed in red, and nothing left to hold back the tide.

No echo of the Devil remains, except for one last parting shot.

_Sleep on it, baby. I'll see you very, very soon._

For once, inside his head, Sam is all alone.


	93. The Devil Went Down To Georgia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beginning of the squicky horror parts
> 
> chapter title a song by the charles daniel's band

When Sam comes to, he’s trapped against a gurney. He can hear Lucifer humming to himself, the sound bright and clear and reverberating. It staggers him with nausea before he’s fully opened his eyes.

He cannot move much, can only squirm and shift his shoulders, toes, and fingers, something which bizarrely charitable considering who had bound him. The restraints are almost stemming the circulation in his hands but just miss the cut off point, and he can barely raise his head up to survey around at his surroundings. White cotton clings to the dampness of his neck, uncomfortable and prickly.

The grey warehouse is too wide and vacant to see beyond the shelves, a few green pipes climbing up into the ceiling. It smells sterile, like an absence of anything besides raw industrialized air, and there is not a speck of dust or draft breezing through. Sam also isn’t gagged, and with anyone else that would be a small mercy, if not for the fear that it really wasn’t, because in all likelihood, that meant _no one was going to hear him._

Ice has frosted over his lips and his eyelashes, coating the metal of the gurney because the Devil is never far away.

The humming stops.

Lucifer, uncharacteristically, doesn’t have anything to say, isn’t gloating or chomping at the bit to make some overdramatic quip or to hear the sound of his own voice.

No, he’s dead quiet, calculating, just a blurry blond figure hunched over a chair at the edges of Sam’s peripheral vision. Sam can’t make out what body he’s occupied, if it’s New and Improved Nick Vessel 2.0 or a new invaded body Sam’s not yet acquainted with.

 _At least it’s not Cas,_ Sam privately sighs in relief. It wouldn’t be a stretch for Lucifer to project that as a hallucination.

Lucifer tilts his head, instantaneous with the realization Sam has finally come to, as if he hasn’t been waiting and waiting and waiting. Or perhaps he truly hadn’t been paying attention, too focused on his plotting and making sure Sam has no means of escape. Sam could bet Lucifer wasn’t planning to fall for Sam’s brand of escape artist tricks, of careful wardings and Enochian for whose price the Devil had made him bleed for. (Sam didn’t miss those games from the Cage, those traps of, “Try to keep me out, Sam.” Only for the Devil to get in anyway.)

Sam can feel the catch of Lucifer’s gaze light down. It’s soon followed with a quick smile, a sharp white crescent cutting through the haze.

And then the Devil rises from his place, sloughing of the stillness like an irksome fly.

Sam strains to keep Lucifer within site, to try and see what he is doing, but his neck does not crane far enough and the restraints chafe against his skin, pulled taut. His head is pounding, and there are spots swimming in his vision from dehydration.

There is joy and victory singing inside his skin, and Sam is more afraid than he has ever been in every death and his entire life.

_Heya Sammy. Welcome back._

The oncoming footsteps do not make much sound on the concrete floor as Lucifer stalks closer. It is Nick’s form, Sam sees now, and the familiarity would almost be worse, if not for the fact no one else was suffering Lucifer’s whims.

Sam’s throat constricts, his teeth are chattering. He’d thought he would have gone numb from the constant low level threat humming in the background, but this was new, and new was the farthest from safe. Sam knew what a defeated Lucifer wanted, what he would do. He didn’t have a frame of reference for victorious Lucifer, not since before the Cage, and that had never gone well back then, either.

Sam can’t stop shivering, thinks, _this must be what another angel induced panic attack feels like,_ and, _maybe he can pass out again from sheer force of will,_ and a burning chemical smell wafts up, and he shudders as his eyes start to roll back inside his skull. He’s not a stranger to this, but it’s been a long time since his body lost it this bad, just flat out refused to cope, and the thudding noise and inexorable strain steals over him anyway.

Lucifer’s grace reaches out, shoves itself down Sam’s esophagus and nostrils and chest, and Sam is at once stable and breathing normally, even though he doesn’t want to be.

The whiplash from the grace was something Sam never gets used to, from keening, burning joy that made his head spin with ecstasy coagulated with Lucifer’s sour, curdled stickiness that clings to him like tar, a slimy, tacky residue coating the inside of his soul. The bitterness infected it, had solidified during Lucifer’s second stint in the cage, and Sam knows that that’s his fault, too.

Everything was Sam’s fault. It was easier, that way.

Lucifer pats the ridge of Sam’s ankle, fingers drawing lazy circles on the slip of bare skin between his socks and his jeans. He draws the contact out, exactingly slow, and Sam catalogues every single idea he can to slide out of the restraints, even though he knows it’s useless. His heart stutters in his chest.

“You know, it never gets old, seeing you trussed up like this.” Lucifer starts, eying Sam appreciatively.

Sam bares his teeth.

 **I’ll kill you, I swear I’ll kill you, don’t you fucking touch me,** Sam prays and doesn’t stop, won’t stop. His thoughts carry like a thrown a grenade. He knows it won’t change anything, but it’s the thought that counts.

One hand strikes forward, wrenches Sam’s chin between three fingers. The Devil is not a fan of sass today, no sir.

“Want to know why you are here, Sam?” Lucifer asks, faux-amiable. His expression completely at odds with the too-still, too crushing form looming over him. The viselike grip tightens, and Sam notes the point of prolonged contact is definitely going to bruise.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.” Sam grits out. His eyes are starting to smart. The adrenaline rush doesn’t end, keeps the constant supply of fear pumping through Sam’s veins.

The Devil raises his eyebrows, but let’s go, and Sam’s head slams back down on the gurney.

_Don’t be difficult._

Sam snorts. As if there was ever another option.

 **You’re not getting anything out of me,** Sam slings back, but doesn’t meet Lucifer’s gaze. Lucifer can talk however much he damn pleases. He won’t humor him. He won’t. He may bend and break at the Devil’s beck and call but his compliance would not be given willingly.

_You so sure about that?_

At Sam’s forced, continued noncompliance, the Devil sighs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t appear bothered by Sam’s reluctance, his overly suffused-in-danger-and-thus-automatically-induced resistance.

Lucifer knows he’s won, this time. Sam just hasn’t caught up with the program yet, being always two steps behind.

“Sam, I know we’ve had our… differences, in the past, but I was really hoping we had made some real headway back there. You and me, together again. You and me, fighting off the Darkness. And before that, you, rescuing me from Amara's clutches like a knight in shining armor. Very romantic, by the way, you know how to make someone feel special when you try.”

Sam almost can’t stay silent at that, and he inwardly flinches at almost-engaging, at giving the Devil more of what he wants.

 **Not for you.** He thinks. **For Cas.**

Even though that betrayal still stung, too.

“Look, work with me here, Sam. I’m trying to make this easy for you.”

Sam doesn’t take the bait.

“Still going for the silent treatment. Ok, Sammy, have it your way. I’ll just… keep admiring, how’s that sound?”

And Lucifer’s hands are gliding over him again, this time lighting under his shirt and other places, yet one more violation Sam doesn’t have the stomach to take.

“Stop.” Sam’s voice hitches, and the Devil, for once, actually listens.

 _Make me._ The grace hisses.

“The ball’s in your court, champ.” Sam sucks in air as the creeping hands recede.

“Why am I here? What’s your angle?" Sam asks, and the change is jarring as the Devil’s face lights up like fireworks, or overly decked out houses on Christmas.

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, Sammy,” Lucifer snaps, and Sam winces, but it’s only to bring a table closer from the other side of the room, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. About us. About the direction our lives are going in, you know?”

Sam can honestly say this is not what he expected, but that doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with this. But one hand is still perched on his knee, thumb sliding back and forth and it’s distracting him, keeping him from withdrawing completely.

“If you say so.” He volunteers, if only to keep Lucifer’s roving hands at bay. His mind supplies, _Get to the point._

The Devil obliges, continues, “And after God... _left,_ ” There’s a tic, for a moment, where the bereft, jagged rage of abandonment shines through, despite his own culpability, despite it all because it rankles from another, older time and place, “I came to realize something. We don’t need Dad, and someone has to step up to the plate, be a visionary now that he is out of the picture.”

“And you’re volunteering?” Sam scoffs, disbelieving. The Devil allows it grudgingly, but it was better than nothing.

“Not exactly. But it did make me ask, what do I want now that I’m out and about, free to roam in the world again? Now that you’ve given Fate the finger and fucked off all on your lonesome,” Lucifer can’t help but jab, then relents, “I realized that I need… well, new priorities. A tangible marker to demonstrate just how things have changed, you know? Something to make our fresh start a reality.”

“What’s this have to do with me, exactly?” Sam whispers. The sinking feeling won’t go away, but he keeps it at bay.

 **I won’t say yes again. I won’t.** Sam insists.

_Cool your jets, jeez._

“I’m not talking about possession.” Lucifer clarifies. That premise, while its own relief, doesn’t bode well.

The Devil changes tack.

“Look, Sam, I know things between us haven’t always been-“

 **Good? Consensual? Not horribly wrong and twisted in every single way?** Sam can’t stop his mind from broadcasting.

“Peaceful,” The Devil decides, shooting Sam an annoyed look, “And I think I know just how our relationship can improve. But what I want from you now, Sam, is some insight on what you think we should do about this.”

Sam does not like the direction this is heading in, and panic bubbles up and simmers over. Lucifer didn’t have a good track record for caring about his opinion, to put it mildly, even if he did like when Sam was complicit in his own torture and humiliation.

“Do about… what?” Sam answers, confused and withdrawn from his own confusion. Sam thought he didn’t have any energy left for alarm, but it looks like he was just going to be surprised today.

The Devil gesticulates wildly back and forth between them. “This. You. Me. Where you think it all went wrong, et cetera and so forth. Go ham.”

“I don’t think you’ll appreciate my honest opinion.” Sam replies, slow, sluggish, but at least Lucifer isn’t touching him anymore.

“Try anyway.” And the Devil clasps his hands together as he starts analyzing him, eyes not leaving Sam’s face. As if he doesn’t know what he’ll find there, as if he can change his mind through sheer force of concentration.

 **Where are you going with this?** Sam thinks. It’s not as if the Devil doesn’t know these answers already.

 _Look, sweetheart, don’t make me angry. Just take this opportunity for what it is, play along._ And with that threat, today Sam knows for sure Lucifer’s almost-nonexistent patience was on a shorter lease than usual.

“Well,” Sam starts off shaky, gaze skittering away, “For one thing, you tried to kill everyone.”

“A once in a lifetime, easy-to-remedy mistake.” Lucifer counters, nonchalant, glancing down at his nails as if the concept were nothing less than dirt beneath his shoe. Yeah, Sam wouldn’t hold his breath on that one.

 _Keeping talking._ The grace hisses, less kind, and Sam complies.

“And you tortured me for thousands of years.” Sam adds, as if that isn’t the most obvious answer in the world.

“Which you _deserved_.” Lucifer reminds, a muscle tensing in his jaw.

_You owed me, Sammy. Remember? You owed me a pound of flesh and more when you threw everything I would give you away._

The overlay of the archangel sparks over Sam’s vision for a moment, and Sam is so drawn with panic that’s tired all of a sudden, so tired from the thousands of lifetimes he’s lived in Hell and the knowledge of the rest of it is more than any human mind can take.

“And you won’t stop torturing me,” Sam can’t seem to get the words to stop now, “And you’ve used my body and my mind and you keep making me doubt what is real and you’ve tried to kill Cas and Dean and innocent people and you made demonkind and you keep asking me to do things I can’t do and you never stop and keep acting like everything is fine and you don’t stop, you never stop,” Sam’s voice gets louder and louder, “And you’ve raped me, and you’ve lied to me, and you’ve tricked me, and I loved you, and it wasn’t enough, it was never enough, and you don’t stop, you won’t ever stop, and I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME, OKAY?” Sam chokes off, back to hyperventilating. There was so much more he could say, and yet he couldn’t voice any of it, didn’t want to give the Devil more undeserved ammunition.

Lucifer claps.

“Okay, that was a tad dramatic, but I’ll take it. Good effort. Gold star.” Lucifer supplies, as if getting Sam to spin out wasn’t like pulling teeth, easy and casual and something he’d do on an off weekend.

The rage surges back, but it’s muted, wary.

Sam’s fine, no he’s not fine, but he’s been holding off on processing for so long that this has already overwhelmed him. Compartmentalizing only works when you don’t think about any of it, and now the Devil’s picked that part of him clean, desiccated it, too, and he’s a too-large shell for something too mangled and broken, all the real fight long-since drained out him. There was nothing to win, no way to, not right now.

“What exactly did you think I was going to say?” Sam asks. “Sure, I'll change my mind. We can patch things up, just ignore every single thing you’ve ever done, that you’re still doing?”

He thinks, too loudly, **It’s not like you’re going to change.**

Lucifer shrugs, but its jerky, not fluid, betrays the latent storm brewing. Lucifer chides, “You know as well as I do why it has to be this way, Sammy.”

_You betrayed me. You threw us in the Cage and you left me there. All of your receipts are to be paid upfront. It’s only fair._

Lucifer adds lightly, to cover the earthshattering, screeching grace ringing in Sam's skull, “Doesn’t mean we can’t still make things right.”

Sam swallows. Pressure is building below his eyelids, and he’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s surprised it took so long.

“Don’t you want to make this up to me?” Lucifer implores. “Don’t you want to rectify the wrongs you’ve committed?”

Sam has no words, only seething, bitter hate. And the omnipresent guilt. And the trained, canned response of, **Yes, yes of course I do please don’t ask me anymore, please.** And it hurts, his heart hurts, all of it hurts so much all over again.

 _We can start over, Sam._ And it’s too much, too much, _Isn’t that what you wanted, before?_

Somehow, the words still come, although Sam knows it won’t change anything.

“You betrayed me first.” He whispers. **You took my choices away.**

And with that came the end of the Devil’s patience.

“You know what your problem is, Sam?”

_You never learn._

“You have too high standards, after everything you’ve done.” Lucifer provides, his mouth becoming a drawn line.

“Screw you.” Sam snarls, and next he’s choking on his own blood.

Lucifer keep his fist closed, for one beat, two, and Sam seizes, convulsing, until he isn’t anymore. Sam takes in a shuddering breath, the blood dribbling down his chin.

“We’ll get to that,” Lucifer says softly, and his hands suddenly curl over one of Sam’s own, heavy with a promise.

An involuntary whine escapes Sam’s closed lips.

 _Oh, relax, Sam. We haven’t gotten there yet._ The grace whispers. Sam freezes, dizzy and unresponsive, off-balance from the heady mix of promises. The Devil may lie, may trick, may steal, but the promises were true. That was the worst part.

Lucifer, happy he’s finally gotten Sam nestled back into forced compliance, focuses back on his original point, as if nothing has gone awry. As if Sam could be re-wired, because he knows he can, given enough of a push.

_It’s fine, Sam, everything's fine. Should’ve expected this from you._

Sam is inarticulate, doesn’t have anything left to answer.

“So, moving away from your temper tantrum. What I was getting at,” Lucifer says, too lightly, “Is the root of all our problems.” And then there’s a hand, still too cold and heavy as it clamps down on Sam’s wrist, “We have a distinct lack of common priorities.”

That’s putting it lightly, the small segmented, not-shut-down part of Sam’s mind chimes in. He still cringes away from the contact, even if it’s only centimeters of space.

Lucifer brushes a stray hair off of Sam’s forehead, and Sam tries to bite him, fails, has his tongue ripped out for his troubles. Lucifer heals him without missing a beat, looking bored by the desperation.

“And I figure, with all our baggage, bad blood, differing opinions, take your pick, that we need something that unites us.”

Sam can’t stop the hysterical laughter from escaping his lips.

 **Go to Hell.** His mind spits with every fiber of his being.

_Oh, you’ll be right there with me._

The Devil keeps going.

“So I thought, to start out, we should spend some quality time to catch up, really reconnect. Thay sort of thing. But,” Lucifer shifts, and Sam flinches.

“Considering how uncooperative you’ve been lately, we will iron out the nitty-gritty details later,” Lucifer specifies, too keen, too hungry, too vengeful. “So for right now, Sammy, I’ll list out your accommodations. Let you know how this is going to be. We’ll finish this _discussion_ tomorrow, when you’ve had time to settle in.”

 **Can’t wait,** Sam lies. This won’t end well, that was pre-ordained. The only question was how much Sam was going to regret this.

_You’re mine, Sam. Always have been. And if you want to make things difficult... Be my guest. It doesn't change a thing._

The Devil presses a kiss to his forehead, and Sam waits for the ultimatums.


	94. Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more squicky horror parts
> 
> chapter title a song by hozier

When Sam wakes up next, same warehouse, same position, he’s surprised he’s in one piece. Lucifer is perched on a stool next to him, knees tucked in and white teeth bared in smile. His grace is gentle and easy and completely at odds with everything Sam knows the Devil to be.

“Surprised I’m not torturing you?” Lucifer asks, and Sam sees the hint of something metal in his hands glint against the warehouse's hanging lightbulbs' half-inconstant glare.

 **Not a knife** , Sam notes as Lucifer stops his inspection and places the tool back on the tray, too quickly for Sam’s peripheral vision to catch and the table too high for Sam to properly see. Sam couldn’t get enough of a glimpse of it before the Devil stowed it away, but it looked more like scissors or pliers from this angle, although too big for that.

 **That’s why he brought over the table yesterday, if that was yesterday,** Sam speculates as he tries to stay grounded.

_Close. Three days. Had to keep you out for medical reasons. Needed to make sure you were all in one piece. And good news, Sam. After my intervention, you’re as healthy as a clam. Maybe not as happy, but still. Bivalves have it easy compared to the likes of us._

**You said you'd explain two days ago.** Sam decides there's no point in not engaging right now. He needs answers more. Answers meant Lucifer's actions could be predicted, and predictable Lucifer could be beaten or outsmarted, albeit temporarily.

_And I changed my mind. Not like I promised anything._

**Semantics. What gives?**

_Can't have you throwing a wrench in things this time, blah blah blah. I learn from my mistakes, unlike a certain someone._

**When you actually manage to change** , Sam's half-dissociated mind muses, **You learn the wrong lessons.**

_Potato, tomato._

**That's not-** And there's a clue in Lucifer's tactless evasion, too. Now Sam knows whatever Lucifer planned is more fragile than anticipated, enough so that he can't hint anything or Sam might just find a way out.

_Look, just shut up and open your ears, Sammy. Not in the mood._

**Funny, neither am I.**

One pale hand slams palm first on the metal table so hard there's a visible dent.

Sam starts. His throat bobs as he refocuses on what the Devil actually is speaking aloud.

“Sam, I know we aren’t always on the same page, but I meant what I said. We’re going to change things up this time. Properly start anew.” Lucifer says, and cups Sam’s face.

Sam winces. Lucifer nails are bitten down, his thumbs calloused and rough as they swirl over Sam’s cheekbones. Sam wonders if they are starting to burn through, if Lucifer’s revamped Nick vessel might be giving out, despite everything. Sam’s prays to a God that he knows won’t answer for that to be the case, for one small possible mercy that might free him from this. Sam could almost die happy, then.

“But in order for us to truly start over, well… Let’s just say from here on out, I’ll be keeping you in perfect health.” Lucifer adds. Then a hand pokes at Sam’s chest. “No germ, microbe, bacteria, or virus is going to come near you with a ten-foot-pole. But this will go so much easier with your cooperation. And if you won’t play nice, well, it’s going to have to be _restraints_ all the time!” Lucifer's voice grows louder and more sarcastic by the end, hands opening and splayed like makeshift fireworks before they fall, and Lucifer grows serious again. “You following?”

Sam nods yes. Inside, his thoughts are all rebellion and hellfire.

**Like Hell I will.**

_Sam. Again with the lying._

**How about instead you march yourself straight back down to the Cage, how does that fucking sound?**

Lucifer’s blue eyes close, and his nostrils flare. Opens them, a too casual, kind look smoothing over his face.

“You’re lucky I love you, Sam. I’d be so impatient otherwise.”

Without any more pomp-and-circumstance, Lucifer opens a vein with a razor, puts the sharp implement down, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

_Let’s see those pearly whites._

And then Lucifer is cradling Sam’s neck upright as he forces Sam to chug a hit of the grace-infused, icy not-quite-a-liquid-but-not-a-solid-but-more-than-air consistency, grade A, unfiltered blood. Pressure and need covers Sam’s eyelids in a dull throb.

It tastes like ozone and radiation and iron, a burnt out star lighting up Sam’s tongue. Pure and bright sticky and slippery. Like dissolving into a cloud, a sound-wave too low to hear that makes your ears pop and jaw vibrate anyway.

Sam doesn’t swallow it down, even when his veins and everything are screaming for it.

Lucifer sighs.

_Look, Sam. Remember this?_

And then there’s a vial of something clenched in Lucifer’s otherwise unoccupied left hand, black and slick with the consistency of blood and oil and tar. It smells of sulfur and brimstone and decay. A somewhat nostalgic, cheaper, and definitely-less-holy knockoff substitute.

Sam’s mouth would water if it could, if it hadn’t already, because Lucifer’s blood was always more of a hit that demon blood would ever be. It would almost be funny, thinking that, seeing as years ago it once evened everything out. But once Sam was free of demon blood, the angel blood was enough of a hit on its own, not a countermeasure to sober Sam up. Like too much antivenom becoming poisonous again.

_Dealer’s choice. You don’t take what I give you, I’ll stuff this nifty cocktail down your throat, let you hallucinate and wear out all the aftershocks, and then I’ll give you another hit, until you’re begging me to be inside you and I’ll take you, so gently, for as many days as I want, and then I’ll just force you to take my blood in after all because quite frankly there’s no getting out of this. It’s a prerequisite for what’s necessary, and I’d rather get this show on the road, sooner rather than later._

Sam feels the sharp pang shudder through him, feels the tightness and wetness everywhere it shouldn’t be, feels Lucifer’s whole being, wings and teeth and claws and mouths, all of it, like he’s rolled over and pressed atop Sam’s skin.

_And no one coming for you, Sam. It’s just you and me here. Just us._

Sam still doesn’t swallow. He’s too afraid to move.

 _Sam. I’m not going to ask again_.

And then there’s claws and teeth sliding over Sam’s soul, a more elastic pressure of tongues over Sam’s chest and pelvis where he’s uncomfortably hard from muscle-memory, from all the other times Lucifer’s played Sam like a fiddle.

Sam manages to gulp the blood down, too exhausted and weary already.

_Good._

The fuzziness starts to crowd in, the _glories_ and rapture and small touches at odds with the sharp bony angles and edges of Lucifer, of the too-blinding and sheer, glacial-stinging agony of his closeness as Sam’s soul gives way.

**Why this?**

Sam manages to think as he is towed under again, awareness tuning in and out like a bad, grainy channel whose satellite signal goes in and out. Lucifer heals his wrist and bites his lip open instead, then kisses Sam with a possessive need that Sam can’t help but reciprocate, if only to get more of the blood down.

_I’ll explain in… oh, about a week, let’s say? I’m still figuring out some details. Negotiating fine print and all that._

Sam is gifted another hit and he’s pulled fully under, completely at Lucifer’s mercy again.

\--

The next day goes by without Lucifer hurting Sam except for keeping him in an increasingly intense drugged up haze. Sam thinks he’s hooked up to an IV of something (something at least not blood, since that’s administered orally on the dot every few hours maybe). Sam knows he’s blind guessing here, but that isn’t reassuring because it could be anything. (Lucifer says it’s a normal IV, just to keep Sam hydrated, and Sam doesn’t believe that's all it is even if some of it actually is.)

By the second day, Sam is waking up at random intervals. Sam tries to keep praying to Cas, to any angel and demon, even though he knows Lucifer is the only one who can hear him.

Sometimes the light are on. Sometimes they are off. Sometimes the lights dance because Sam shakes too much and Sam’s heartbeat is too fast and Lucifer coos at him, whispering, humming, until Sam goes under again.

After that, Sam doesn’t know how long it’s been, how long he’s been kept out of it while the hazy commotion around him keeps going on in a blur as Lucifer does whatever the hell he’s been up to.

Sam can’t really assume a week, because aside from planning the Apocalypse, Lucifer’s sense of time has always been horrible and irrelevant to him even when he was Jess (who could never be expected to be on time for anything since she had been so easily distracted by whatever struck her fancy, especially Sam), partially from his age and from his time in confinement being so different from freedom. 

And because Lucifer is a gigantic fucking liar. He might only use half-truths, but half-truths and carefully worded approximations are lies, all the same.

 **How long, please, Lucifer, how long-** By now, even Sam’s prayers and thoughts sound rusty and far away, even to himself.

_Eight days. No, wait, ten. So I was a bit off. You can sue me for damages later, if you still didn’t owe me upfront._

Sometimes Lucifer feels Sam up briefly. Sometimes he’s scribbling some kind of Enochian and other symbols Sam doesn’t actually know yet around the gurney and the walls and the floor and the ceiling, because Lucifer only taught him a minute fraction of what he knew in the Cage, but it’s all in red and white and black spray-paint. Sam thinks he chose those colors on purpose. Scratch that, Sam knows it, and now Sam’s gonna have to replace every can of spray-paint he and Dean own when ( **if** , he avoids thinking) he ever gets out of this.

Sometimes Lucifer sits perched next to Sam on a chair, just watching. Sometimes he’s chanting. Sometimes he takes a break to sing, taps his feet while he waits for something while Sam’s still kept in the dark. Sometimes he takes Sam’s temperature with two fingers, and Sam knows because Lucifer tells him the same fucking number every time.

At some point, Lucifer says preparations are being more difficult than expected and offhandedly comments Sam’s been trapped for at least a month.

Sam has never felt more confined in his life, even counting the Cage, because technically the Cage wasn't completely real, at least by Sam's reasoning, because considering otherwise would just be a quick road down to losing it.

One time, Sam tries escaping his bonds with the one-two punch of his psychic powers kept sharp by the blood singing in his trachea. Lucifer catches on immediately, but doesn’t do anything except laugh as Sam pushes and pushes with his mind and soul as he tries, strains, feels the power make contact before it goes out, just dies out quick as a snapped tripwire.

The second time Sam tries, Lucifer hooks up yet another IV, and the Devil keeps laughing until he loses it and falls to the floor, the sound raucous and irritating and too-close-to-other-memories.

Sam doesn’t have the energy to try much more after that.

Sometimes, it’s completely silent. Sam can only hear his breathing, his heartbeat, a too-in-tune hum of _Glory, Glory, Sammy,_ lapping over Sam’s ears, reverb keeping time like off-beat ocean waves and ice shots course through his veins.

Sometimes, Sam begs Lucifer just to say something, anything, because the silence was worse. Lucifer finds those moments more hilarious than gratifying, but only by a slight margin, and he is always happy to oblige. Still, Sam doesn’t regret asking, can’t afford to, because the alternative makes every single atom of Sam feel insubstantial, like he’s floating, a half-ghost only worse because all that’s tying him down is the bond keeping him anchored to the Archangel God chose for him.

The other option is feeling almost-but-not-quite full, like Lucifer’s halfway to possessing Sam and being overlaid under his skin by mere proximity. Sam catches some thoughts, but Lucifer mostly just grumbles that whatever he’s up to is _taking too damn long_ , that some spell would be the easiest part of this so long as, _that witch better get her act together_.

 _Worth the sacrifice, but such a time consuming process_. Lucifer laments.

Sam doesn’t hope whatever this is works, but he hopes Dean and Cas find him before Lucifer’s plan goes off properly.

Sometimes Sam refuses to drink anything. Lucifer either chokes him out until Sam has no other option than to swallow the blood down, or Lucifer injects Sam with a full syringe that Sam can't even use to draw his own blood because he can't fucking move enough away.

Once, Sam pulls one hand out of the leather and metal restraints, rips his hand out, peeled-off skin and visible muscle and all, too high and too numbed by cold to feel the pain. Sam tries to draw a banishing sigil in blood until Lucifer grabs his free arm, all the while the Devil raises his other hand-

Two fingers are too light on Sam's forehead.

When Sam comes to afterwards, the restraints are coated in some kind of soft rubber and his wrist and hand have healed completely.

Sam feels some misplaced kinship for Lucifer then, insofar Sam has never felt more hatred for his own humanity in that moment. 

Lucifer is nearby more often than not. Sam only ever finds himself alone for a few minutes when conscious, if at all. (Lucifer knows when he wakes, Sam knows he always knows).

Sam doesn’t know how all his bodily functions aren’t going off without a hitch. Lucifer hasn’t freed him for bathroom breaks or inserted a catheter (the absence of which fills Sam with relief, all things considered), nor has Lucifer unhooked Sam and walked him around to prevent his muscles from atrophying (if Lucifer even cares, although Sam knows he does on some level, even if the answer is sheer vanity). But Sam stays in preserved in whatever condition he’s been in since Lucifer talked to him the third day, always tied down to the damn gurney. Sam wonders if Lucifer has some spell to empty him out or keep everything as-is along with whatever liquefied food and water is being supplied, presumably through the IV, since that’s the only thing that makes sense on a human level. Or maybe Lucifer's methods aren’t human, or able to be made sense of, at all.

 **Seems plausible** , Sam decides. **Lucifer does hate humanity that much, if not more**.

_Oh, don't sell yourself so short, roomie. And the answer is fucking magic. No need to make this process more time consuming than it already is._

**Fuck this, and fuck you.**

_You kiss your mother with that mouth? Oh, who cares. 'Cause you'll certainly be kissing lil' old me with it. Unless that wasn't you propositioning just now? Yeah, didn't think so. I'd zip it, and quit while you're ahead if I were you, Buddy. Or I might just take you up on your offer._

Sooner rather than later, Sam finds extrapolation too exhausting on top of everything else.

Otherwise, the Devil always intermittently feeds Sam blood, like clockwork with whatever opaque schedule Lucifer keeps. Sam feels it pounding in his head, choking down his throat ‘til it feels cold and numb and raw.

Once in a while, Sam steals some questions whenever he breaks through the drug-induced haze.

**How much longer? What even are you doing? Let me move, for fuck's sake-**

_Not right now, Sam. We’ll get there._

**I can’t take more, please, whatever this is-**

_Much as I love begging, Sam, there’s really no way to cut this short. We both just have to wait this out until everything is all settled._

**Would think you would have prepared better-**

_Couldn’t start the party without you, kiddo. Guest of honor and all that. Now, settle down and can it. I’m not thrilled about this taking so long either, but we’re playing a waiting game here, and you need all the rest you can get. Patience is a virtue._

**Lucifer-**

_Shush!_

There are no clocks, no windows. Just the same white and green and grey warehouse with peeled paint solely decked out with pipes and a few open hanging lightbulbs. Sam's long since memorized the patterns of dust and drywall and lichen over the ceiling and on the sides of the walls, even if more often than not they dance and twist and sway.

As he weaves in and out of awareness, Sam wonders if you can lose it from near solitary confinement after being trapped in similar conditions more than twice already. He thinks it’s likely. He’ll have to ask Dean and Cas when he gets out.

The “if he gets out” creeps in, unwanted and jarring, but by then, Sam doesn’t bother keeping his eyes open anymore. The only reason he's not hallucinating is because Lucifer is keeping his brain from losing it completely, and Sam isn't sure if he'd prefer hallucinations instead.

The Devil might be worse than solitary, Sam pretends, although he knows the truth is worse. After all, Lucifer had left him alone in the Cage more than once, just to prove a point. By the time he came back Sam had actually missed him, despite everything.

Sam adds that to the list of reasons he could hate Lucifer and himself again. The running tally was growing awfully damn long.

**JUST TELL ME, PLEASE-**

_Sam. Not a big fan of repeating myself._

There’s another hit forced down, another too-slick evasion shutting Sam up as blood flows down Sam’s esophagus again, and with that last, final hit, Sam goes out like a light.


	95. Take A Byte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the most brain bleach chapter i've ever written, squick and major tags galore
> 
> chapter title a song by Janelle Monae
> 
> also i am going to tag forced pregnancy and very trans-centric violence for this part since this was pretty much the squickiest thing I could think of and want ppl to be prepared

The next time, Sam wakes up naked in a body that isn’t his own. Or more accurately, it had been once, only not really. Sam’s housed inside a form that’s too curvy and soft and small and _young_ , and every limb is zip-tied to a bedframe that’s reinforced with Styrofoam and duct tape. It’s the same room as always. Sam feels metal creep over his throat, burning. Only he can’t bite down and scream, because he’s been gagged with some soft piece of material that tastes too flat and rubbery.

Sam’s body has a mind of his own, thrashes and tries to break free out of sheer instinct, out of the raw certainty, of: **NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.**

But then there’s ice everywhere, suffocating Sam, holding his not-yet-transitioned 21 year old body still. Bangs falling in Sam’s eyes, brown hair too long and tangled.

Then, Sam is so cold, teeth chattering, ice ghosting over the side of his too-strained neck. He isn’t high from the blood now, he’s come down, but that’s never been anything when stacked against everything Lucifer could possibly be.

Lucifer rises from his seat over on the side, a not-so-new face leaning above Sam’s head. Only the Devil has changed his own vessel this time, a form too familiar and unclothed.

Lucifer stares out of Jess’s brown eyes. The red overlay of Lucifer’s real ones flickers slightly over Sam’s vision, and the pale imitation of the Devil’s true form bursts out, too bright, wings out at their full span, before the sight recedes. Sam can watch Lucifer without being burned, but that doesn’t change the vice-grip keeping his heart and lungs and everything in stranglehold.

“Morning, Sam.” Jess’s rich voice is like a fountain, soft and warm and exactly like the day the first met back up on campus even as Lucifer walks so he’s at the foot of the bed. “Sorry about the stuffy accommodations. But I can’t really allow any sharp implements or have you bleeding on the upholstery today. I don’t really feel like taking any banishment sigils for the team halfway through.”

_Too inconvenient. And let me tell you, proofing a warehouse of all sharp objects is quite a bitch. Good practice, but still. Plus, it took so long to finally get you all ready. Would be a real shame if we had to draw this out longer than we have to._

**What the HELL is this? CHANGE ME BACK, don’t you fucking wear that FACE, get the FUCK AWAY-**

_Wow. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed._

Lucifer places one manicured hand on Sam’s ankle before it glides up Sam’s leg, fingers cold as ice. The nails feel smooth, not jagged, and they don’t dig in, are almost impossible to feel because they are cut close to the fingertip, and Sam knows where this is going and doesn’t want anything to do with this.

 **No no no no no** -

_Sam, keep this up, and you’re going to send yourself into a panic attack, and then I’ll have to feel you up even longer. Or you can just let me get this over with and we can move on with our lives. Don’t want to cause any internal injuries, after all._

With the other, Lucifer picks up and waves around whatever shiny implement he had been eyeing weeks before that Sam couldn’t quite see from the metal table, still indented. But Sam can see it clearly now and his heart starts pounding even faster.

Speculum.

**Don’t you fucking touch me, you just stay the HELL away, NO-**

_Just gotta check some final things first, Sam. Make sure everything is all healthy and working like it’s supposed to. Then we’ll talk, and I’ll explain, I promise. It’s an appointment long overdue._

Lucifer winks. And then the Devil is spreading Sam’s thighs slightly apart even though they’re already splayed and bound, two fingers and a thumb flicking across places Sam does not want touched. The contact is erratic and faint, a diagonal line that loops and crosses back over until Lucifer’s opened two lips of skin and rubbing circles into Sam’s clit. That continues for too long, until Lucifer readjusts and applies a bit more pressure, pushes inside with two crooked fingers.

Sam braces and tenses in spite of the need to not cooperate by any means necessary. Sam isn’t part of this. Sam isn’t going to react, Sam isn’t feeling any of it because Sam won’t allow Lucifer to have this-

Sam’s body reacts anyway. Sam feels himself bite down, draws blood, and his chapped lips burn as the blood drips over and Sam closes his eyes and prays he is far, far away-

The metal slides in, warm, completely opposite the cold bite of Lucifer’s fingers after they recede. And Lucifer did that on purpose just so Sam would feel the difference, Sam knows.

Another wave of hate and shame hits Sam like a breaking tidal wave, but he redirects it all back to the source, to the Devil, where it’s supposed to aim. Then, whatever Lucifer is looking for, whatever he needs the tool for, is found, and Sam is grateful that it’s only inside for a moment and now it’s out of him, it’s gone-

_Perfect. You’re always so perfect, Sam._

Lucifer drops the speculum back on the tray like it burnt his hand. Let’s Jess’s other hand massage Sam’s thigh. Two other fingers move back inside Sam, still twisting and caressing and kneading and Sam HATES it, chokes on the rage and the hate and the forced contact that he’d do anything to break.

**GET. AWAY.**

“Oh, but Sam, are you really going to pretend you aren’t enjoying this, not even a little?”

_I know all the tricks you like._

And Lucifer makes sure Sam is wet and slick and wanting, that Sam is breathless despite himself, and Sam curses this body again and again even Lucifer’s whispered praise is ringing inside his head and the grace whines in his ears.

The contact breaks off suddenly. But Sam sees the look in Lucifer’s eyes, sees the hunger and the need and the enjoyment, and he knows this isn’t over, and Sam can’t get enough air-

**NO! DON’T COME ANY CLOSER-**

Lucifer vaults over the bed and straddles Sam. Long blonde hair falls forward like a sheet. Lucifer tosses Jess’s head, lips making an O as the Devil falsely exhales to blow the remainder out of the way.

“Doesn’t this just take you down memory lane? Remember when we first met? Don’t pretend you don’t miss it.” Lucifer answers.

A smile, beaming, too white, too awful, never leaves the Devil’s oldest known face. And Jess’s body is too warm, too much, all curves presses into Sam’s. The cold creeps in soon after, insulated, but not well.  
  
 **BACK OFF. GET OFF. GET THE FUCK OFF ME-**

“Mm, no can do, baby.” Lucifer answers in Jess's voice and has Jess's tongue licks her lips. There’s one hand untangling Sam’s hair, moving it from being plastered to Sam’s damp forehead. The other shifts to the small of Sam’s back, ghosts over it lightly before moving again.

“Now, I know, Sam, that this body I’ve sent you back into isn’t ideal, at least for you. And trust me, I am much more of a fan of your broad shoulders and all the rest of that delicious lumberjack bod of yours.” Lucifer says as he untangles one fist from Sam’s hair and taps Sam’s collarbone lightly. “But, unfortunately, for this whole plan of mine to work, well, sacrifices had to be made.”

Lucifer slides two fingers down Sam’s torso. One thumb flicks out and rubs circles until Sam’s nipples are hard and a shiver pricks down Sam’s spine against Sam’s will, because Sam would rather die a thousand deaths, would rather let Lucifer have his fun in the Cage with Sam having no means of escape, than ever live through this again.

 **WHY? WHAT IS THE POINT? WHAT DO YOU GET OUT OF THIS?** Sam’s mind sobs. **WHY WASN’T ANY OTHER TORTURE ENOUGH?**

_Woah, Sam.Take it easy. Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s it. Can’t have you passing out, then I’ll have to be more creative when you wake up._

Both of Lucifer’s hands cradle Sam’s face as the Devil presses their foreheads together. Sam can’t quite look away from each and every birthmark and freckle he’d long since memorized on Jess’s face, doesn’t meet brown (red) eyes as he stares at Jess’s lips, hypnotized by a pure shot of adrenaline and fear. Ignores the pressure and softness of Jess’s body as Lucifer presses closer. Sam can smell her old shampoo.

Jess’s lips ghost over his as Lucifer adds, “I’m not trying to torture you, Sam, not this time, not really. I mean, there’s a reason I’ve only ever changed my form around in the Cage and kept you just as you were always meant to be. Lines even I won’t cross, and all that.”

Lucifer kisses him, firm and demanding. Sam doesn’t respond. And Lucifer’s omnipresent cold, the gusts and breeze and chill of it, starts to melt away as Lucifer does whatever it is he’s doing, as he feels as warm and human as Jess did, the gooseflesh prickling over Sam’s skin.

_But, you see, you’re the only one for me, Sam. True Vessel notwithstanding. Mine._

“And with what I need from you right now, well, biologically, this was the only way this was going to work. Necessity being the mother of invention, and all that.”

And Sam is hyperaware of Lucifer’s hands now, feels them slithering down Sam’s sides.

 **WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? DON’T BE FUCKING CRYPTIC YOU FUCKING COWARD** -

_I’m getting there. Listen closely._

“You’re going to be a parent, Sam. See, the thing is, with Nephilim, well, they need a human host. And considering how close we are, well… You’re the only one who fits the bill. Not just counting the fact that other humans are disgusting, no. Because you’re mine, in every way that counts. I’ve got your mind, your body, your heart, your soul, right here in the palm of my hand…”

**NO. I DON’T LOVE YOU. YOU DON’T OWN ME. GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELF-**

_Lying is a sin, Bunk Buddy. And if we’re being honest, uh, I really do._

Jess’s fingers stop at Sam’s navel. Then they’re cupping the wings of Sam’s pelvis, not crushing, but not gentle.

**You really want to tell me that this whole setup isn’t torture, isn’t exploitative, isn’t pure fucking evil-**

_Oh, fine then. Newsflash, I’m the Devil, Sam. It’s kind of what I was made to do._

**You-**

Sam’s coherent thoughts cut out as the Devil’s fingers are back inside Sam, too close. Lucifer’s tongue, still Jess, licks over Sam, and then there’s a mouth sucking, wet and sticky, against one breast. Sam adamantly pretends this body feels nothing, that he isn’t aware of any of it even as Sam feels every damnable sensation. Lucifer pulls back, and then kisses Sam’s lips again, this time forcing Sam’s head lower against the bed.

_Kidding. Can you imagine? C’mon, Sam. I promise I’ll make this whole deal the farthest thing from torture as possible for you, I mean, look how you’re already responding. Just relax._

**FUCK OFF.**

_Getting there. Now shh. Sit back and let me take care of you._

Lucifer’s voice is too calm, all things considered, as Jess’s voice keeps on going, “And from a more functional, less emotion based perspective, well, I need your DNA. Might be able to use something from the afterbirth to reinforce this vessel, or at least find some backups somewhere down the line if we get grandchildren or twins or something. Then you never have to worry about me attempting to jump your bones in the angelic sense again.”

Sam, still half-out of it from Lucifer’s continued contact and too-sudden withdrawal from the blood, doesn’t believe that for a second, but can’t quite locate the right words.

“So we all win, here. I get a better body that isn’t so limited and I finally get to create something new, we get a kid to keep us from being on opposite sides and to share in the joys of parenthood, you get the fear of me taking your body away to leave you alone forever, and we both have some fun in the meantime.” Lucifer adds, then plants a hickey over Sam’s collarbone.

Sam stares at the ceiling and wordlessly screams.

 **GET OFF OF ME RIGHT NOW OR I’LL** -

 _Or, or, or,_ Lucifer’s grace imitates, _or you’ll nothing, Sam._

The smile vanishes from Lucifer’s face, eyes going blank.

“Besides, it’s not like we haven’t done the deed like this before. And I promise you, I haven’t forgotten _anything_."

**NO. NO. NO. NO.**

_Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sam. YES._

Jess’s body slides lower, quick as a whip.

Lucifer stays quiet as he goes down on Sam without restraint. Wants Sam to have zero distractions from everything being done to him in this unasked-for body.

Sam feels every invasion, feels the overlay of Lucifer’s true form clear as day, frozen and heavy and too gentle as it mixes with Jess’s intense physicality until Sam can’t feel the difference. Lucifer keeps going, doesn’t pause, and only eases up on the momentum once Sam can’t hold noise in any longer.

Tears stream down Sam’s flushed, blotchy face.

_That’s right, Sam. You keep feeling it. Don’t hold anything back._

Lucifer wrenches upright and moves level with Sam’s head again. His fingers are still stroking, less gentle, as Jess’s voice hisses in Sam’s ear, “See, Sam, here’s how this is going to go. I’m going to get you all warmed up, and then I’m going to give you the best orgasm you’ve ever had in your entire life outside of what I can do with your soul. And after that, I’m going to fuck you senseless. And you’re going to scream out my name, again and again and again, until I’ve decided you’ve had enough and you can barely remember why we’re here. And once that’s all over with and handled, I’m going to put Nick back on, and we’re going to add a whole new repertoire of tricks to our resume. What do you say?”

Sam tries to smash his forehead into Jess’s nose, but his head can’t rise high enough.

**GO. TO. HELL.**

Lucifer eyes narrow.

_Already been. And you were with me almost every step of the way. Always will be, if I have anything to say about it._

Sam finally snaps.

 **Why couldn’t you just drug me for this?** Sam’s prayers have devolved into desperate bargains, but Sam finds he doesn’t care.

_Because the blood was just to prepare you, Sammy. Part of the spell to change you over and the whole making sure you don’t get complications while pregnant because of inefficient human limitations. And, now that I need you to incubate, well, you don’t need to be clean, but it’s probably safer, for you, I mean. This isn’t an exact science. Them’s the breaks. Also, because I want you to feel every second of this, Sam. Can’t have you properly if you’re strung out five ways to Sunday, understand?_

And then Lucifer’s grip shifts, and the gag is pulled off.

Light-headedness makes Sam sway.

_Ready?_

**No, DON’T-**

_Shut up, Sammy_. _Remember, I can do this all day. Or longer. All up to you._

 **Lucifer, please, please, please, no, please, I’ll do whatever you want, anything but this** -

_Even say the word you hate?_

Sam shakes, but looks up into Lucifer’s eyes anyway.

"Yes."

Lucifer just stares at him, victorious. No light shines, no wings extend, no bursting forth from borrowed flesh.

_Mhmm. Tempting. A little too late. But I’ll tell you what. You join in and let yourself feel something, you know, properly reciprocate without me having to bliss you out until you don’t know what you’re consciously doing, and I might end this quick. Just because it’s you, Sam. Your call._

Sam damns the Devil with every single fiber of his being. His limbs aren’t cooperating, there’s lights dancing across Sam’s eyelids, a pain in Sam’s throat that won’t go away.

And Lucifer shifts, licks his lips. Manages Sam’s newly inflicted body with expert, professional experience. The whole of the Archangel infests every part of his True Vessel it can reach, for too many hours, or days, Sam doesn’t want to know how long, and doesn’t have a way to keep track.

Sam pretends this isn’t happening whenever he can drift out of awareness, but Lucifer doesn’t allow that, always can find ways to shock Sam right back where he wants him.

Then, whenever it is, Sam doesn’t know, Lucifer’s form changes, just as promised.

It’s Nick’s form smiling down at Sam, Nick’s wedding ring pressing into Sam’s throat, Nick’s tongue pressed against Sam’s, Nick’s stubble that’s scratchy against Sam’s chest-

And Lucifer is inside Sam, hard and penetrating and deep. He starts the pace off slow, uneven, until Sam’s body can’t help but respond. Until Sam demands more. And with that victory, Lucifer picks up the pace, keeps whispering in Sam’s ear, words Sam tries to ignore even as they break him into fragments all over again.

Sam almost wishes it would hurt, wants for anything to stop Lucifer, to hold off from being kept and dealt with so thoroughly, but Lucifer meant every word. He doesn’t want Sam to bleed or bruise or feel anything but pure, unfiltered need. Forces Sam to beg for more, so he can pretend like Sam actually wants this.

If it wasn’t for the new body, Sam knew, he could almost tune out all of this and pretend it was just another day in the Cage, just another familiar, habitual evil. But Lucifer knows that, knows he needs to make this as memorable as possible to keep Sam beaten down where he wants him. He just keeps going, changes tactics and shifts in place so Sam can’t get used to any of this. And Lucifer, unlike his usual methods, feels all human. Is still cold, but the rest of his true form holds back, because he wants Sam to feel all of this as humanly and physically as possible. There’s time enough to string apart his soul and undo him the usual way after he’s gotten Sam broken in.

_Oh, Sam, you try to bury it. Try to keep all of the past down. But you just can’t keep away from me. All you need is a little shove in the right direction, and you’re all for me being inside you again._

**Not. True.**

The restraints are suddenly gone, except for new ones keeping Sam’s wrists linked together, his arms looped around Nick’s neck. Sam can’t strangle an Archangel, no matter how much he imagines. While Sam’s still off-balance, still trying to find a way to disengage and get away, Lucifer flies them into another room, this one all white with padded walls so Sam can’t somehow break skin to escape.

Lucifer rolls over as the scenery shifts, and Sam is no longer pinned under a body that for once is taller and broader than he is, although Lucifer is still inside him, still going, only now it’s sharper and deeper and Sam can’t quite think straight because each instroke and outstroke sets Sam’s every nerve on fire even as Sam tries to pull away. The friction only makes it worse.

**I. WILL. KILL. YOU.**

_I mean, that’s one way of looking at it. La petite mort. But I think I got you first, Bunk Buddy._

Sam cries out. Collapses.

And then Lucifer is going at it again, gets Sam to cave as he tries to pull back again, and this time Sam screams Lucifer’s name because anything else isn’t allowed. Lucifer continues this indefinitely, Sam isn’t aware enough to keep track.

Sam falls forward just as Lucifer pulls Sam close to his chest and rolls them back over. Sam takes the opportunity to unhook the restraints from over Nick’s head, and starts to crawl away, but there’s no doors, no way out-

Sam’s head slams into a wall, head ringing as Lucifer grabs Sam’s legs and drags the smaller body closer and closer until Sam’s back under him again. An intangible arm of Lucifer’s true form keeps Sam’s arms pinned behind his back. Another phantom limb clutches his throat too tightly, holds him against the floor as Lucifer goes down on Sam again.

Sam wails sharply, then waits it out and forms a plan, as delirious and fucked up as he is.

When Lucifer moves on up and shoves himself inside Sam’s body again, Sam kisses him directly on the lips, makes it convincing. Presses another kiss to the neck, and then bites down as hard as he can. And as human as Lucifer made this body, just for this, it somehow works. Lucifer’s grace ebbs slightly, and Sam forces one arm out from under himself while the Devil is distracted, curls one around Lucifer’s back, fingers sticky with blood. Lucifer always liked it when Sam was rougher, he might not realize...

Sam kisses Lucifer back and hopes the Archangel blood, the arterial spray, will be enough to draw a single banishing sigil. It’s too risky to use the floor, and Sam’s not sure what it will do to an Archangel’s vessel’s bare skin.

Except Lucifer notices the pattern Sam’s drawing on his back.

_Oh, Sam, Sam, Sam. What am I going to do with you?_

And he smiles. Heals himself. Makes the blood disappear without any fanfare.

Lucifer snaps! And Sam flinches despite himself, Lucifer still thrusting deeper inside him from the motion.

Tears are still pouring down Sam’s face, every single inch of him racked with shivers as Sam's temple throbs, head pressed against Lucifer’s chest.

 **Let me go. Please. Please. I won’t try to escape, I promise. Just let me go**.

_Sammy._

**If you ever loved me, ever, you will let me go, right now** -

_Oh, that’s rich, coming from you._

Lucifer pushes Sam’s head higher, so that Sam has no choice but to meet his gaze.

"After you locked us up for what was supposed to be eternity? And then left me there alone again?" Lucifer says, a bit breathless. Both hands clamp around Sam’s wrists.

Then Lucifer kisses him, tongue shunting Sam's mouth wide open.

Blood pounds in Sam's ears as Lucifer re-orientates, pitching forward as he forces Sam back. Holds Sam's wrists above his head as Sam lies pinned down underneath him.

_We’re long past take-backs. Besides, you forget rule number one. Remember?_

Lucifer starts fucking Sam softly into the floor.

_I call the shots, Sam. You don’t ever tell me what to do._

The salty tang of tears light up Sam's tongue as the suction of Lucifer's lips pulls away. 

Sam is so overwhelmed he can’t make noise, only takes in too-sharp breathes, audible and wheezing. 

**I’m not, I promise, I’m begging, Lucifer, please, please** -

Sam's spine arches, both their chests pushing into each other at an angle.

Lucifer's grip tightens enough to bruise.

_You said it yourself all those years ago, Sam. This is how it has to be._

Lucifer's true form shimmers. He pumps faster.

"It’s going to be okay," Lucifer reassures, his face moving closer. Frigid breaths ghost over blue lips as he parrots Sam's own words. "I promise."

 _But if you ever loved me, you would know why I’m not going to let you leave._ _You’re MINE. You understand?_

**I understand, I know-**

_Say it._

**Yours, I'm yours.** Sam has no voice, but he mouths the words. 

Both their bodies are slick with sweat, still conjoined too close together. And Sam can’t erase any of the senses flooding in now, feels everything-

_What else?_

Lucifer forces Sam to rock into the friction. Hair and skin slip over one another as wet, pulsing heat joins with the ice and electricity and fire and unasked-for _need_ as it races up Sam's spine. 

**I want this, I want you, I’m sorry for taking it too far, I didn’t mean it-**

_Okay, don’t hurt yourself._

Sam's wrists are set free as Lucifer's hands crisscross over the small of Sam's back, the pressure of his fingertips too light and exacting. Sam holds on for dear life, shivering with every tremor as Lucifer thrusts inside him, over and over-

**I love you.**

_Good. Now, you really want this to end?_

Sam swallows and nods, mute. Head tucked under Lucifer's chin.

_You sure?_

Sam nods again. Nick's stubble scratches against Sam's forehead, until Lucifer clenches of a fistful of hair, and wrenches Sam's head away.

Lucifer keeps fucking Sam, harder now, less kindly.

 **PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE** -

_Hush._

Sam stops thinking.

The grace around him goes silent.

Lucifer pushes in until Sam cries out, and then he pauses. Blue eyes don’t leave Sam’s face, unblinking. As if Lucifer watched every second of Sam’s undoing, because he did.

_Alright, Sammy. We’ll cut this short. On one condition._

Sam looks back. Feels the flutter of his own damp eyelashes.

_You initiate for ten minutes. And at least once after I’ve turned you back._

And Sam stares at Lucifer, shell-shocked, although honestly he should have seen this coming.

But he needs this to end, so Sam sucks in a breath, squares his too-soft and thin shoulders, and kisses the Devil like he actually means it, like the past hasn’t happened, refitting this small body to slide better over the other.

Deep down, Sam has never felt more alone and used than he has ever been, ever, in his entire life.

_That’s it, Sammy. Mm, just like that. Oh, you know me so, so well._

Sam lets the Devil have his way, then pulls back and goes down on Lucifer himself. And Lucifer relents, the tension loosening from him a fraction, but Sam can only stomach so much and Lucifer quite likes having Sam pinned, so it’s not long before Sam is scooped up and fucked all over again. But Lucifer makes it quick, and Sam lets out another scream until his too high voice gives out and he’s only rasping Lucifer’s name.

And, and…

It’s all over, and Sam is brought back to the damn bed in the warehouse, is tied up again, and Lucifer gets dressed, but leaves Sam naked. Lucifer hooks up a space heater to the wall to keep Sam from shivering, says something Sam doesn’t quite register.

And at the end of whatever day it is, Sam isn’t sure how he’s going to handle this one.

But he feels the energy coiled below his belly. Feels the power, the change there. And knows Lucifer’s plan worked, that the pregnancy took, and Sam can’t quite trust anything right now, not even himself, not even his body, hijacked as it is. Sam isn’t sure if Cas or Dean or anyone else is okay, and they don’t feel too real now either, because they should have found him by now, what if they’re **dead** -

Lucifer presses two fingers to Sam’s brow and sends Sam off to sleep.

He doesn’t gloat in Sam’s dreams. Only holds Sam close, and at least in his dreams he’s allowed his real body, and Sam doesn’t have anything to say, has absolutely nothing left, as Lucifer says he _loves_ him, says that Dean and Castiel are _alive_ and that Lucifer is never going to leave him.

Lucifer's grace whispers: _This will all work out in the end. You’ll see._

Sam hugs himself closer.

_I knew you had it in you. That you still felt something, deep down._

Sam doesn’t uncurl from his too-tight ball of limbs, doesn’t pray or speak a single syllable.

_You did so, so good, Sam. You almost convinced me you really meant it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this note aged well...
> 
> While you are waiting for the next chapter, please have this not nearly enough piece of sort of revenge not-quite-fix-it in the meantime:
> 
> Sam is handed a flamethrower by Castiel.  
> Lucifer, bound and unable to escape, can do nothing as Sam let's the flamethrower roar alive, and is engulfed in complete burning agony. And Sam gives into every moment of rage and disgust and pain that has ever been inflicted on him, just for now, and lets it loose on every piece of said abusive piece of shit Archangel with holy fire until Sam finally decides he's had enough for that day.  
> First, though, Dean hands Sam a shotgun, and Sam shots Lucifer point blank in the face. He heals, and Sam shoots again.


	96. Joan of Arc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by In This Moment
> 
> more brain bleach
> 
> also Neverland technically is the chapter that comes after this chronologically for the least confusion, the couple chapters in between this and that go around events in this chapter but I couldn't find a place to fit them in

The next few days pass with Sam coming up with every single implausible way to escape and kill Lucifer in increasingly vivid detail. Sam gets creative. Doesn’t bother shielding his thoughts and prayers even though he’s going to be kept motionless and tied to a bed for however long Lucifer decides.

Lucifer finds it amusing. Ruffles a hand in Sam’s hair. Sometimes follows it up with a kiss to Sam’s forehead, from which Sam tries to jerk away.

Other than that and replacing the IV, Lucifer doesn’t touch him, keeps his distance, for reasons Sam can guess but doesn’t have the energy to care about anymore.

Sam remains ungagged, mostly so his still-too-young throat can scream and cry and curse Sam’s heart out whenever he pleases. But Sam’s not too coherent yet. He spits and growls at Lucifer whenever he comes near, otherwise still mute. He hasn’t spoken aloud in days. He doesn’t talk in his dreams, either.

Lucifer is grateful he had planned out how to keep Sam alive in advance. Otherwise, he doesn’t think Sam would have cooperated. Hell, scratch that, he knows Sam would probably starve himself just to spite him, considering how often he’s been entertaining the notion inside his mind.

Lucifer also remains a fan of pressing two fingers to the forehead to induce Sam to sleep, all things considered. Sam could keep himself awake easily, welcomed insomnia like it would take him home, if home could be considered the Cage and death was anything but a final release. It makes Lucifer almost regret sending Sam projections of himself through their link those few years ago, those things Sam mistook for hallucinations when Lucifer was left behind in the Cage. Sam definitely learned his sleep-avoidance tactics from that, and while it’s an annoyance, Lucifer is also almost pleased he made such an impression. Annoyance wins out, in the end.

After two weeks, Lucifer helps Sam out of his bonds and allows him to walk around, always supervised with two open arms one step away. Lucifer has long since cleared out every accommodation in the room behind some invisible wall Sam can’t see, keeps any potential weapon Sam can turn on himself out of reach.

More often than not, Sam’s movements are stilted and slow, except when they aren’t, and Sam tries to run into the walls and locked doors to try and bloody up anything, to paint with trembling fingertips bound tightly against his back.

Lucifer is always faster. He picks Sam up so his feet are kicking out into the air and can’t hit the floor, his arms pinned, one throat screaming and pleading and whining, and Lucifer has never been more of a fan of Sam’s smaller, more compact body before. (Sam’s growth spurt had happened later, after the surgery and testosterone and improved nutrition once Sam had made his way to Stamford and long since moved in with Jess.)

Lucifer usually locks Sam in the room where there are no doors or sharp edges to be found. Keeps Sam pinned down with grace so he doesn’t try to damage himself every once in a while. Talks Sam down in ways he knows will wear him out. Sam holds out longer than anticipated, like he always does, but this is a marathon, not a sprint, and Sam’s fighting battles he can’t win.

Sometimes Lucifer holds him in the white room, hugs Sam close, although the Devil avoids that for the most part out of necessity. Lucifer can’t have Sam’s mind shattering into pieces from too much all at once, after all. He only wants that constant affirmation of fear, of submission, no more and no less, because that’s the sweet spot, the point where Sam doesn’t fight too much but doesn’t quite give in.

However, eventually, bored and irritated by the constant hum of unvoiced tension between them all intermixed with Sam’s volatile episodes or complete shut-downs, Lucifer informs Sam he’s going out. Lucifer leaves Sam tied up to the bed, alone and in the dark, for three whole weeks, Sam’s only company one magically drugged IV timed and prepped to keep Sam alive and to knock Sam out at night. Sam’s morning sickness comes and goes, but Lucifer has the whole magic gig set to clean that up automatically.

All the while, Lucifer works on the next stages to his plan, only two cells away. Every few minutes, he watches Sam, thanks to two cameras set up and hidden.

Lucifer has been busy, despite keeping a low profile. It hasn’t been too hard to keep track of Castiel and Dean and their allies, since Lucifer has made sure they haven’t pinned down this location yet. And they are looking, looking so very hard, because it’s not like angel radio has been silent about Lucifer having a kid, and Sam went missing around the same time, it’s not hard to make a connection, even though Lucifer doubts anyone guesses exactly how Sam ties into this.

Lucifer also knows Dean’s lead that Sam was taken by the BMOL went cold a week ago, knows they found the warehouse where that blonde bitch almost tortured Sam in before Lucifer so-kindly-interrupted, so he knows Dean and his angel are aware there’s a connection but are still barking up the wrong tree. And while Lucifer can handle stray and meddlesome everyday angels, he isn’t keen on Sam’s family teaming up and getting more hints as to what Lucifer is up to or where he might be.

Of course, none of them know Lucifer’s in a place that shouldn’t actually exist, that his deal with the President means Sam is currently in no-mans-land, an undocumented hideout in Georgia the government uses to interrogate prisoners. Sam had been kept under for a while, having been ferried from one jail cell to another until they made it here, all before Sam woke up the first time.

Sometimes Lucifer flies in to watch Sam when he’s out and unaware, when he can’t physically rouse from sleep because of the IV keeping him under. Although, there is a shift in Sam’s dreams from the familiar cocoon of grace and cold, and he does shift, sometimes, small pale body unmarked save for some stretch marks.

In the daytime, Sam keeps calm at first, but as time wears on, he doesn’t take solitude well. Not at all.

Lucifer knows just how much Sam never has, seeing as solitary confinement is always worse when you have all of Hell’s greatest hits all cooped up inside you.

As a defense, Sam counts, one number after another, just like Lucifer taught him the second time he left him all alone in the Cage, left alone in the blank empty nothing when Lucifer didn’t feel like engaging.

He makes it up to 181,200 by the time Lucifer returns.

Sam begs him to stay, quite vocally. Allows Lucifer to touch him as much as he wants, starved for contact and desperate for any distraction, for any human-enough interaction, because Sam’s been all alone and is still completely petrified of the thing growing inside him.

The two live in an uneasy truce for three months, one where Lucifer mostly behaves and where Sam pretends he isn’t a prisoner. Pretends that Lucifer actually fucking loves him in a way that isn’t twisted and vile because Sam’s brain can’t take much else right now.

Every few weeks, Lucifer trims Sam’s hair and nails, gentle and talkative and mild as he combs through Sam’s still-too-long hair or holds Sam’s hands in his. Sam never stop shivering even though the heater counteracts the cold, can only feel ice humming inside his bones cut down to the marrow, only Lucifer keeps Sam still whenever he wants to, always makes sure his hands never slip and cut skin.

Sam is starting to show now and would do anything to stop thinking about it.

That peace dies the day Sam tries to slit his throat with the scissors. It’s a fluke chance, only possible because Lucifer doesn’t realize he left them out when he flies off to check the wards because something breached them (only Sam doesn’t know why, Lucifer would never tell him).

Sam feels _it_ , the baby’s own power, augmenting the pull, can feel it fighting and winning against any wards Lucifer has lain down preventing Sam’s abilities before as Sam tries to move the metal with his mind.

Sam doesn’t fail.

And Lucifer burns with Sam’s terrible purpose as his life snuffs out, except it doesn’t quite get there, Sam’s soul snapping back to the source, because their baby healed Sam over and saved the fucking day.

When Lucifer flies back, he finds Sam huddled on the floor, blood a thick tacky line against his throat. His green eyes are glassy and the muscles in his legs are twitching. And Sam won’t meet Lucifer’s gaze.

Lucifer almost loses it, but he reigns in his true form, doesn’t punish Sam’s body, physically or otherwise.

No, Lucifer is quiet, too quiet as he gently lift Sam up from the floor.

Sam swallows and sobs and begs.

**Just end it, Lucifer. I can’t do this, I can’t-**

_Sam-_

**Why won’t either of you let me DIE?**

Lucifer’s only answer is the suspension of Sam’s haircut privileges. Sam’s mind buzzes, numb, as Lucifer zip-ties Sam down again.

Lucifer leaves Sam alone for another week. Halfway through, Sam breaks down and finally stops trying, and screams his throat raw for Lucifer to come back. By the time he does, Sam’s voice has given out, and Sam’s eyes can’t look directly at the Archangel because the smallest hint of light is blinding.

Sam knows he can’t quite muster the energy to keep fighting against something he can’t win against. Sam’s always been playing a game of cosmic chicken with something older and stronger than him, trying not to blink when the competition doesn’t have eyelids. It’s a rigged game, and Sam can only lose so often before he realistically changes tactics, and the thing that regards him with some strange feeling of love and detached protective instinct and not-yet-awareness that Sam can almost contact is just another element mixed in. Sam doesn’t care that the thing growing inside him is still innocent, that it still loves him in some abstract way he can almost track, because that love, while warm and soft, was still half-angelic, still alien but not-alien-enough, and altogether too much like Lucifer. ( **And look how that love turned out,** Sam bitterly snarls inside his mind. **That love did this without regret** ).

The bump is yet another constant reminder of the thing Sam can’t rip open and outside of him, is just another uninvited passenger using his body and soul as an anchor like some holy, parasitic leech. Sam hadn’t bothered to try and stab the thing, had opted aiming for himself, because Sam wasn’t sure the thing would know and somehow alert Lucifer to save itself.

Only apparently, that didn’t matter, because the baby, **no, IT, because that’s all it is** , wanted Sam “safe,” too. Wasn’t giving him any choices already.

**Like father, like son.**

Sam drifts. Falls into line, like he did after a few thousand years into the Cage. An old survival mechanism whose rules and habits Sam knows well.

Only this time, some rules don’t apply, since Lucifer isn’t interested in damaging Sam the same way he used to. Compared to past precedents, Lucifer could almost be considered kind, to be really trying to treat Sam nice, to change and be better. If only Sam had been born yesterday and didn’t know the ugly truth.

It was the same game as always. Get on Sam’s good side through unfair play, through manipulations and careful omissions of violence that should have never been the norm in the first place. And then Lucifer wears Sam down anyway, so that all Sam has is him. Well, and the thing, but the thing isn’t really alive yet. Its thoughts aren’t really thinking, just sensations. Flashes of something that Sam pretends aren’t real.

Sometimes the Cage takes over Sam’s mind even when Lucifer is there, (just general Hell flashbacks, because one Lucifer is enough). Sam reorients when Lucifer snaps him back to earth and surrounds him with grace. Sam’s only other option is going through memories, or accessing a litany of song lyrics and stories Sam has kept for himself. The ones Sam recites when alone and in the dark to ground him and keep him from going insane in impossible situations.

 **Omelas,** Sam thinks. He read a similar concept to his experiences there, the story attached to a disjointed name. **Le Guin?** Sam doesn’t care, just recites all the passages in his mind, at least as much as he can remember.

The premise is simple.

One child is locked away in abject misery to ensure the rest of the world doesn’t lose its privileges. Only no one could be sure if that one child locked away needed to be, but most kept up the ruse anyway because obviously, the alternative was worse. Only some people fought the smokescreen, left, never to been seen in Omelas again, written out of the story into obscurity.

Sam has long since abandoned the idea that suffering leads to any kind of change or absolution or redemption.

All it leads to is being used. All it leads to is pain. No net gain, no evening out of registers, of old debts.

Just pointless, nihilistic bad luck.

Sam feels the thing inside him move as it latches on to something there, almost like it feels something, too. Like it’s trying to make Sam feel better.

Sam ignores it on purpose. Pretends he doesn’t feel how it feels, how it just keeps on growing.

Pretends he isn’t craving Lucifer or Lucifer’s blood or even a hit of demon blood, because the hunger cravings are just another thing messing with Sam, another thing trying to derail all the careful work he puts into controlling what is inside him.

By the fourth month, Sam doesn’t think of Dean or Castiel or anything outside of the four walls of his cell. Thinking about that only makes Sam’s head spin. Only makes Lucifer’s moods worse, too, since those thoughts tend to send Sam staring emptily at the wall.

Sam memories all blur together for a while after that, gaps and blanks all scattered inside Sam’s head. Lucifer is always there, except when he isn’t, but more often than not he’s there, talking, telling Sam about something new Sam has never heard of, from something ancient before most of creation, or cracking jokes, or telling Sam what they have to look forward to once this is all over. And then there’s always the thing, omnipresent, hard to overlook, and the bed, and the four walls, claustrophobic, and the stupid flickering lightbulbs, and Sam’s too-small, aching, rebellious body that Sam feels like a prisoner inside.

Lucifer answers that thought with a quick, _Now, you know what possessing other people feels like for me, Sam. This whole ordeal is still bringing us closer together._

Sam howls and attempts tackle Lucifer at that, hopes maybe Nick’s form will damage something, but Lucifer just cradles his fall.

Sam ignores the thing as much as possible. Pretends he doesn’t feel how its energy is less rancid than Lucifer, or how it has started being more aware. How it’s started sending impressions over.

If Sam doesn’t treat it as alive, it won’t be. Pure and simple.

Maybe he could even will it to die.

Every few days Lucifer sends Sam other sights from outside of the room, places on earth or otherwise, so Sam has a change of scenery. It’s nothing Sam can use, but Sam is grateful anyway.

Two days before the sixth month hits, Sam is walking his usual circuit, too docile and unsteady and helped along by the wall.

Five minutes earlier, Lucifer became distracted, had tilted his head as if listening, then flew away without another word, his hand no longer in Sam’s.

A change in routine.

A flood of white light spills in as a door opens from the other side of the room.

There’s a voice, female, not Lucifer’s, not anyone Sam knows.

Sam runs as fast as his legs can carry him, IV dragging behind him, still naked and unsteady as he makes it through the doorway.

“Help! Please!” Sam’s still too-high voice is worn from disuse, barely audible. And Sam is so dizzy all of sudden, falls to his knees, and can barely crane his neck up to see who is standing over him. “Please help! Get me out, need to, please,” Sam says on repeat, looks up.

There’s a woman in a pantsuit with brown hair and hazel eyes, taller than Sam, who is staring at a presumably naked and pregnant young woman, both hands clutched over her mouth. A clipboard falls to the ground with smack! Unheeded, as one manicured hand moves, clutches Sam’s bare shoulder as two arms lift Sam up. Another arm disengages and drapes some kind of sweater over Sam like a blanket before looping back under Sam’s arm.

“How did you even get in here, who are you? Oh my God-” The woman panics.

“No time, please, please, need to get out before he comes back-” Sam rasps, is shaking so much now, and that seems to ignite something kindred in this stranger, gives her a sense of purpose. The thing inside Sam sends out a wave, steadying, keeps Sam on his too-small, quaking feet. “Go, go. Now!”

And the woman helps Sam along, rips out the IV and helps Sam stumble somewhere out the door, hands still bound.

And the woman is talking rapid-fire, half-talking to herself as she says, “I’m Kelly Kline, I’m with the federal government, how did you get in here? Are you documented? Were you trafficked? Is there some kind of mole situation? I don’t understand, this is a federal facility, I have to report this, how long were you even _in_ there-”

The hall ends up being a labyrinth of keycard access doors, but Kelly has clearance, and after a few turns, Sam blinks, blinded by the sunlight after having exited a garage. Sam is standing with two bare feet roughly submerged some gravel, barbed wire fences and woodland the only sight for miles around.

“I’ll get you to my car and take you to a hospital. You can tell me and my superiors what happened. What’s your name?”

“Sam, please, please, we have to go, no time-” Sam rambles as he’s pushed into the backseat behind the driver’s side. Kelly moves to close the car door, but another hand stops the door from swinging on its hinges, knuckles white against the black Cadillac door.

And it’s so cold, frost crackling over the glass windows.

“Sam. I see you’ve made a friend.”

Red eyes flash, and then there’s claws not-quite-digging into Sam’s shoulder as Lucifer flies Kelly and Sam back to the warehouse, one hand draped over each of them, symmetrical.

Kelly doesn’t even have time to scream.

Sam’s mind swims, panicked, insubstantial. But he knows Lucifer planned this somehow, that he was waiting, because **he took too long to come back** -


	97. Noose and Nail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by otep

Rowena tugs on the chains too-tightly bound to her ankles and keeps on ignoring the wavering drawn sigils and lines of power keeping her bound, layers and layers of protections keeping her locked down.

Next to her, Mary keeps pacing inside the tiny box of a cell she's been allowed.

For once, Dagon, their usual jailer, is blissfully absent.

But the quiet, stifled noise of their own captivity is interrupted by the sound of a door slamming and Lucifer too-easy gait, the devil practically bouncing on his heels.

"Hey, Red. How's the homework coming?"

Rowena doesn't deign to answer, her quiet pride just about the only thing she's been allowed to keep.

Then again, her pride is already in shambles, drowned in guilt and shame worse than anything else she could ever imagine herself capable of feeling.

After all, she's the one who cast the spell on Sam, no matter how much she fought and bled not to be the one to do it.

They've all heard Sam, all these nights.

Trapped, thinking himself alone and abandoned in this house of mirrors of Lucifer's design, and they've heard him, suffering and screaming and pleading as he was transformed and bound and violated.

Not many things make Rowena feel wrong, or tainted, or make her feel like she's crossed a line. But she knows she has, this time, knows there's no going back from this, because there was no crime she could think of worse than what the Devil has devised, and in the interests of her own life, in not being tormented forever without end, she's chosen to be an accessory to a fate she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy.

She can only hope she can make it up to Sam. Kill the Devil, somehow, break him out, break them all out-

When Rowena still doesn't respond, Lucifer grabs her chin.

"Red, it's polite to speak when you've been spoken to. Don't you agree?" And he nods her head for her as she glares, teeth ground into her tongue, staring down the worst monster she's ever had the misfortune of aiding and abetting in this life or the next.


	98. Opera House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more squicky brain bleach
> 
> chapter title a song by cigarettes after sex
> 
> this goes before some events in Joan of Arc but not all of them which is why it's in this weird spot, same goes for a few other chapters that aren't neverland because they were originally supposed to be flashbacks at a later point but i figured let's just throw 90% of all the squick in one place so we don't have to go back to it much and people can avoid a major amount of it if need be.

Sometimes, after Lucifer came back, and Sam couldn’t take the silence, Lucifer kisses Sam’s bare stomach and listens for a heartbeat. Would rub the skin where the thing is growing before he would slide underneath Sam and cradle Sam's borrowed, young skin to Nick or Jessica's chest, all depending on the day, sometimes singing and humming Enochian prayers he used to sing with his brothers, but more often it would be the symphonies he and Sam constructed down in Hell when he wasn’t ripping Sam apart.

Other times, he kisses Sam’s forehead. Or his eyelids. Sometimes Lucifer holds Sam’s hands and folds them over Sam’s swollen belly, or rubs away the aching pains and nausea Sam can’t escape.

Sometimes he promises kindness.

Sometimes he tells stories.

Sometimes he says things and Sam isn’t sure what’s real or a lie, because Sam isn’t sure the Devil knows himself.

What Lucifer wants and what Lucifer has allowed himself to be are two very different things.

All Sam knows, is that Lucifer took Sam's deepest fears, the one he's been afraid of since the very beginning, and made him live through it- and he expects to be loved, anyway.

Just as he expected to be loved down in Hell, when Sam won and wasn't allowed any type of victory that mattered, no matter how much he tried to hold his head above water. And Sam keeps fighting. But the fight never ends, and Sam has been broken too many times not to feel shattered into pieces...

Sometimes, Sam leans back and dozes against Lucifer’s shoulder-blade, jaw pressing into Lucifer’s neck as Lucifer hugs him and nothing else, not thinking about how raw his aching throat is or how his voice has given out or anything that’s happened, really. Any hurt or bruising or memory of chains and whips and laughter as Lucifer tore him into the penitent creature he needed Sam to be…

All that matters is surviving and keeping the nightmares of burning and darkness and nothing at bay.

That's the only way to keep going, to stop Lucifer from finding another way in, except...

Lucifer watches constantly, amused, because he knows Sam's mind. And he always finds another way into Sam's head, his heart, his soul...

And Sam has been torn apart so many times he's learned to turn the pain into love, just as pure as every ounce of hatred he isn't allowed to feel.

But, most of all, Sam is scared to be left alone, scared of kindness but also unable to handle anything else, because otherwise he's trapped without anything gentle to keep his mind from eating himself alive.

Lucifer soothes the night terrors that make Sam lash out, unaware, dreaming of teeth and smiles and burning eyes of a child that would gnaw through his entrails and suck the blood from his veins and eat him alive from the inside out-

The baby wakes Sam up from those before Lucifer can even intercede. It sends over waves of life and warmth and love and consideration Sam still hates it for, condemning any impression of kindness, much like Sam hates Lucifer for all the soft, gentle love he keeps only for Sam or anything he’s ever given Sam that Sam should’ve known better than to take.

But Sam can’t survive this on his own. Even Lucifer’s carefully deployed benevolence will be held on to by the skin of his teeth if it means not losing his mind again and hurtling over the edges beyond any point of rescuing. Sam needs to be able to trust himself. It’s all he has left.

So he accepts whatever keeps him from swan-diving off the corners of his own mind and doesn’t think about anything at all, except not wanting to claw his skin out or tear out his own throat with bloody hands because it hurts too much to want to die and Lucifer would just make Sam feel sublime, feel cared for, feel like he needs nothing else, feel even better than good to prove his point, that Sam needs him, needs to be taken care of and controlled so he didn’t self-destruct for all the human feelings he’ll never escape, because they are always there, inside him, as human as he’ll ever be.

 _You were made for this. For me._ Lucifer reminds him, all whispered grace licking the bruised corners of Sam’s mind, hollowing out the choked out whorls of Sam’s throat as he kisses every place he once bruised and burned and ripped apart and then stitched back together with dogged, relentless care that didn’t feel like pain at all…

Once, Lucifer reads Sam a book, reads to their child still safely growing inside Sam despite all his efforts to the contrary.

 _The Runaway Bunny_ stings Sam’s eardrums and uncurls from Jessica's lips and throaty tones in a promise to their kid, and yet again reminds Sam the thing inside him has just as much of a future as him.

Really, it’s not cruel to want the thing inside him to die.

It’s the only kindness Sam can manage.

It's not worth being alive when all Lucifer will do is clip it's wings.

Or maybe he won't.

Maybe he'll let their kid go if Sam gives up and gives Lucifer everything.

Except that is oblivion, too.

And Sam will not sacrifice himself for something he didn't ask to be born and didn't want inside him.

It's his body. No one else's.

He can't let his body and his freedom be taken again.

Can't let Lucifer keep hold of his soul by holding anything else hostage, holding anything else over him...

Except deep down, Sam knows he already gave everything up once, even if he had one thing to hold on to down in the Cage.

He doesn't know how to fight this, when Lucifer takes what he wants, anyway.

Sometimes, when Sam dreams, Lucifer lets him see the sky, and walk through endless woods and along the shoreline, everything empty, and no bars or cages or walls in site.

Sam wonders if that's a kindness, or a reminder.

Except with Lucifer, it's always both.


	99. I'm A Firefighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> squicky brain bleach again that also didn't save in the right spot in my outline
> 
> chapter title by cigarettes after sex

Sam inhales.

Lucifer kneels in between his legs. Forces Sam to spread them. His fingers grip the undersides of Sam's kneecap tight enough to stop any wincing movement, but not enough to bruise. Precautionary measures, and all that. His grace is there, too, prickling over Sam's skin, glancing and tugging and caressing and balled tightly against Sam's throat, but it's all wordless whispering, quiet purpose with little coherence.

Only a promise of all the things Sam brought on himself, for trying to leave-

Lucifer keeps Sam's knees bent. Sam can feel where the strain makes Lucifer's fingers twitch, until they aren’t, and that's worse, because that means Lucifer has regain his composure and is going to be methodical about this-

Lucifer's head tilts, and he leans down-

Sam lets panic swamp him.

Maybe if he panics, the sheer feeling will overwhelm any and all responses, and he won't feel anything, he won't-

Except Sam knows better.

Knows what Lucifer wants.

And while Lucifer wants to make Sam ashamed, compliant with terror and reverence and repentance, but more than that, he wants to make Sam feel so good that Lucifer is everything…

That Lucifer is the only thing he can think about, that Lucifer owns him and would make him only want to be his for fear of the consequences…

_I’ll admit I’m disappointed, Samuel. You were really doing so well before._

Sam, despite it all, thinks of the thing growing inside him. He’s terrified and traumatized by that too, particularly how it got there, but it’s so distracting on its own, maybe it will get Lucifer out of his head, will let him blank this out, for once-

Lucifer's tongue glides over the edges of Sam's labia before pressing inside, finding, pressing faintly on all the tender parts Sam pretends aren’t real. Licks up inside him with a slow, lazy purpose, moist and sharp and aching, enough for the tingling contact to shoot through shuddering thighs, and all the way up Sam’s spine to the crest of his head. It vibrates and aches up in his forehead through every small bone in his skull, nasal cavity and jaw and chattering teeth and all.

Spit drools out of Sam’s mouth as he heaves in a breath, and then another, eyes not screwed shut because that would only make the feelings harder to ignore, so instead he’s staring up at the bare lightbulb and praying that it doesn’t blind him because if it does, all he’ll ever see in the darkness is Lucifer’s True Face staring back at him, immutable and endless and eternal and starving, all the time.

Lucifer kills that train of thought as he licks against the soft muscle near Sam’s cervix, all the wet, wanting places of Sam warm and shivering despite Sam wishing this was over. Lucifer slides a thumb over Sam’s nipples and then presses a finger against the skin between Sam’s ass and clit, still sucking and licking up inside, forked, icy tongue gliding over every millimeter of space with careful, calculated precision.

Sam shivers, teeth ground into each other so he doesn’t let a moan or whine escape.

Deep between his ribs, Sam's heart throbs. Sam strains. Hunching fear folds him over the conspicuous bump inside him, the same one holding life he didn't ask for-

Except Lucifer doesn't let him move much after that. There’s a hazy, too heavy pressure holding every limb in place, the slight shadow Lucifer’s wings spread out over Sam’s chest and past his head, shielding Sam’s eyes from the bare lightbulb searing the imprint of itself over Sam’s retinas so that all he sees instead are the incorporeal veins crisscrossing Lucifer’s wings, and Sam does close his eyes then, to shield from the familiar not-quite-full-capacity brightness which look red and engorged with blood from the trick of the light and the blood pounding through Sam’s screwed-shut eyelids.

Sam presses his head against the pillow involuntarily, the one comfort Lucifer allowed him on the gurney even while furious, as a sign of the power he held, as a sign of his magnanimous compassion and love he could always take away, and Sam holds himself so still that Sam’s neck cranes so tightly, and his skull feels the dug-in imprint of the metal underneath.

Eventually, Lucifer’s tongue recedes, and the Archangel slides up closer, hugging Sam’s thighs tighter around his torso as his calloused hands reach out to touch again. A finger works its way up Sam’s ass. Dry. But Lucifer knows what will make Sam fall apart, what will hurt but not hurt enough, will make Sam tremble and loosen every limb and sigh despite it all…

He strokes the nerve endings at an inverse angle that his tongue licks, pressing on the nerves there from both sides.

Sam inhales ragged noise and chokes down nothing. His whole frame quakes.

Every brief moment of contact feels like an eternity, feels like starlight poured into his every cell and branded like liquid joy over every tender slip of skin. Every feather-light touch aches as Lucifer works himself farther into him, persistent and patient and inexorable in his purpose, in his need to make Sam see just what he is.

All that he’ll ever be, the only person he’ll ever belong to, that will love him like he deserves-

Sam's helplessness comes alive inside him instead of whatever thing is slumbering under his skin, beneath the muscles of his abdomen inside organs he didn't want back, not in this lifetime or the next or any other life at all.

Lucifer leans in closer, tongue sliding from up inside Sam and back down to the hood of his clit, pressing inwards enough to make Sam flinch. Wet warmth and loss, of needing muscles without enough contact, make Sam suppress a whine.

Lucifer doesn't say or project a single word aloud. That will come later, after he's reminded Sam exactly what this is. Of what Sam is. Of who he belongs to.

Sam bites down on his lip enough to draw blood. It scabs and heals over immediately, gold backwash surging to life in his veins.

Then Lucifer snaps, and he's underneath Sam now, because he won’t chance being on top of him, knowing his limits, and not wanting to jostle anything or let Sam use the Archangels own strength to ruin everything this has been the last few months. But his fingers are all contact, utilizing punishing restraint as they part Sam's labia and rub up against his clit. Lucifer’s other hand keeps working two crooked fingers farther up Sam's ass. The contact isn't hurried at all. It burns when Lucifer twists them, unpleasant enough to hurt but not maim, thanks to Sam’s disobedience, but that’s not the endgame, and soon enough Lucifer turns the pain into targeted pressure and soft jabs as he pushes into Sam’s softest, deepest, most sensitive parts enough. Sam winces. The touches themselves are light, all deceptive brutality meant to showcase just how much Sam can’t stop this, how much he needs this, how much Lucifer owns him and his every perception-

Sam notes how his own foot twitches, straining to escape the endless force holding him in place. He doesn't care how his head leans back and his spine arches and his lips fall open, tacky enough to stick to themselves, as Sam stops holding his breath and just tries to remember to breathe.

Lucifer draws one arm up from Sam’s clit to squeeze his breast, to tease the aching, throbbing skin there, and then his fingers dig into the sensitive skin beneath Sam’s arm, rubbing circles as Lucifer’s lips suck at Sam’s throat before his fingers dip back down to reach inside him again, tangling in hair before tackling Sam’s vulva.

Toes slide down Sam’s ankle to poke at the edges of Sam’s soles, making Sam twitch. There’s still two fingers massaging back down to the rim of Sam’s ass as Lucifer’s other hand tackles the front again, kneading his other fingers back inside and pressing against all the warm, wet places Sam wishes Lucifer didn’t know so well.

Lucifer mouths something against Sam’s neck, whispers a few words in Enochian. Sam barely registers them, because his tongue feels scraped raw even if his mouth isn’t dry, and his eyelids are still shut tight, bright bursts of nothing punctuated by every gentle push of Lucifer’s fingers-

“You’re mine, Samuel. You will always be **mine**.”

Sam’s vision go hazy. The digits inside Sam massage higher and tighter and with more frequency as Lucifer pulls his fingers out of Sam’s ass and grinds up against him, all the blood pooling down to places Sam tries to ignore as Lucifer teases fucking him raw, but doesn’t once thrust inside.

_You’re not going anywhere, babe. You or our baby. You belong here. With me. Forever. Like you promised. And I get to be up inside you no matter how many times you try to run because you think you don’t deserve it. Just face the music, Sammy. Everything you are, everything you’ll ever amount to, is what my love made you to be. And you’ll take it. Take every second of this. And I promise- if you beg for my mercy, Sammy, you’ll be the only one to every get it from the likes of me. I don’t love anyone else. Sam. Let me undo you. Let me have you, let me take care of you forever. You were doing so well. And you can’t fight the truth. This has always been your home. We’re going to be a family again. Stop running from everything I promised you, that you promised me. I know how tired you really are. How much you want to give up and give yourself over. Let yourself go, Sammy. Say yes to our future, to what really matters. Say yes to me, say yes to anything I ask of you, and I’ll treat you so good, you won’t remember all the bad. It won’t hurt you, not forever. One day this will all be behind us, and you won’t have any real fight left, you won’t need it, you won’t want it-_

It feels like Sam is melting out of his skin and going to break apart from every sublime point of contact, every gentle, insistent nudge pushing Sam up against Lucifer’s chest.

And Lucifer’s grace settles over Sam, so cold, so artic, encompassing everything Sam is and ever will be-

Sam finds his only coherent thought and latches on before all courage leaves him a spent, cowering mess of an animal shuddering in the Devil’s embrace.

**I don’t-**

_You do. You want this. This is what you are, Sammy. MY perfect little slut. My gorgeous, perfect other half. My vessel and the vessel to hold our child. Mine._

**I’m NOT-**

_You are. No distance or denials will ever change that. No more lies, Sammy. You can’t escape yourself. You never could. And I see every infinite speck that makes up everything you are. You want to be mine, you want to belong to me, you want me to keep you safe from everything except for the violence I can make you crave, and even if you lie, it doesn't change what your heart screams so beautifully._

Sam feels holy and defiled and mundane. He’s a crippled, mutilated moth being pleasured by the freezing violence of a thousand dying suns and their mutated starbursts, by every stroking, insistent wave of fury and want and hunger mouthing at every inch of sweat-kissed skin and every particle and sensation that makes Sam himself, and it makes Sam feel so good and so subjugated, possessed by every feeling he swore he’d never feel, the ones that Lucifer always made him feel, over and over, with no escape-

Sam weeps with silent, dry noise.

Lucifer kissing Sam on the lips, sucking, tugging on the frailest, thinnest edges of Sam’s lower lip as his body leans into Sam’s side.

_What are you, Sammy?_

**No.**

Lucifer smiles against Sam’s throat, eyes not blinking as he stares at his true vessel and the focus of all his careful ministrations.

_You don’t have to say the words, baby. You’ll sing it out in your own way, more honest than words would ever be._

Then two fingers hit the jackpot, and Sam cries out and can’t keep biting his tongue and heaves out a trembling, desperate cry.

Lucifer’s head dips down, teeth grazing Sam’s pulse. Lucifer’s wings keeps glancing over Sam’s nipples, keeping them erect, glancing and stroking as Lucifer keeps thrusting up against Sam, fingers working Sam until he can’t do anything but process every point of contact and nothing more.

Lucifer doesn’t stop until Sam’s head lolls against his chest and Sam heaves in sobbing whimpers, huffing in air in aborted gasps, gasping apologies and promises until all he can do is attempt to say Lucifer’s name, to pray, to worship, and by the time Lucifer is done, Sam is half-unable to form the Archangels name on his lips.

The Devil been very careful about every punishing caress, perhaps because he knows just how much Sam would continue to attempt to sabotage any of this if given an opportunity.

But Lucifer doesn’t let him.

Sam gave the wheel over a long, long time ago.

By the time Sam thinks this is about to end, and he’s wound down, Lucifer keeps his wings around him, tight against Sam’s naked skin, and cradles him close with his arms wrapped around Sam’s waist.

Sam drifts only because he can't muster the energy to do anything at all.


	100. Neverland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by the knife

Lucifer waves an arm, and Kelly and Sam are both respectively pinned down in a chair and zip-tied back to a bed with a new IV. Still in the same damn room Sam’s stared at for months. Kelly tries to scream but Lucifer cuts off her air before she can.

“You know, I wasn’t planning on you showing up for another 3 weeks, but I guess fortune favors the bold.” Lucifer starts in as he leans back on another newly conjured chair with his feet perched at the edge of the bed.

Sam interrupts, because fear was easier to swallow, despite this, despite everything, when Sam had someone to protect. If Sam were alone, this would be a different story, but right now he was Kelly’s only defense. And anything was worth it if it meant distracting the Devil, because Lucifer had a tendency to kill or slowly humans who weren’t Sam.

Especially ones who try to help Sam leave.

And Sam couldn’t allow any of that.

“What are you talking about?” Sam’s voice is scratchy but there.

**Leave her alone.**

_What did I say about telling me what to do, Samuel? Oh, right. **Don’t**._

Sam flinches and looks down. Lucifer looks pleased.

_But never fear. You’ll get your answers very soon._

“All in good time, roomie. Let’s not be rude to your new friend.” Lucifer shifts gears, and Sam looks back at him and Kelly, not wanting to miss whatever angle Lucifer was going for.

Kelly finally is allowed her voice back. She keeps talking, rapid-fire, as some kind of defense mechanism even as she struggles in place, unable to move from the seat. “Who are you? What is this-”

She looks back and Sam and Lucifer like she’ll find the answer on their faces, shoulder’s held too tight all while her leg frantically bounces, completely useless.

“Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name?” Lucifer sings out, arms wide. The smile returns to his face and he adds, “Or, maybe this would be more familiar for you.” And Lucifer shapeshifts into Jess all over again, a white blazer in place of the typical casual wear he prefers. Sam inhales and closes his eyes for a moment, too still, before he can open them again. But Lucifer tuts and keeps going, one hand cupped over Jess’s mouth conspiratorially. “Sleeping with your boss. Naughty, naughty. Gets a woman like you in all sorts of trouble. Rooney even asked for me to take care of you, which made this a cinch, even if someone let you in early. Was it Turner? I bet it was.”

One name sounds almost familiar to Sam, but he’s too distracted to place it. Lucifer is enjoying this too much for Sam to be anything but beyond apprehensive. There was still that unvoiced promise of Hell to pay for making a break for it that Sam is desperately trying to keep from overwhelming him, from making him break down and beg forgiveness after months of conditioning and exhaustion and loneliness and terror and pain with Lucifer as the only antidote.

Kelly looks ready to faint, and if she could put her hands over her face again, Sam thinks she probably would. She looks to Sam as if to confirm what she is seeing. Sam nods, entire body slumped over.

“You’re Satan. The Great Adversary.” Kelly announces, ignoring all the other insinuations.

“Not exactly my favorite names, but they’ll do.” Lucifer concedes. “Even if it is all a smear campaign full of lies.”

But Kelly isn’t done, and she steels herself, back ramrod straight, her eyes spitting fire. “And you’re the Secretary of Health and Human Services, Jessica Scratch.”

**What.**

Sam looks back at Lucifer again, accusatory.

Lucifer changes back to Nick and laughs. Kelly crosses herself and starts praying.

Sam isn’t sure he’s gotten past shock and disbelief along with everything else, but either way, he’s not up for any of Lucifer’s twisted games. “You’re what now?”

“Oh, Sammy. I’ve been very busy while I was away. Didn’t want to leave your side, but I had to attend to some business that just couldn’t be completed without some new friends.” Lucifer assures, and then he can’t help but gloat as he crosses his legs. “Man, does having the President on your side really make some of the more mundane details go so much smoother. Helps that I scratched his back, got him elected, and now he’s paying the rent and keeping up his dues.”

Kelly’s prayer get a little too heated, so Lucifer her cuts off again. Then turns back to Sam, all business as usual. Intent and hungry and pointed as he waves his hands around, gleeful.

“I’ve been giving Cas and Dean the runaround for months, and Sam, let me tell you, my interference has made their lives so much harder. Did you know your brother is still a wanted felon, in, oh…" Lucifer waves a hand, "30 states? And that Castiel is still an escaped psyche ward patient? So once I got proof Dean Winchester was alive, poof! It was easy to keep them on the run. Made it that much harder for them to try and find you or try and gather their little friends up, even when feeding them false leads.”

Sam is ready to murder Lucifer all over again, but lets him keep going because he doesn’t have a choice. Besides, Lucifer loved the sound of his own voice so much he might put himself in a better mood if left to his own devices. And Sam could press that advantage, slim as it is.

“Although, I gotta say, I have Castiel and you to thank for the overall idea.” Lucifer adds.

Sam bristles slightly, but bewildered confusion wins out.

Lucifer clarifies, eyes shining as his fingernails tap along the side of the chair, “Aside from the Horsemen, those Leviathans, crude as they were, took the basic ideas of my original plans even further, so without those memories and your interference with Plan A for Apocalypse, I would have never thought about the human angle. So thanks for opening my eyes, Sam. Made infiltration easy, even if most apes are beneath my notice. But we’re getting off-track. Now. You.”

Lucifer eyes flash as he turns his attentions back to Kelly, who is allowed to speak and has not stopped frantically praying. Sam and Kelly both flinch.

“You’re the lucky winner. Because, uh, word on the grapevine is, you really want a baby. And thanks to dear old Dad, those parts don’t really work right. Can’t really hold a bun in the oven. But with the triple combo special of the day: magic, the right genetics, and some answered prayers, courtesy of _moi_ , you can finally have that tiny tot you always wanted. Won’t actually live to see it, but ah, such are the wonders of life. And you can stop praying now. Dear Old Dad isn’t really able to answer the phone at the moment, and I’m not really a huge fan.”

Kelly stops in her tracks as the lightbulbs flicker and ice crackles over the floor. Lucifer rises to his feet and cranks the space heater next to Sam, which melts the layer near him. Sam also ignores the wave of energy keeping him warm from the inside, courtesy of the Thing.

Sam has stopped and stilled, too, for an altogether different reason.

“What… what are you talking about?”

Sam’s confusion and fear and raised brows morph into panic and distrust and one bobbing throat all over again.

**You better tell me exactly what the Hell this is… If you mean what I think you mean, oh God, please-**

Lucifer’s sighs. “Sam, we just went over this. And you, of all people, know God isn’t around. You were there that day. You saw what happened. So quit it with the invocations and denial and dramatics. I get that it’s a force of habit, but get with the program and move on already. I mean, Hell, you didn’t even like the guy. The whole shebang got rid of your worst in-law and everything. You should be thanking me. No headaches around Christmas or Passover and all that rot until the end of time.”

Kelly looks over at him with wide eyes, because she thought Lucifer was lying, because he’s the Devil, he has to be. Sam’s stricken expression stops her.

Lucifer turns on Sam, appraising. Voice lower, more gentle. A warning. “Moving on. Kelly here is your replacement. I told you, Sam. I always planned on changing you back to normal, and now that we’ve almost hit the 6th trimester, well, it’s finally time for the big switcheroo. Not exactly Immaculate Conception here, a bit more fatal, but we have to work with what we have. And who knows, maybe she'll pull through. Humans are like cockroaches. They stick around even when you'd rather they didn't.”

Lucifer snaps! And Sam flinches, and there’s zip-ties keeping Kelly tied down, now, too.

Sam’s mouth is too dry. All he can taste is ash, his thoughts a flurried blur. Not even the promise of getting his real body back (and the Thing out of him) can assuage it, because this price was yet another he was unwilling to pay. Too many people had paid for Sam’s weaknesses already.

Lucifer’s face scrunches into the approximation of contrition, but it’s not convincing, even to the most gullible. Sam doesn’t know how Kelly’s dealing at the moment, because Sam can’t focus on anything but the Devil. The whole room tilts, Sam’s eyes and ears and self all pouring into tunnel-vision as icy claws and fingertips and wings brush over him. Used rage lights up Sam’s soul like a leaping brushfire.

_Oops._

“Might not have mentioned that bit. Sorry, Sam. Completely slipped my mind. Being old has its drawbacks. But uh, newsflash: no one really knows exactly what happens to the human parent when they birth an angelic kid. Not even Archangels or God himself, apparently.” Lucifer shrugs, entirely unapologetic, then weighs his hands unevenly. “The common literature on the subject, rare as it is, is split four-ways between some sort of absorption, going to heaven, being sent to the Empty, and disappearing completely. And, well,” Lucifer chuckles, a deeper, more frigid sound. “I wasn’t about to let that happen to you, my number one cuddle-buddy. I’m never letting you go, so… This was insurance. Had to make sure everything went off without a hitch. After all, our son needs both his parents in his life. And we don’t want to upset his home life before his life has even begun, do we?”

**YOU SON OF A BITCH-**

_Oh, Sam, you short-sighted and mouthwatering piece-of-ass. Whatever do you mean?_

**I WANTED TO DIE-**

_Which is precisely why I didn’t tell you, Sam. You needed to let go. Be more positive and less glum about this whole affair. You know, get excited for our baby and our future, not wallowing in self-hate and all that jazz. And uh, remember, you don’t get to die unless it’s on my say-so, and I for one don’t want you permanently dead or crashing Heaven off-script, at least not until I get the house-keys back from under the doormat. After all, we have, oh, roughly 65 million years, give or take a few thousand, to make up for you throwing us both in the Cage, so it’ll be a long while yet until the scales start to even out. ‘Cause, baby, you so owe me. And I own you. And we both know you’ve had a lot of time here alone to use that grapefruit, Sammy. Don’t go losing brain cells on me now._

**You son-of-a-FUCK, how DARE YOU, you don’t get to ruin her life, to KILL her, just to fulfill some sick twisted fantasy that this is going to work as planned-**

_Sam, I’m always amazed I have to remind you: I. Can. Do. Whatever. I. Want. It’s like the moment you come into contact with another unfortunate member of your species that everything I teach you flies out of your head. Now, stop being difficult or I will make little Kelly here pay, just to snap you out of this whole deal you’ve got goin’ on. Cause, uh, quick and dirty tip: I don’t need her in one piece quite yet. Can start snipping off unimportant bits whenever it proves convenient. So if were you, I’d shut it. Just a suggestion._

Sam blanks out his thoughts and prayers and keeps his jaw clenched together. It’s almost an ingrained instinct by now.

Kelly has stopped having a panic attack and has moved on to pure shock and denial.

“I… I don’t understand.” She says, faintly.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and waves his hands impatiently as he points to her, then Sam’s unwanted passenger, then Kelly again. “You. Baby. Surrogate. Make sense now? Other humans, I swear…” Lucifer shakes his head and fumes.

Kelly shuts up and nods at as the Devil’s aura of grace radiates outward, full of promise too bright and terrible.

Lucifer claps his hands. “Wonderful. Now, this can go one of three ways. You two can sit tight while I find someone to babysit you for a night and a day, and I’ll leave you here together, in one piece. Or you can be stubborn and stupid about it and try to escape, in which case I’ll take Miss Kline under my wing here and explain why that isn’t the smartest option. Or, I can separate you two, as a preventative measure. One where Sam and I will keep up our little arrangement as we have been for the past few months, and you, Kelly, will get your own suite full of its own 5-Star accommodations. You two can decide amongst yourselves.” Lucifer stops as he nears Sam’s head, then tacks on as he musses up Sam’s hair. “Oh, and before I forget. Proper introductions. Kelly Kline, meet Sam Winchester, the love of my life and a royal pain in the ass. And that’s junior, we haven’t decided on a name yet. Trust me, you’ll be acquainted very soon. Now, you two have fun.” Lucifer’s tone goes from playful to very much not. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Once more, Lucifer flies away. He leaves Sam and Kelly and the Thing alone with their thoughts, although the Thing doesn’t truly have those exactly yet. (Sam thinks it might be unfocused, racing excitement or interest or anxiety based on Sam’s own heartbeat, but he can’t quite tell.)

Kelly breathes in and out too intensely. Sam tries to be reassuring.

“We can think of something. I mean, we’ve beat him before. Me and my brother and Castiel. And they’re looking for us. They can get us out. And if we can get our hands free and can draw with blood or anything, we can keep Lucifer out. Not permanently, but maybe enough to make a getaway.”

“But I don’t know what that even looks like-”

“I could teach you,” Then Sam gets an idea like lightning in his head, “Or, maybe… Wait a sec.”

He tries to send an impression of the sigil over, thanks to the extra kick of the Thing. It might not be reliable or able to help with other matters, but when it came to mental suggestions, there was nothing for Lucifer or the Thing to fight. “Did you see that?”

“Yes but… How?”

“Weird psychic bullshit.” Sam deflects. Looks down again because that’s probably the last thing Kelly needs added to this mess. “Comes with the territory.”

“Psychics are real?” Kelly latches on the new information, because anything is better than focusing on the Devil’s plan for her.

“Yeah, you’re talking to one. Or… one who is sometimes, I guess.” Sam concedes.

“And that symbol will really-”

“Banish Lucifer or any other angel if you touch it? Yeah. Oh, and this one works for demons, they work for him usually. And this is anti-possession tattoo. Just… just in case.”

“Oh.” Kelly’s voice is too light. Both Kelly and Sam both lapse into nervous comradery, two people stuck in an awful situation not of their choosing. Sam sends over and explains a few more tricks, like salt and devil’s traps and holy water and other basics. Explains a few more things he might be able to do provided Lucifer isn’t present to stop him.

“How’d you even get in here?” Sam asks finally.

“Keycard. The doors unlock from the outside. Oh, you mean, what was I doing here in the first place? Well, a friend told me that something wasn’t adding up with a prisoner log and the person we had on retainer. And then Jeffers- I mean, President Rooney, had mentioned something about sending someone to check up on all the records. So I decided to go myself, since I had clearance. And then I heard noise, I think the IV’s wheels? And decided to check it out. Then you were there and I um… well, this wasn’t what I was expecting, honestly.” Kelly trails off.

Sam blinks. “So… um, you working for the President…”

“I’m his aide.” Kelly looks at her shoes. “And… and, well I guess you already know the rest. I thought we were together but if Lucifer was going to have him send me in a few weeks then… then…”

Sam doesn’t answer for a bit, because he gets where she is coming from. Both of them have exs from Hell. And it doesn’t matter if people are looking for her, not really, not when Lucifer’s keeping them in lockdown and the supernatural is involved. Their only hope were people already in the know.

Kelly looks back at Sam, hazel eyes disoriented. “Sam, how long have you been trapped here?” Kelly chokes out.

Sam closes his eyes. Wants to lie but knows that would be too cruel.

“At least six months. Definitely longer.”

“Then… I wouldn’t bank on it. Escaping. Logistically, I mean,” Kelly says. She looks dazed. “You’ve been dealing with this longer than I have, it sounds like, and if you can’t get out, well… I don’t know what I can even do.”

“Look, I know… I know this is a lot to handle at once… But seeing you out there was the most hope I’ve had in a long time, Kelly. That… that helps.” Sam tries. It’s not enough, but it’s something. Then the gravity of the situation, the panic returns, just as fast. “Um. We really need to think of something before Lucifer get back. He gets… moody… very easily.” Sam finishes lamely. No words are enough to pretend how much of an understatement that is. But Sam is trying not to freak Kelly out more than necessary. She’s dealing with enough.

“I’ll stay.” Kelly decides. “We’re better off that way, right?”

“Yeah.” Sam answers. “Definitely.”

His too-thin wrists chafe against the restraints. There is silence again. More out-of-sync intakes of breath.

“So. The Devil. Sounds like you two have a lot of… history?”

“You could say that.” Sam’s voice gives out slightly. The adrenaline of trying to escape and the frantic panic of being caught and the need to stay calm as a failsafe are finally starting to wear out into the usual feeling of exhaustion and desperation and the crushing reality of isolation and forced interactions Sam’s been dealing with for too long.

Silence settles over them again.

“Well,” Kelly starts, takes in a breath. “When we have time, maybe you can fill me in? Because something tells me we’re going to be here for a while.”

Before Sam can say anything, Kelly’s voice trails off and she starts sobbing full-on wracking sobs.

Sam goes to say something, anything, even though he’s out of practice with comforting people or anything otherwise, but then Lucifer returns with someone else in tow (demon, Sam can tell because he can smell the blood even from here) and everything is a live-wire of electricity and fear and wariness (and hunger) all over again.

Kelly somehow chokes herself off from sobbing and stares. Basic survival instincts, probably.

“So, you two made your decision?”

Sam nods. Answers for Kelly because she’s dumbstruck, and he doesn’t blame her. Evidence of the supernatural always took people by surprise in the best of conditions. Having the Devil explain you were going to be a surrogate for its baby and then die whether you liked it or not is in a whole other ballpark. All things considered, she’s taking it pretty well, better than most. Probably comes with having to deal with the stress of the Presidency.

“We’ll stay here.”

“Perfect. Glad that’s settled and that you two hit it off so quickly. Now, far as the details of this arrangement go.” Lucifer presents what looks like a dark haired woman. “This is Dagon.”

Sam starts, and stares because he knows that demon and its name, even if she is wearing a new host from the last time Sam saw her.

**Prince of Hell?**

_Mm. Very good, Sam._

Dagon smiles at Kelly. Ignores Sam, probably because Lucifer ordered it.

Lucifer cross his arms. “She’ll be looking after you two while I’m away. So, behave. Listen to her ground rules.”

 _Or else_. Lucifer lets the unvoiced threat hang.

“And I’ll be back tonight. Happy trails, Sammy. Don’t do anything stupid.”

On that cheery note, Lucifer leaves the most he’s left Sam in one day.

Dagon eyes them both speculatively.

“I assume I don’t need to explain anything to you?” She fields over to Sam.

Sam nods.

“Thought so. Now, you.” Dagon looks at Kelly speculatively. “I’ve been told to make sure your vitals are all normal and to administer some other tests, considering all the excitement and new things you’ve learned today. So I’m going to cut your restraints to get a better handle on things. Don’t try anything.”

Kelly nods.

The zip-ties go. Kelly asks to remove her heels.

Dagon allows it.

And when Dagon turns to get out one of the tools, Kelly tries to stab her with the stiletto. It’s not really a consciously calculated decision. Just something you do when you’re trapped and desperate and terrified of the supernatural.

Dagon intends to freeze her and throw her into a wall. If only Sam and the Thing hadn’t teamed up to freeze her in place first, Sam reacting on instinct as he sees her eyes flash yellow.

For once, the Thing almost didn’t fill Sam with fear and despair. They were united in their purpose.

Kelly breaks Sam’s zip-ties with her shoe, unhooks the IV as Sam stalks forward and uses the stiletto to draw demon blood while Dagon is frozen.

**Desperate times, desperate measures.**

And Sam takes his chance. Draws an angel banishing sigil, and a Devil’s trap, and a makeshift anti-possession tattoo on Kelly’s shoulder, and a few other Enochian symbols that will keep Dagon out like a light. Dagon isn’t a match for him and the Thing, and the faster this was over means the more time they had before Lucifer came back. Even if they are trapped in a room with no potential escape.

Now they just needed to get out. Sam tries to break down the door Kelly opened before.

It doesn’t budge.

Then there’s the demon blood, ripe for the taking from a Prince of Hell, nonetheless. Sam would drink it, it’s not like he cares what it does to him, or the Thing, and he might be able to implode the door before Lucifer got there.

He isn’t thinking about how drinking it might ruin the baby’s life like it did his. He isn’t. Really.

(Sam hesitates in spite of himself.)

He’s more concerned what will happen once he does drink, because the moment he does Lucifer will know and come right back.

Sam draws multiple angel banishing sigils on his arm and Kelly’s and the wall closest to the door and the floor.

But he still doesn’t have the juice to break them out…

Sam ducks down near the blood, stiletto in hand. Kelly looks concerned, but Sam explains, “It’s alright, it’ll help. I can’t get us out otherwise.”

Sam hopes he can hit the sigils he drew fast enough when Lucifer comes flying back.

And he can feel him again, the bond between them singing like nothing else, clear as the day he first headed into Detroit.

_I leave you alone for five minutes and this is the thanks I get?_

“You two are two peas in a pod. Really. You both don’t waste any time-” Sam rams his hand over the angel banishing sigil and breaks down the door, praying to Cas and every other angel every chance he gets.

And Kelly and Sam are running now, running to the car again, Kelly’s keycard their means of escape.

“-And you’re already causing mayhem.” Lucifer shakes his head.

Sam hits the other angel banishing sigil. Each one melts after one point of contact, but it doesn’t hurt his skin. The Thing hurts a little inside him, but Sam has a high pain tolerance and ignores that, too.

_Sam, do you think you can outrun me? You really want to play it this way?_

Sam finds he doesn’t care, he’s just a caged, cornered animal doing what he needs to survive, body and pregnancy and Lucifer be damned.

Kelly wrenches open the car door, Sam practically lunges for shotgun, and she slams her feet down on the pedal just as Lucifer places another hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam is ready. Is faster because he expected it.

Has five unused sigils left.

 _Oh, Sammy, you are really trying my patience today_.

Kelly has floored the car so hard they’ve passed the 100 mph mark. Sam doesn’t know how the Hell she stays on course, but she does. Sam’s feet are cut up from the gravel, but it heals fast from the baby. (Sam’s not too sure when he started thinking of the Thing, of It, as a baby, but he has more important concerns at the moment.)

“How do you think this is going to end, exactly?”

Three to go.

_You really want to keep going?_

Two.

Kelly makes it down a ditch past a sign saying, “Welcome To Orchard Hill! We’re Glad Georgia Is On Your Mind.”

_Sam, last chance._

One.

Sam doesn’t know when he and Kelly both started screaming. He hopes Lucifer’s banishment let his prayer to Castiel go through, to tell him and Dean where he is, or any angel, really.

“See, now you’ve just gone and pissed me off. And we were doing so well, Sam.”

The car veers off the road into a tree thanks to the ice coating it from wheels to windshield, totaled and driverless, right after Sam and Kelly are abducted again.

“See, I tried being nice. Look where that gets us.” Lucifer’s tone is deceptively light. “And, I mean, let’s be honest. That was incredibly reckless driving. You could have gotten yourselves killed.”

Sam is tied back down to the bed. Dagon is conscious again and looks ready to tear them both to shreds. Lucifer doesn’t let her, because he wants to handle this himself.

And then Kelly’s on the floor, screaming, and there’s red, red everywhere.

Lucifer makes Sam watch.

_I know there’s no point in trying to drill this into your skull, Sam, but if I were you, I’d make better decisions next time._

All of Sam's symbols on the floor wash away as everything gets painted red. 

Lucifer places two fingers on Kelly’s head, heals her completely. Hands her off to Dagon, who wheels her away on a gurney out the door.

Alone.

Lucifer turns on Sam, livid. Still doesn’t let his true form show through, in case it might break something growing inside permanently.

“Sam, I might not be able to hurt you right this second. But you are going to wish I could.”

Sam sits still, doesn’t meet Lucifer’s eyes, only trembles, every piece of skin erupting with goosebumps and cold and wings.

He knows what’s coming.

\--

The next day, Sam is surprised to find himself in another room. This one looks more like a hospital, but not quite, too unfinished.

_Think again, kiddo. Been two days. Gave Kelly to Dagon to play with, since she’s trouble when left unattended. You, I kept under after your whole Fast and Furious escapade and our private marital discussion. You got a bit delirious by the end._

Kelly wheeled right next to Sam with a squeak of rusty metal. Both of them are strapped to their own gurneys, IVs inserted in their arms and a ton of spray-painted Enochian and other symbols all over the walls and the floor. The zip-ties are tighter than usual. There’s a diagram of uterus being transplanted on the wall, for their “benefit.” Apparently the transplant was both magical and actual surgery. Sam tries not to think of sharp objects at all.

Lucifer is eyeing a scalpel with intensity as he starts in, “Okay, you two. When you wake up, the baby will be in her, and you’ll be back to your old self, Sammy. Fair’s fair. And I keep my word, even if you two don’t. So. I’ll see you on the other side.”

There’s an anesthesia machine wedged between them, and Dagon unhooks the mask from one, walks closer to Kelly.

“When I get out of this,” Kelly gasps out, although it’s clear from the rise and fall of her chest that she’s terrified. “You got to tell me everything, okay? Your whole deal,” Kelly starts to slur, “Whole story. It’s only fair.”

“Okay.” Sam promises, and he can’t quite stop the tears, the taste of failure and shame and exhaustion all pooling over him again. “Okay.”

Kelly goes out like a light.

And then Lucifer is above Sam, an ice-cold hand smoothing over his forehead and a plastic mask in Lucifer’s hand.

_Sweet dreams, Sam! Don’t get too comfortable._

There’s the taste of cottonballs and fuzziness and metal and something almost like purple and fog and lint as the mask descends over Sam’s head.

\--

While Sam is out, he dreams of Dean and Cas and home.

The baby sends images that don’t make sense. Something sharp. Bloody gloves. Something fleshy.

Sam isn’t scared, he’s lived worse.

And then the baby latches on to something, sends over something else:

_“Dean, I heard him, I know where he is, Crowley knows a way in, we can get them, if we plan right-”_

_“Will this work?” There’s a voice Sam doesn’t quite recognize._

_“It’s the best one we have.” That’s Crowley. He’s strangely subdued._

_There’s the sound of keys. The rev of the Impala._

_“Let’s go.” Dean has never sounded more determined in his life, in all the years Sam has known him._

But then it’s cut short.

Sam senses something missing, after a while.

His mind is not quite sure what.

The ache feels almost like loss. Almost.

\--

Sam doesn’t remember the almost-dream. Feels a hand, too cold, brush over his face, but Sam’s still too tired and sleeps.

\--

When he wakes up, Sam is in his body again, clothed in his own freshly cleaned and dried jeans and red checkered flannel, and Sam knows it because they’re still warm. And Sam is more relieved than when he realized he could say ‘No’ the first time, and he’s an emotion that is something infinitely stronger than grateful, and he could cry. He’s himself. He has his body back, he has control. There’s nothing inside him.

And then ice douses him awake as he remembers everything else.

**Shit.**

He lurches upright, stopped by zip-ties halfway in his ascent. He’s back in the same room he’s been living in for half a year.

Kelly’s beside him, visibly pregnant and out cold, asleep. Not in pieces. Whole. No blood or scars visible.

Guilt rips Sam apart. His mind buzzes, cleared, like a tornado ripped on through.

“She recovers quick, that one. But I guess I chose the right container. She’s almost like you. Not quite. But she has spunk, for a human.” Lucifer’s voice prickles like ice against Sam’s neck.

He snaps! And Sam ducks, and Kelly is whisked away by Dagon. The door closes, loud and bellowing. Sam hears it lock behind him.

It’s just Sam and the Devil again, one foot of mattress between them. Lucifer leans forward and cuts the zip-ties with jerky movements. Sam knows the signs of a clear lack of restraint. A need to break something.

Sam looks at him, then. Sees Lucifer erupt into his true form like he’s been wanting to for months. Sees the Devil’s real face looking back, a sight that keeps him arrested in both dread and fear and need and hypnotized. Feels the wings crushing around him. Sees red eyes staring into his.

Sam’s visible breaths puff out before him.

And Sam knows all the promised hurt Lucifer’s been holding back is all rushing in, now that Sam doesn’t need to be kept pristine. He’s certainly tried Lucifer’s patience enough.

Sam doesn’t cower, though. Lucifer likes to be beheld in his full glory. And Sam doesn’t want to give him another reason to lash out.

“Now, I don’t know about you, Sam. But we had an agreement back when this whole affair started, you remember?” And Lucifer turns back, appearing as Nick, as human as can be.

Sam can’t speak. There are too many words that want to rush out. Too many recollections because he remembers his promise to Lucifer too perfectly. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quite make out.

“So. If I were you, I’d make nice.” Lucifer advises, two hands sliding up through his blond hair, as if he’s soothing himself, as if this is hard for him. “Don’t antagonize me right out of the gate. You think you can manage that?” Lucifer asks, tilts his head. His nostrils flair.

Sam nods.

Lucifer looks almost surprised.

_Nothing to say, Sam? No fighting words?_

**Would they matter?**

_Oh, Sam. You do learn. I’m so proud. Takes a long time, but you do get there eventually._

Sam inhales, a cold, icy breath. It’s like he’s fallen into a frozen pond. No one around. It’s just silent, save for the scrabbling of hands on the ice, unable to gain purchase. And the cold, the constant cold, choking down and rushing in and making Sam’s limbs too heavy.

But Sam doesn’t fight. Kelly has suffered enough, and just because Sam didn’t think Lucifer would hurt her now that she was carrying his child, their child, oh God, there was no guarantee, and now that the Thing is out of him Sam almost cares, because it didn’t ask for this and he felt that thing thinking before it left him, and now it’s in Kelly, and, and... And there was too high a price for seeing if Lucifer would hurt her again.

Sam kisses Lucifer before he even touches him. Makes it long and purposeful and real because if he doesn’t do this Sam doesn’t know what Lucifer will do and Sam doesn’t have any fight left.

Then there’s ice-cold hands slowly undoing the buttons of Sam’s shirt and a split tongue slipping between his teeth. And chapped lips and rough hands and eyelashes fluttering too close.

Some things are different. Most things are the same. Routine. Usual.

Sam taking the lead isn’t one of those things.

When Sam turns Lucifer around, he takes every ounce of hatred and pain, everything he can feel from the past half year, and Sam doesn’t hold back, because Lucifer wants to feel the despair Sam has choked down in every motion as Sam pretends its passion.

Sam doesn’t know what Lucifer will do anymore. He used to think he did, but now he doesn’t. Lucifer’s gone so far off the reservation of what Sam can predict and Sam’s too drained to not give him what he wants. Sam doesn’t know if he’s going to torture him after this or if it will be nothing. Or if Sam will be left alone again. If Kelly will be left alone, again, and Sam can’t let that happen…

And then Lucifer turns Sam around, and Sam waits.

Lucifer chooses to be gentle, this time. Acts as if this is the first time all over again, when he first convinced Sam to give him one night, just the one, back in Nick’s form, after Sam stopped hunting, the day the blood was forced down in that bar, before Dean came back for him, before Zachariah, before Carthage. Before the Fall. Before the Cage.

Before this.

The hate burns, pure acid in Sam’s throat. It competes with muscle memory and all the long months and the rules of the Cage and the fear and the isolation and the constant proximity and the need that makes Sam shiver and shake because the grace was like heroin and the blood was like lightning and Sam loses more time because he can’t quite focus on anything except Lucifer.

Lucifer doesn’t say anything at all. Except, right before the end.

_Do you want me, Sam?_

Sam says yes, because there are no other answers left.

\--

When Sam comes to next, he’s in the bed still, zip-tied again, fully clothed.

Kelly is awake and also clothed and next to him and has her own bed. There’s about five feet between them.

They’re still in the same damn room Sam wants to set on fire by now.

Lucifer and Dagon are nowhere to be seen.

“Kelly, are you-”

“I’m fine.” Kelly replies. Sam can’t tell what she’s feeling. “I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

Sam looks at her and waits.

"So... this." Kelly nods her head at Sam's body. "This whole gig is worse than I thought. He really, uh..."

"Yeah." Sam's throat hurts.

Kelly’s eyes are contemplative.

“You going to tell me your story, now?”

Sam does. Starts from the beginning, from the deal that started it all. Doesn’t leave anything out, the Apocalypse, hunting, his family, vessels, demons, all of it, even the Cage and what happened after. The only things left out are the things Sam doesn’t have words for. And Sam does this, because Kelly needed something to hold on to, and he owed her, and neither of them asked for any of this.

Sam is tired of Lucifer’s victims having nothing to help them, nothing he can give them, to take away their pain.

\--

Three days later, Lucifer brings in a juvenile Hellhound he’s painted pink from head to toe.

Shoves it into Sam’s arms.

Sam doesn’t question it. Doesn’t question much anymore.

Lucifer gives Sam an answer, anyway.

“This is Priscilla. Think of her as one of those… emotional regulation dogs. She’s trained to pick up when you’re about to do something stupid and will either make you calm down or will alert me. Don’t want to deal with any more episodes of you doing something reckless. Understood?”

Sam nods. Says it verbally, because Lucifer is eyeing him in a way that means he has to.

Lucifer adds that he wants it to get used to Sam and the baby and that it will keep meddlesome headaches away, which otherwise meant it would howl at anyone else. After all, “I promised you a dog and a picket fence, remember?”

Sam wants to dislike it, but a hellhound puppy is a puppy, and it is soft, and as long as a ruler, and it licks his hand, like any other dog. And Sam always wanted a dog, even if this one has more than one head.

He accepts the gift. One, because there is no choice, and two, because it needs him. And Lucifer is going away again and Dagon is taking Kelly away every few days and Sam is going to be left alone, and Sam can’t deal with being alone still, and in the dark, so the dog’s some sort of remedy for that.

Lucifer always liked using sticks first, then gifting people the carrot when they gave him what he wanted.

Nonetheless, Priscilla takes to Kelly and Sam like a fish to water, because Kelly smells like the baby, who feels like Sam and Lucifer, and because Sam is Sam, and also smells like Lucifer. But mostly because Sam is all Priscilla really has, too.

\--

Two weeks later, Sam and Kelly are two best friends with bonds stronger than anything because they are all each other have, except for the new life tying their fates together, and the dog, but a baby and a dog don’t really count the same way. Being trapped with Lucifer does that to people. (Dagon was awful, too, and Sam promised he would end her, because Kelly still wouldn’t say what she did to her before the surgery for the two days Sam was out.)

But Lucifer was his own brand of evil, one that never really left you alone.

Kelly looks down at her belly, eyes it thoughtfully.

“You know.” Kelly thinks aloud. “I’m proud to carry this baby.”

Sam looks over, listens, not skeptical but thrown for a loop.

“You… are?”

“It’s not just Lucifer’s baby, Sam. It’s… It’s yours. And I know… neither of us… well. But you’re a good person, Sam. I know you. And I think any baby of yours is good, too. He’s got part of you inside him.”

And Sam… Sam believes her. But not because of that, not exactly.

Because he knows, deep down, how that baby really felt. Even if he was afraid of it and wanted it out of him, wanted everything that ever invaded him outside him, because he did not give permission. Still is afraid, because of all the months prior. Of all the things Lucifer did.

He believes her, because he knows what it is like to be written off as evil just because you were born. Before you even had a chance to prove that you were just yourself. Nothing less, nothing more.

“He didn’t ask for this, too.” Sam whispers. “He didn’t have any say, either.”

Kelly nods.

Sam pets Priscilla, too. Because Priscilla is also a baby and isn’t a monster yet. No monster is. Sam knows Amy, knows Benny, knows himself.

Monsters have to learn to be a monster. Have it trained. And Lucifer hasn’t trained this one to be like the rest.

There isn’t much left to say after that, because Lucifer comes back.

\--

Two days later, one day after Kelly's explained everything she can about what Lucifer's done politically, after Sam and her have brainstormed just what he might be up to, the tension reaches it's head.

"You won't hurt him." Kelly says, as Lucifer threatens Sam again. Leaves little to be left implied.

"Oh, won't I?"

"No. Because then you'd be hurting him to prove a point. Because I insulted you. Not him. And that would mean admitting a human has the power to upset you, if you hurt him because of me."

Lucifer actually looks bemused by that and doesn't end up doing anything. It might be ploy. It might not. Sam can't tell.

But Sam has never been more full of admiration or more grateful to Kelly since.

\--

Another month passes.

There’s a crack! And Sam wakes up, bleary, expecting Lucifer meting out some new type of punishment or something else, something worse he’s improvised.

It’s not Lucifer.

It’s Crowley.

Kelly stops herself from yelling because Sam is moving his hands frantically and mouthing, “Friend.”

Sam jolts wide awake. And then his hands are loose, so are Kelly’s, because Crowley isn’t wasting time.

Priscilla growls at the stranger, but Sam picks her up, keeps her from engaging, and she quiets when Sam sends over a wave of something, because she’s more loyal to Sam than Lucifer now, because Lucifer never understood how to make something actually loyal. She’s the size of a small suitcase.

Kelly looks concerned and hopeful at the same time as Sam helps her to her feet, and Crowley talks, for once not full of jibes or verve or anything except business-like fear based on self-preservation.

“Moose. We have no time. We got to get you out of here in five minutes before Lucifer and Dagon know I’m here.”

“Not without Kelly. Or this one.” Sam holds Kelly’s shoulder and motions to Priscilla.

“Whatever. Now here’s the plan.”

And Crowley places glasses over Sam’s eyes and a hand on Sam’s forehead as he sends information hurtling through his mind.

They’re taking the highway through Hell and Purgatory to hide from the goddamn Devil on a Hellhound, (because the wards around here are too intense to breach, and there's hellhounds and all sorts of evils Lucifer's employed crawling around).

And then they’re being picked up, the same place Sam got Bobby out.

Sam picks on something else, too, that Crowley only got in because of some scuffle, some demon wards that didn’t just let Dagon on, that something is causing some sort of distraction, but then it’s gone, and Crowley draws back.

“Now go on, Sam.” And there’s another Hellhound now, one next to Crowley, much bigger. “Ride off into the sunset and don’t look back.”

Sam holds on to Kelly and Kelly holds on to Priscilla and they both hold on to dear life to the Hellhound, who can run faster, can get them through Hell and Purgatory faster.

They are leaping at the portal to Hell just as there’s ice again, ice everywhere, and too many whispers of grace ringing in Sam’s ears.

“Really, Crowley. You. Of all people. I’m surprised. I really am.”

_Thought he wouldn’t come within a thousand miles of here if he knew what was good for him._

Crowley tries to snap away, but he’s gone. Like that. Smote by the Devil.

Sam sees it all before they make it out.

_Sam, DON'T-_

Sam hears the rumble of the grace screaming after him.

But then they’re gone, hurtling down, into Hell, into a place Sam is sure that Lucifer might find them, easy.

They hear the baying of hellhounds behind them.

\--

Lucifer curses. He's hot on their heels.


	101. Moonrise Kingdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by angel haze

When they make it down to Hell, Sam finds Dean and someone else, a younger guy who seems familiar and who looks about 20, both saddled on Hellhounds of their own. Sam has no clue who convinced Dean to get anywhere near a Hellhound, although he’d do it for Sam…

It was probably Crowley, except Crowley is dead now, and Sam can’t think about that, not now, not when the last escape went bad-

“Sammy!” Dean yells, also wearing Hellhound spectacles. Their Hellhounds are neck-to-neck, keeping pace with each other as more, less friendly packs tear down into Hell after them. The maze and red glare of Hell pulses, headache inducing. The baying howls almost offset the usual screams. “Cas is waiting at the end of the line. You in one piece?”

Sam smiles, but it’s not a happy one. Dean gets the message and doesn’t press the issue.

Dean passes off Ruby’s knife to Kelly, since Sam’s hands aren’t free. He eyes Kelly with weary acceptance, considering how weird their lives have been.

“Kelly, right? Jesse mentioned you.”

Kelly grabs it with her free hand and nicks her arm. Starts drawing angel banishing sigils on her shoulder and Sam’s wrists, shaky but also uncaring, because any cut she makes on herself heals over thanks to the baby.

“And you’re Dean Winchester. Sam's mentioned you.” Kelly answers as recognition of the other man steals over Sam like an exploded faucet or lightbulb. The Antichrist, or Cambion, or whatever, who cares anymore, and how had Sam not realized, he’d thought about Julia Wright more often than not when alone, all things considered, with what had happened to her, and him, and all of Lucifer's info sessions on Nephilim as he explained what he expected this to be, and everything...

"Only good things, I hope." Sam hears Dean from far away.

"You only wish."

The other man doesn’t stop Kelly from drawing, but he does cut in at Sam's panicked glances backwards, “I can shield us, no angel and demon can’t find us as long as we’re within a 20 foot radius, not even an Archangel. The Hellhounds might, though. We’ve got to throw them off our trail, we can use this-”

Blood pounds in Sam’s ears.

(" _You can do the right thing." Sam remembers saying, "You’ve got choices, Jesse."_

_"Because I have to believe someone can make the right choice, even if I couldn’t."_

_"See, we’re kinda freaks ourselves."_

_"It’s your choice. It’s not fair. I know."_

_And then Dean: "We destroyed that kid’s life by telling him the truth."_

_"We didn’t have a choice, Dean." Sam remembers his answer still, because he remembers what he didn’t say, that, **Not knowing the truth destroyed me. Not knowing the truth led to all this.**_

_Then Dean’s said, "I’m starting to get why parents lie to their kids." A_ _nd: "The more I wish Dad had lied to us."_

 _"Yeah, me, too." Sam had answered, but not for the same reasons. Lying never helps. But maybe he could pretend John had actually respected him, if he had swallowed up the truths he did decide to say_.)

And look where we are now.

God, what is he going to tell the baby if they get out of this, if Lucifer is still out there, after Kelly…

No.

Sam needs to get a grip and makes himself listen to anything but his own thoughts. Everyone has kept talking to distract from the baying, from the screams, from Hell itself. Jesse’s voice tunes back in, answers something Kelly must’ve said.

“What, did you think I was just going to leave you there?” Jesse’s voice is airy, but it’s the kind that is riddled with concern.

“Jesse Turner?” Sam clarifies, eyes his brother who nods.

“He’s my third cousin a few times removed.” Kelly clarifies. “He’s from Australia.”

Small world.

“Born and raised in Nebraska.” Jesse adds, “But you know that, don’t you, Sam? And I got to say, I never properly thanked you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. For telling me the truth.” Jesse answers, gives him a grim smile. “You told me what was what. Got me ready for what’s out there even if I wasn’t along for the ride. Waited out the end of the world. Rode some waves in Sydney. Become a doctor. Then became a hunter. Learned a lot along the way.”

“Glad you made it out okay. How, um…” Sam doesn’t even know where to start.

“After I left you two for Australia, I set up a life for myself. Learned everything I could, researched. Eventually, I figured out how to hear stuff through the rumor mill and angel radio. Or calling on demons, you get the idea. Made some connections with Men of Letters, Australia’s faction. Then word came around eventually you put Lucifer in the box, and I could tell, because I was normal again-”

Ice crackles into the air. Sam presses on the banishing sigil and keeps praying (for Lucifer to get bent and to fail and to go away, not necessarily in that order). The banishing sigil doesn’t glow, though, and round the next bend the ice is gone.

_SAM!_

“Are you sure he can’t find us? I mean…” Sam’s voice gives out.

“Lucifer can get close, maybe mess with you a little, since you’re a True Vessel. But I can still divert him. Not indefinitely, but still. Drives the bastard crazy. And if all else fails,” Jesse points to some Molotovs hitched to the harness of the Hellhound. “Holy fire will still sting.”

And Sam finally allows himself a smidgeon of hope.

This might just work.

“Anyway, after you stopped him, I lived a normal life. Reconnected with my adoptive parents. Found my biological mom. Went on road trips. Went to family reunions and met Kelly’s family. Didn’t explain anything, of course, they all thought I was kidnapped. Then I moved back and forth with dual citizenship in Australia and the U.S.” Jesse trails off. “But... it didn’t last. Angels starting falling from Heaven. And when my powers came back online, I knew Lucifer was out again. So I did some digging. And then met with Dean and Cas by chance. They had a lead because of a photo in the paper. They thought Lucifer raised your girlfriend or a demon did or something, but they knew it had something to do with you. So I joined politics to try and see what "Jessica Scratch" was up to behind the scenes. Figured out it was him. And then Lucifer started catching on that I was working with Dean and Cas and that we were getting close. So he took interest in Kelly. Kelly, I’m so sorry, he probably targeted you because of me-”

“I doubt it.” Kelly answers, then amends the statement. “I mean, it might have been a factor. But the way he made it sound was like he had been interested based on some similarity to Sam. Sorry, Sam. Was I supposed to-”

“It’s fine.” Sam assures. “He’s… well, he’s like that. You all know by now.”

“What did he want with you? And why’d he knock you up," Dean's voice is gruff, and Sam starts, but Dean is looking at Kelly, not him, why wouldn't he, "-And not kill you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Dean speculates, jerking his head at the baby bump. “Dude hates humanity. Doesn’t want to get near any of us except Sam. Is it because you’re related to Jesse? Some weird Antichrist thing?”

“Um… Sam really should be the one to explain. Not here, though. Once we get out.”

And then it’s quiet again. Too quiet except for hounds and screams and whispers of:

 _Sam, Sam, Sam. Oh, Sammy, you’ve gone and done it now, just wait 'til I get my hands on you_ -

"Also, what's with the Hellhound puppy?" Dean's tone is both guarded and exasperated. "You find him crying and steaming out in the rain, or something?"

"Long story. Short version, Priscilla's mine."

"What kind of name is Priscilla, Sam, we raised you better than that-"

"Lucifer chose it." Sam cuts Dean off. Everyone sobers at that. "Look, and Kelly and I will explain later. Let's just... get out of here. Please."

They keep moving.

\--

Whatever uneasy pace they keep is not meant to last, however. They get really close to Purgatory before the packs of Hellhounds almost catch up.

They take another turn, intending to double back.

Priscilla bites and rips off a piece of fabric from Sam's shirt and wriggles out of Kelly's grip.

She runs the other way.

The Hellhounds seem more scattered after that. The baying lessens.

They make it to Purgatory.

Make it through, almost there, and Sam can't believe their luck-

Unfortunately, there's someone waiting for them.

\--

Cas is on the ground, bleeding. With a wave of Lucifer's hand, the the Hellhounds yelp and buck them all off.

"Sam, I have to say. This whole jailbreak thing you got going on? Not my favorite hobby of yours. You don't apply the skill properly." Lucifer starts in, and he waves, sending Jesse off into a tree as he lobs a lit Molotov of holy oil. It goes wide and explodes against a tree. "And you, you've been a pain. Think you can just send me away whenever you like? Please."

Sam goes for the banishing sigil. Lucifer counters with an inversion of it, pointing at the ground. It's as big as an angel trap and glows blue.

That must have been what stopped Jesse from sending Lucifer away.

"Now, after I deal with that one, I'm going to take you, and Kelly, and our son, and Dean and Cas and this one back to base. Pay them back for all their troubles to try and get inside-" And Lucifer throws Jesse as Dean tries to tackle Lucifer out of the sigil, sends him and Dean careening into each other another tree.

While he's distracted, Cas drags himself across the ground. With one quick movement, he tries to break the sigil with the angel blade.

Lucifer stops him, but in that moment, unfrozen and helped by the baby, Kelly grabs the blade as it rolls along the ground, just close enough to reach, and breaks the sigil.

There's another frantic lunge by Sam, and Lucifer is banished. The sigil hisses and melts on his forearm.

Jesse drags Kelly to the exit, and Dean grabs Sam, and they pick up Cas up by the shoulders and haul ass to get out as quickly as possible.

Lucifer flies back just as quickly, grasping for Sam-

Dean pushes him and Cas out of the way through the portal back just as Lucifer grabs Dean in Sam's place.

\--

"Dean-" Sam screams his lungs out as Sam and Cas emerge, falling to the floor.

The room has dark wood floors. White walls painted with all sorts of sigils and symbols and wards.

Sam tries to jump back through, but the portal is gone.

**Dean.**

_I'll make you a deal, Sam. I won't kill him. I'll even make a trade. But you better offer yourself up with our baby. Or you aren't going to like the consequences. You'll be getting your invite soon. I promise. In the meantime, your brother and I have some things to work out. So sit tight, Bunk Buddy. Rest up while you can. We'll be back together before you know it. Take good care of our baby._

The windows and doors are nearly wrenched off their hinges from a psychic wave of anguish.

Cas makes Sam sleep only because Sam is five seconds from losing himself completely. If it wasn't for Jesse, their location would be revealed immediately.

\--

When Sam comes to, he's on the couch. Jesse made hash and waffles. Sam can smell them, and Kelly offers some on a plate with some milk.

"You okay?" Sam asks her, voice rasping.

Kelly nods. "I'm fine. Jesse and Castiel are too. Sam... I'm sorry."

Dean is gone, Lucifer has him just because he was protecting Sam...

Sam can't stop shaking and bursts into tears as everything from the last year washes over him.

When he's done, he forces the food down and starts frantically planning with Cas and the others.

They need a plan. A foolproof one.

Sam tells Cas about Lucifer's ultimatum. Cas plans accordingly.

\--

No one entertains the idea of hurting the baby after Sam explains everything that happened.

Castiel in particular tries to help Sam deal with the aftermath of the flashbacks and the fear and everything. He knows how Sam copes, and they need to figure out how Sam's going to tell Dean, because Sam still doesn't know how to explain it to him.

Cas would be reluctant to accidentally harm Kelly or kill a baby even if it is dangerous, although he would for the welfare of the world, but the fact that it's Sam's baby...

There's no way he can kill it then at all.

Besides, the baby wins people over. They can feel its grace sometimes, warm and bright.

It heals bruises and scratches when Kelly brushes against anyone. 

It shows them visions of the outside world sometimes when Kelly holds people's hands.

Doesn't feel like Lucifer at all.

Castiel says it feels more like Sam's soul.

And after that, Sam starts crying again. He hides himself in the attic.

Cas makes him a salad and sits with him for a long time after that.

\--

Kelly has to stay with Jesse to stay hidden. It's the only hope they have to keep the baby from Lucifer, and none of them are willing to chance it.

Otherwise, it's a waiting game.

A month goes by. Sam tries to bring himself back to normal levels of coping, but he's terrified, and Dean's gone, and Cas and Sam still haven't found a way to even find him, and Sam doesn't know why Lucifer is waiting.

Lucifer hates waiting. That's enough to send Sam into a tailspin all on its own.

More often than not, Lucifer shows up on the news with the President. Sam can only track legal bills he's proposed that have gotten through Congress and the Senate alarmingly fast, welfare plans, plans for inoculations and feeding children and helping single mothers and bills relating to testing new medical procedures and employing the homeless and others who are slip through the cracks easier, and that isn't suspicious at all.

Kelly starts feeling more pain two weeks in after their escape, enough to start falling over. Sam never noticed pain when the baby was inside him. His pain tolerance was already warped long before that, and for all he knows, it didn't affect him the same, with him being Lucifer's true vessel.

Castiel makes grocery runs at odd intervals so there's nothing to track. Hits a different places each stop.

In the meantime, Sam and Kelly have to stay with Jesse at all times. They stay in the house in case the baby's grace-like signature sets something off or in case Sam's link to Lucifer tips him off.

The group adds new wards every day.

Sam helps Kelly as the pregnancy draws on, especially with the things she can't manage herself. He braves the bathroom and all the fear there if he's the only one home, because she can't always wash herself or make it in and out easily. Sam doesn't want Kelly to fall. And she doesn't like being alone as much as Sam right now.

Sometimes Sam cooks. Sometimes he reads, aloud or otherwise. Sometimes he and Kelly watch TV while Jesse cooks, because that's what he does to relieve stress, or Kelly reads the paper when Sam and Jesse clean their weapons or make more. Kelly doesn't help craft anything that can banish angels in case it affects the baby or goes off wrong.

Sometimes they all just rest on the couch or try to think of baby names.

And every night, Cas keeps watch when everyone else sleeps.

They like the name Jack. It's Kelly's idea, but Sam thinks it seems fitting, close enough to John despite all the history there. Sam almost wants the name in rebellion, because for all John's failings, Sam won't fear his name or let himself not build a better life despite it all. He can move on. And the Winchester's have their traditions. 

The name is human enough.

Most of the time, Sam helps Jesse and Cas plan their next move. Sam also takes to repainting the wards more often than not.

He tries to keep busy. Being cooped up isn't helping with everything else.

Priscilla shows up at their doorstep whining to be let in after three weeks pass, the size of a large suitcase, not a scratch on her. Most of her neon pink pepto-bismo colored paint has worn off, but there's a stripe or two left.

Sam has no clue how she found them. But he's more than glad she did.

Jesse and Cas redo the wards and want to maybe avoid her in case she gives them away, but eventually after testing her for every tracking method and spell, Priscilla comes up clean. She just found them, probably because she's a dog with a decent sense of smell, and souls are hard to hide from Hellhounds.

She licks Sam's face and lets Castiel pet her. She sleeps near Kelly every night. Always knows when Kelly starts falling and grabs Sam whenever Kelly can't stand.

She avoids Jesse like the plague and growls at him, hiding in Sam's lap whenever he's near.

\--

Lucifer reaches out a month in after complete and total silence.

There's a benefit concert being held in a week by Vince Vicente. The President is going. So is 'Jessica Scratch'.

Lucifer tells Sam to meet him there with Kelly and the others.

_Be there or be square, Sam. I mean it. You've already tried my patience enough._

Sam doesn't know if he's been keeping Dean in Hell or not this whole time.

\--

"Any idea why he's at this concert?" Sam asks as they go over the plan again.

"I have an idea." Castiel sighs. "There have been a lot of disappearances and mass deaths lately. Surges of power. Lucifer set off a lot of decoys to keep people off his trail, with you and his child and the signature it gives off. He's also been performing some rituals, but we aren't sure what. If I had to guess, he's using large groups of people to pick off stragglers or kill people en masse when convenient. It's easier to cover up, and there have been enough disasters and tragedies to support the theory. Crowley knew more, had an idea of what Lucifer was doing in Hell... But he said a lot of it was on lock-down and no one had concrete leads. So we don't have enough information about the rest of his plans."

Sam doesn't have much to work with, then.

\--

Sooner rather than later, the hour strikes.

It's time.

Sam drives the Impala, Cas in shotgun. Kelly and Jesse are in the back, Priscilla wedged and panting between them.

Here goes nothing.


	102. Misery Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by paramore
> 
> this was supposed to be lucifer tormenting dean with a lot of torture before the events of the previous chapter for nefarious reasons and was supposed to have a lot of flashbacks and mental anguish but it never materialized the way i wanted it to...
> 
> anyway suffice to say dean and lucifer have not been having a fun time or should i say, dean isn't having a good time

"I know you're probably a bit rusty, but I'll have you know Alastair learned all his tricks from me."

\--

"Really, Dean? I hurt him? Look at yourself. Look at what you've done to your brother." Lucifer snarls.

"I didn't kidnap him and torture him or torture him in Hell!"

"No, you were worse! You have always been worse! Sam know what he was getting into the moment he took the plunge. He accepted all the consequences. And I never lied to him. I told him exactly what to expect, and I will make him see the truth. He'll see how things are going to be, and then I'll make him happy again, and he won't be beholden to you and your vile human weakness!"

Dean spits blood as he says, softer but with all the force in the world.

"I didn't lie to him and make him think he had a future-"

Lucifer grabs Dean's throat and growls, inches from his face, teeth glinting in the light, every angular muscle of his face alien and violent and inhuman. "Yes, you did, Dean. You told him everything was going to be okay after you stole him from me and if Sam wasn't as strong as he is, he'd have cracked from everything you did. You raised his soul from the Cage against his will, when you know full well Sam belongs to me."


	103. The Sharpest Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by my chemical romance
> 
> since i never wrote the beginning of this chapter, sam and ppl crash the benefit, things go horribly wrong
> 
> i'm pretty sure my outline had mick and eileen and kelly and jesse coordinating to get out of there to some degree but i forget if my outline had mick or jesse die or get trapped in hell in the process... there was supposed to be a subplot there too but that obviously never happened. But jesse was supposed to be neutralized for plot reasons somehow.

Sam rushes past Castiel, Lucifer contained in a circle of holy fire, for now. Mick and Eileen are unconscious on the floor.

He's lost track of Jesse and Kelly and Priscilla, but he knows two things.

They got out, and Dean is right there, and he's gonna get him back-

Except when Sam rips open Dean's bonds, Dean's head turns up, so slight, and his eyelids flutter-

Dean's eyes flash yellow.


	104. Come On, Eileen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in between there was a fight and some eileen and mick and kelly and jesse fighting/escaping/being captured while sam was facing down dean and lucifer and i'm pretty sure i was supposed to have resurrected some demons early on as part of my outline for this but that didn't happen for some reason...
> 
> anyway this part is flawed but tbh i'm just trying to figure out where my outline got mega screwed up if i ever fix this

Eileen's dealt with a lot of things. Hellhounds aren't her usual fare.

But hey, she's still a dog person.

And when you've got a pink pepto-bismo colored dog that has dragged you from the battlefield, licked you into consciousness, and can also tear up other hellhounds and keep you covered, she's gotta say, what works is fine by her.

That, and Priscilla is doing a beautiful job of keeping her safe while she wanders through this prison to find Sam and Dean. If not for the Hellhound covering her, she'd never see the other Hellhounds coming.

But long as Priscilla gets the jump on them, Eileen can get to work.

And as long as Sam's soul is kicking, Priscilla can track him down.

\--

Sam hates being inside tiny rooms. It's not just claustrophobia by now. It's just common sense.

Being locked up in darkness and silence is not good for his health.

He does count his blessings.

Lucifer isn't in here with him. Yet.

The lights are on. It's not dark.

He can sit. There's a bed.

Alternately: There's a bed. Sam knows what to expect from that.

Beds and the Devil in close proximity are not a good combination.

Sam goes back to pacing.

Lucifer hasn't shown up since he's locked him in here, and it's not dark in here, and he will find a way out, even if the walls are so thick Sam can't hear the screaming he heard echoing from the walls before he got shoved in here.

Sam is fine.

Sam is dealing.

He's not hallucinating. He doesn't hear chains, or laughter, even if his heart is racing and his throat is too tight and he's being reminded of being trapped in another room for months, alone, with and without the Devil.

Sam takes a deep breath.

Lucifer isn't here. He hasn't come back.

Sam slams his hand on the door and tries to think of his next move.

His odds do not look good.

Sam's startled from all his last-ditch plans to escape that probably won't work by something ramming it's way into the locked door he just slammed his hand against.

Priscilla jumps hard enough to make a dent in the door. Then she spits fire and melts half of it to wriggle on through the hole she's made and yips as she finds her way into Sam's confused open arms.

Priscilla leaps up and licks his face, and Eileen bends down to look through the gaping hole.

"Sam?" She asks, gesturing.

Sam crawls through the hole, and Eileen hands Sam the angel blade as he straightens. Sam would hug her, but every second they waste is a possible death sentence.

Sam presents his bloody sleeve to his Hellhound as he whispers to Priscilla in Enochian.

"Come on, girl. Find Dean and Kelly, alright?"

Then Sam and Eileen rush as fast as they can without being detected down the hall, following Priscilla's bounding leaps. They know Priscilla's handwork definitely set off security, even if the wards themselves haven't been damaged.

The only question is how much time do they have?

Down the hall, they hear a very distinct, deep growl, and the baying of Hellhounds follows after them.

They another heavily warded door. Eileen starts drawing sigils, jailbreaking ones-

Priscilla growls and starts engaging with whatever Hellhound has snuck up on them. Judging on the howls and the yelps and the baying, it's larger, and from the way Priscilla gets shaken like a rag doll-

Sam stabs the Hellhound, wounding it, probably near the eye, and it runs off, and Priscilla is freed from it's grip.

Priscilla limps, wounded, black blood dripping on the floor.

Eileen turns and hugs Sam close.

"You should go find them. I'll hold them off-" She signs, grabbing Priscilla.

Sam shakes his head.

"Not without you." He signs. "Not unless I know you can make it out safe-"

"Sam-" Eileen whispers.

"He won't kill me. I can't promise that for anyone else." Sam signs back.

That, and Sam has seen what happens when people split up.

Eileen considers.

The doors she bypassed open wide, and they book it down to the next set of cells.

Unfortunately for them-

They are not alone.

Eileen goes down, a Hellhound biting at her ankle.

Sam turns to fight them off-

Priscilla bites off the other Hellhounds head, gnawing, protecting Eileen's face. Eileen stabs the two other Hellhounds with a wide arc, while Sam fights off three more and helps Eileen back to her feet.

"You okay?" He signs.

Eileen nods.

She's got blood on her jeans and a dislocated, gnawed shoulder, but she's not dead.

And they haven't been found yet.

A few feet down, Priscilla melts the next door where either Dean or Kelly must be waiting.

Something tells Sam Lucifer wasn't banking on Priscilla this whole time.

"Good girl." Sam pats her head, breaking through the next door.

Inside, Dean is staring at them, standing guard over Kelly, jawbone back in hand.

Eileen throws holy water in his face before he can blink, keeping him incapacitated just long enough-

"Take Kelly and go." Sam says, and hopes Kelly reads his lips.

Eileen doesn't need to be told twice. She lifts Kelly up and books it. Priscilla limps after her.

Sam grabs Dean and runs in the opposite direction from the two of them.

"Dean, Dean, I know you're in there-" Sam starts in, gasping as he grapples him.

Dean growls, eyes still that same sickly yellow, "He's gonna find you, brother, you know he is-"

Then Sam slams Dean into the opposite wall, slits his hand with the jawbone, and drinks.

"Dean. You know just what I am right now. And you're gonna listen to me. Because it's a fucking order. Find a way out of here, right now, before Lucifer-"

_Saaaaaam. You really shouldn't be out and about. Couldn't help but stretch your legs?_

"Dean. Now!" Sam orders, and Lucifer's grace sings in his system, demanding submission, Sam every bit the King he's never chosen to be, just for the moment, because his brother won't cooperate otherwise.

Until he gets his brother cured, they were just gonna have to do this the hard way.


	105. Houses of the Holy (very old draft)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i found a missing bridge chapter but it's still pretty sucky and i'm pretty sure it had like, 2 paragraphs of actually relevant non-canon plot detail that i also forgot to add subplots to, but it is what is is and i'm putting it here in case I decide to ever fix whatever plot hole details happened because if writing this fic taught me anything is that one, i can't write subplots well due to how disorganized i am, and two, i'm bad at juggling more than 2 characters at once in a scene...
> 
> chapter from whatever episode lily sunder was

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway if ppl want to skip this one (which I recommend) basic plot points it was supposed to cover that i'm not sure i ever figured out:
> 
> -Kelly is hiding from Lucifer after escaping being captured, possibly with jesse if jesse and mick weren't taken to hell or dead by this point, i'm pretty sure my outline had one of them dying at least because i couldn't juggle everyone or lucifer wanted jesse turned into a demon for other reasons because a failure to resurrect some princes of hell or other high up demons probably. i also wanted a jesse azazel or jesse lilith or jesse-prince of hell interaction and mick probably saving someone's life by getting in the way but i'm also pretty sure people being resurrected didn't jive with my outline and that's half the reason i never figured out what was going on there but i know jesse was supposed to be relevant to something and it never materialized. either that or magda and eileen teamed up and then when stuff goes south magda goes with jesse because he lost his powers and mick was helping hide them if he didn't die. actually that might have been what happened in my original outline since i think i just threw them all together to keep them away from jody and donna and the crew (and since garth and kevin were dead at this point in time so no one could hide out with them) and because sam wasn't gonna put magda or jody or anyone in direct line of fire (and i'm pretty sure magda teamed up with eileen to find the crew in come on eileen but that never got turned into part of the chapter and was supposed to be part of the briefly-reunited and then separated part of the plot... also pretty sure marin was indirectly supposed to be roommates with someone despite not being plot relevant to this part at all but it was to keep tabs on all of sam's acquaintances as the subplots developed)
> 
> -sam trying to figure out how to find kelly with cas and protect her and prevent her from dying and also not telling dean information about what happened in georgia
> 
> -establishing mary was doing some legwork trying to figure out if lucifer somehow found a way to bring back azazel or lilith due to death-ring shenanigans and teaming up with lily sunder post lily detaching from the group and i feel like gabriel and rowena were supposed to also be involved but i have no idea what my plan from my outline was
> 
> -rowena and mary were doing some stuff because no one can get into the georgia facility but they know things, so they were working together, and they were gonna talk about parenthood and demons and angst and joint trauma and rowena was going to explore some seedier aspects of her past, but that also never happened. maybe they were also trying to track down gabriel since heaven stuff was happening with lucifer and naomi before the baby stuff happened, but that might have been a later plot point i never developed...

Sam keeps looking a the whiteboard, trying not to let being cooped up overwhelm him. He's been hiding from Lucifer all while trying to track Kelly down again, and after what happened earlier...

He hates feeling this helpless.

"Yeah, I was looking at that earlier. Cas has been busy, huh?" Sam starts in, looking back at Dean as he enters the room.

Dean's voice is rough. "Yeah, busy not finding Kelly Kline or her Rosemary's baby. I mean, how's a chick like this just drop off the map?" Dean pushes the whiteboard and grabs some alcohol as he gives in to frustration, and Sam tries not to flinch as he just sits there.

"Well, I think that's what he's trying to figure out." Sam's voice is hoarse.

**Since I can't. Since doing literally anything will lead Lucifer right back to me, apparently, and we've already sacrificed too much to get away once.**

Dean still doesn't know what happened in the warehouse.

Sam doesn't know how to tell him. It sits there, rancid, in his stomach. Unvoiced.

A hidden tension where Dean knows he's missing something between Cas and Sam but is too absorbed in his own problems to ask.

Whatever else Lucifer did while Dean was trapped with him, aside from the obvious...

They know it did a number on the eldest Winchester. That was a given.

Clawing your way back to humanity is never easy, especially a second time.

Sam adds, too light, "Hey, you, uh, you hear from Mom yet?"

"Yeah, she called last night, said she's got a line on a shapeshifter in Atlanta." Dean's voice is flat.

Code for: She's back at the place it all began, lying low, keeping an eye on the places Crowley warned them about. The places they might have been imprisoned in again, if they get too close...

Dean's voice stays bitter as he adds, "I said we could come help, and she said, 'Don't bother.' Apparently, she's 'got it.'" Dean grunts, expression lined and angry.

That line gets Sam distracted and far away. Because Mary doesn't want them close to the scene of the crime.

Atlanta. Georgia.

Which means Sam knows she's keeping her head down, but looking into whatever Crowley dug up as discreetly as possible before he croaked. Is pushing whatever spell they got to keep Lucifer off their trail to it's limit, the spell itself ancient and old and useful, thanks to Rowena and Jesse and Gabriel before they split or got recaptured, since it's been doing it's job, keeping them off the map.

Lucifer hasn't recovered any of the rest of them. Not yet. Doesn't know Mary is looking into whatever she's digging around for in Orchard Hill, just as he doesn't know Sam has returned to the Bunker after Gabriel and Rowena made the location alter at random, spitting them out different places and letting them enter different ways now, too.

Sam doesn't want to know why she's avoiding them so studiously. But Mom is a grown woman. If she wants to avoid them, to drown herself in work, to get away by going back to ground zero...

Sam doesn't blame her. He's trying to do the same thing, because thinking about it, any of it...

Sam isn't dealing, either, if he's being honest. Being trapped like this has just felt like yet another cage.

"Then she's probably got it." Sam says weakly.

He wishes they got Kelly and Mick and Jesse out. He wishes they still weren't trapped or dead thanks to Lucifer.

"Yeah." Dean's abandonment shines through, familiar, a lump in his throat as he speaks, and Sam wishes he didn't recognize the same abandonment he's seen so often when Lucifer talked about God, for all those years.

Sam wonders what new head-games Lucifer played that he has holding Dean hostage now.

"Mom's good." Sam tries to be upbeat. Convincing.

Dean doesn't bother to hide the bitter fear and doubt, the worming uncertainty of what-if-he-finds-her? Still there, always there...

"I just think she jumped back into this a little quick, don't you?" Dean ask.

Sam sighs and shakes his head, a bit too calm when he replies, "I don't think we have the kind of Mom who's gonna stay home and make us chicken soup for dinner, you know?"

**We can't ask her to keep her head down when we can barely keep ours from going under, barely treading water, as we hang on for dear life.**

Then Sam breaches the other subject, the remaining giant elephant in the room. "You talk to Cas yet?"

"No." Dean's one word answer says everything it needs to say.

They haven't been on speaking terms. Not since Lucifer, not since Billie, since Cas left Mary, since Dean came back wrong and had to be injected with Sam's blood, of all things, to wash him clean...

Since Cas said he's not killing the nephilim inside Kelly, and Dean punched him when he wouldn't answer why.

When Dean stared Sam down when Sam wouldn't answer, either.

Sam didn't have the words then, and doesn't have them now.

And Dean's still too mad at Cas, for all the things they never resolved, and too angry and scared of everything, including himself, to know why Cas might spare Lucifer's baby.

"So, what, you're just gonna keep walking past each other in the kitchen, not saying a word?" Sam's scared to ask it, but he can't deal with the two of them not talking.

They were sometimes the only functional thing in this family, when things were good.

When they weren't...

And Sam needs to be able to rely on them, right now.

Sam's too much of a mess.

Still has Lucifer crawling into his dreams every night, true form's saliva dripping and teeth gnashing and mouths teething and wings on top of him, the Devil mouthing at the bit for Sam to give up his location or else.

**Or else...**

There is always the ultimatum.

_Come back, Sammy. You're mine. No running is going to save you. You are hiding on borrowed time._

From the touches, too light, too hungry, as he holds Sam against a motel bed in his sleep.

It's like the Apocalypse (all over again), only come early. Or late, depending on who you talk to.

"Maybe." Dean's voice sounds far away and tinny, and Sam forces the taste of tinfoil and copper and ozone and blood and bright gracelight from his lips and tongue and lungs.

Sam's voice gains strength, only because he has to fight something he can fight and win, and this might be one of them. "Look, yes, Cas killed Billie, but he saved us. He saved Mom. How long are you gonna stay pissed?"

Dean's voice wavers before it steadies, but there's an anchor there, a familiar feeling given voice, stronger than just friendship as Dean admits, "I'm not pissed that he cares about us, you know. I'm... I'm grateful." Then Dean's voice turns scared, hidden in its gruff, husky choked down anger. "But Billie said there would be 'cosmic consequences' if that deal got broken. You have any idea what that means?"

Maybe.

Maybe Lucifer was enough of a cosmic consequence on his own.

Maybe it had to do with whatever kept Lucifer alive.

Sam answers, instead, "No."

Dean scoffs and rubs his face, bone-tired and voice aching with every bit of unvoiced tension and emotion he is too scared to admit exists. "Neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it ain't jellybeans and g-strings."

Sam swallows, mind faraway. Dean notes the change in his expression, the falling trajectory of his eyes, and knows his unvoiced words are understood, and he hates himself for being so easily read by this brother, in this instant.

 ** _I almost lost all of you. I almost lost me. How did you survive him, Sammy?_** Dean doesn't say. He wants to, but he doesn't.

Because that would be admitting that maybe Dean had done something wrong, trying to bring Sam back.

Because bringing Sam back meant Sam had to deal with the consequences, and while taking him from Lucifer was right...

It meant that Lucifer kept trying to take him back all over again.

"My point is, Cas thought he was doing the right thing." Sam says as he re-centers, and his voice gains strength once he meets Dean's eyes.

Sam can't regret anything that got them out, because he needed a way out, and Cas gave it to them, and that's all that matters right now.

Even if they failed Kelly, failed Mick, failed Jesse and Rowena and Gabriel...

Cas didn't fail Sam.

As if summoned by the thought, Cas walks into the room, his voice cutting and always certain and sure and angelic because if it wasn't...

Everyone would fall apart. (Everyone is already falling apart.)

"I was doing the right thing." Cas asserts.

Dean readies for a fight.

"You sure about that?" He challenges, hunching over a little despite himself, green eyes hardening as he stares Cas down.

"Yes." Cas states. He meets Dean's eyes with more unblinking surety.

"Yeah?" Dean challenges, "Well, I'm not so sure. And when the other shoe drops..." Dean trails off.

**_What if I lost you, Cas, what if we lost everything, how could you be so stupid, we almost didn't come back from that, you should've left me there if it would keep Sam safe, you should have stayed safe, I love you and I almost killed you and how could you put yourself on the line like that-_ **

Dean doesn't pray, but Cas notes the things he knows Dean is thinking, anyway.

Cas settles on hardened flippant dispassion as he growls, "I'll deal with it. I have to go."

And their angel goes to fly off and leave.

**_Except you can't leave, don't you know that by now? I need you, and God, I sound just like him, even inside my own head. Cas, please, what am I going to do...?_ **

Dean's thoughts are out of control. Cas wishes he didn't hear them.

Sam jumps on the unvoiced action because he needs to be back in the thick of it because he needs to get his friend and his baby out of Lucifer's grasp.

"Got a lead on Kelly?" He asks, too hopeful. Too resolute. Desperate.

Cas looks at Sam with all the lined sorrow in the world, all the anger and tired worn out eons of angelic failure he thinks he is sapping the very life out of him, but still burning with purpose, all the same. Sam feels his grace flare around them, feels the rustle of wings unlike Lucifer in all the ways that matter.

Like a match in a dark alley, giving light to a cold, huddled mass on the side of the road.

"No. This is personal." Castiel's voice manages to beg for forgiveness all while being foreboding and clipped. Sam doesn't know how his voice does that, but it does.

Blue coals for eyes blink at Sam, like a worn shuttered x-ray half-seen through beyond Jimmy's eyelids, all too exhausted and begging and furiously trying to help and so, so very drained.

 _I can't fail anyone else any more,_ Castiel's eyes seem to say below the surface, and Sam wishes he couldn't read the seraph that well with the same quiet intensity Cas wishes he couldn't read from Dean.

"Meaning what?" Dean asks, too sharp, and Cas refocuses on him, except he can't, because that would involve meeting Dean's eyes, and Cas can't do that.

He still feels like he's failed them, even though he saved them; the story of Castiel's life.

But Cas will re-dedicate himself to the same cause. Because maybe by joining with other angels, Heaven's angels, they can get allies to fight Lucifer, can draw them off the of true nephilim's trail, to keep Sam and his child safe. Maybe by being proactive they can stop messes from blowing up in their faces and giving them away.

Keep your friends close, and potential enemies closer. Know how to read them in case they go after Kelly, too.

"Another angel. An old friend. He called out for help." Cas admits. It's a change from the plan, but angels tend to lead to angels, and knowing his old friends... Well...

Lucifer always was too invested in his True Vessel. And Benjamin loved his vessel his own way, and considering the flock Castiel knows, his old unit with Ishim and Benjamin and the others...

If Lucifer didn't target them himself now, then this might be a lead on them having targeted Lucifer and Kelly.

It might give Sam and Cas and Dean an opening or an opportunity.

It might give them a way to get to Rowena and Gabriel.

It might do something.

Anything to stop the hiding, the very specific mouse-hiding-from-a-cat-scared gridlock they've been clawing at the walls with for weeks now, after what happened at the concert and in the prison and after, with Billie and Mary and all the rest when they got out.

Dean couldn't sound more bluntly disbelieving and aggressive if he tried, but passive-aggressive arched eyebrows win the day for most acerbic look that morning.

"Oh. Good old reliable angel radio." Dean fake-celebrates, beyond the opposite of thrilled.

Cas keeps his tone measured as he answers, "He was begging for help and then he just stopped. I need to know if he's still alive."

 _There are too many variables as to know what killed him_ , Cas doesn't say. _Too many potentials for Lucifer to be involved_. Both he and Sam think alike.

It sits there, heavy and examined, like lye swallowed down in a hidden glass of water and they all suppress a flinch thinking about what they aren't saying.

"Yeah, all right. Well... we'll come with you." Sam answers, rising to his feet, all too bright, too burning, trying too hard to force reconciliation between the angel who loves his brother and himself, stubborn and angry and afraid and consumed by what needs to be done, an unequal if opposite reaction to Lucifer himself.

It's the only thing Sam can hold on to. Alone, they're helpless. Together... Together they have a chance, if nothing else. And they need to do something.

He's not abandoning Cas for anything. And Sam is so, so scared of being left alone. Waiting Lucifer out, like a sheep waiting for slaughter, or like Sam is a rabbit in a burrow with the two of them until their snake finds them, backs them to the dirt wall and swallows them up, one by one by one-

"Both of you?" Cas asks, pointed, and he looks at Dean, too, with that unrelenting look he always gets.

Dean doesn't meet his gaze at first, and his jaw clenches and unclenches and clenches again and Sam stares him down, as does Cas, but Sam's brother still gives a sharp nod of his head.

Even with everything going on between them, all the messy dysfunction and lack of communication...

There's no way Dean will let Cas put himself in the line of fire, and there's no way Dean's letting himself be alone with just Sam, either.

Because Sam is scared shitless of Dean again, without meaning to be. Yellow eyes and demons tend to bring that up, and after everything else with Lucifer...

There is too much Dean and Sam can't talk about there. Dean doesn't know how, and that makes him aggressive, angry, and then Sam gets even more scared, because he's dealing with whatever he won't talk about because Dean probably wouldn't be able to handle it anyway, and Dean hates himself for being another burden and weight with that, too. For failing Sam like Lucifer always says he does.

"Sure. Yeah, we could help. Gotta make sure you don't do anything else stupid." Dean grinds out, blinking to hide his fear of Cas-almost-died-too, of I did something stupid I can't let you do that for me again, and then he's taking another swig of alcohol out of a fucking teacup, of all things. He'd been worse with that, lately.

Cas sighs and turns his head away.

Sam gives Dean a look that Dean meets and then he's giving an apologetic blink because Sam can see the fear there, because it is always there, now.

Sam rolls his neck, and his nostrils flare, and all-in-all doesn't know how he's supposed to babysit their emotions like this when he can barely keep a lid on his own.

But he's gotten good at all that. Sublimating his own to focus on everyone else. He can do it one day, then the next.

He does it as they all enter the Impala in silence.

Castiel sobers Dean up without a word, one hand on the not-proverbial shoulder, and then Dean drives, white-knuckled on the steering-wheel.

Sam fidgets in shotgun. In the backseat, Castiel's wings hunch over in the back, and he can't quite get comfortable, either.

\--

Dean speeds as he continues down the highway. Everyone knows that every few minutes, they've all been glancing at each other and turning away right before meeting anyone else's gaze. They are all too scared all the time now, and it shows.

The silence wears on Sam like a third-degree burn, itchy and painful and aching in his chest. Like Lucifer when he played and cracked open his ribs, one by one, to tear out his heart. Something like that.

"All right, who wants music?" Sam tries. Anything, any distraction at all from what could be another trap, could break their cover and lead Sam right back to Lucifer...

"I'm good." Dean answers too fast and too sure. Not a good sign.

"Your-" Sam breaks off with a grunting sigh, because he knows a lost cause when he sees one, then smacks his lips as he adds, "Okay." His mouth twitches and a muscle jumps in his cheek and he tries to bite the inside of his mouth not to feel absolutely anything from having to manage any of this. Sam rubs the stubble that's started to grow on his face, one welcome passage of time he missed. Nothing grew when he was with Lucifer. He just stayed pristine, the same everywhere, unaging, feeling too-young and endlessly helpless. It was nice to keep this body, and this stubble, and this face, this face that didn't remain the constant sameness, was out of Lucifer's control for the moment...

Sam wonders if his skin will one day feel like his own again, and rubs the back of his neck, self-soothing, as he pushes the nausea down. It hasn't felt safe inside his skin for a long time, but Georgia was another ballpark entirely, and...

Kelly was still trapped with him. And they haven't found her...

Sam can't go there now. He just can't. 

Sam turns around to look at their family angel, the only one Sam trusts to have any of their best interests in mind, even if he did let Lucifer out, because he'd been trying to make up for it and Sam won't hold one mistake against him like Lucifer did to Sam the first time Sam properly let him down.

"Cas, is there anything specific we should know about your friend?" Sam asks, too steady, because if this is a case he can act like its any case and it might give them a lead on Kelly, it might draw something out, it might do something-

 **What flavor of angel do you take with your coffee today?** Sam thinks, half-hysterical, in the corner of his mind.

Cas gives Sam a tired, apologetic look but remains silent and turns away. He can't deal with his failure and he isn't dealing with his own emotions, apparently, and he's not dealing with Dean and his judgement and rejection, and he knows he can't help Sam right now, so he says nothing.

Sam knows why, but he still hates it.

_I don't know, I think I taste pretty good, what do you say?_

Sam wishes he could stop the Devil from sending things over, even if Sam won't give anything away.

The silence chokes them out. Deafening.

_I know you miss me, Sammy. I know so._

Blood pounds in Sam's ears.

There are no distractions and he needs them.

"All right. Guys, you know what?" Sam starts in, exhausted and done, and he pinches the bridge of his nose before a headache can set in, "This – this silent treatment thing, it's silly. It's not gonna work. Whatever we're walking into, we should, you know, probably have an actual plan." Sam voices, not humoring this any longer.

**Because that worked so well last time. Not that not-having one worked so well the time before that. Even if the other plans didn't work either. Hell-**

_It doesn't matter if you plan or not, Samuel. You're. Mine. And you are not getting away, not when it counts, this is a temporary setback, you know so-_

Cas gives in to his concern for Sam over his exhausted and baited anger at Dean for his anger at Cas for doing what needed to be done.

"What do you wanna know?" Cas finally asks, all throaty. Even Cas can hear the tired quaver of his low voice.

Dean interrupts, acerbic, "Oh, he speaks." He rolls his eyes and looks out the window and out the front mirror at Castiel's eyes, which look away.

Sam sighs, but his voice is steel. "Enough. Cas, you said when you heard Benjamin. He... He was screaming."

And Sam remembers his own screams and screaming angels as they fell when Cas was tricked and tastes the screaming angels in his own throat as he fell, too, with Lucifer in his arms and his chest and his mouth, interlocked and screaming, and he heard it when they got away, and it hurts in his larynx and his chest and bursts his eardrums because it is always so, so, so _loud_...

 **Sammy, why-** Sam remembers, hears clear as day...

_Aw. Thinking of me, beautiful? I'm thinking of you, too. You're the only one on my mind, my one and my only. Only one missing from the familial unit, now that I've got junior back. Can't have you missing the birth of our baby, now can I? Especially when you put in so much work, should see the fruits of our labors-_

And Sam ignores the song Lucifer sings while his grace starts to hum on the inside of his brain while Cas struggles to keep himself together, but still tries, for all their sakes'.

"It was, um..." Cas starts, and pauses, feeling a stab of despair so sharply from Sam it stops him in his tracks, enough to cut his voice off, however briefly.

_'Now, you say you're lonely, you cried the whole night through... Well, you can cry me a river... Cry me a river... I cried a river over you.'*_

"Look, Benjamin wouldn't call for help lightly." Castiel admits, finally able to power through. "And he wouldn't put himself in harm's way if he could help it."

Dean's still on a roll, and bites his lip as he sneers, "Wow, this Benjamin seems like he's pretty cool, you know. Like he wouldn't make any half-cocked, knee-jerk choices."

Everyone knows what this about, now. Safer to deal with domestic disputes than all the other issues hiding in the shadows on backburner that they all pretend aren't drowning them, weighing them down like a chain dragging them deeper and deeper and deeper...

_'Now you say you're sorry, for being so untrue...'*_

Cas meets the passive-aggressive tone with his own as he responds, just as quickly, "Yeah, you know what I like about him? Is that he's sarcastic, but he's thoughtful and appreciative, too."

Dean gets thrown and looks off the road, wild and angry and uncontained as he growls, voice louder, "Now what is that supposed to mean?"

And it's much too similar for something else for Sam now, and Sam tries not to spiral, except then Dean's loss of control nearly veers them headlong into traffic and that jolts them all back into having to focus, despite everything threatening to break them all into pieces.

**I can't die I can't he'll find me he'll find me again Dean Dean DEAN-**

_Oh, but we were so close, so so close, to being together again, and all from one human mistake, if I can guess that tone of yours correctly. You in the tin can? Big brother behaving badly?_

Sam's voice is a bit too pleading, but keeps an edge, too exhausted not to, and it's loud, louder than anticipated, from the song still being sung inside his head.

"Okay, okay, the road, road. Dude, watch the road." Sam orders.

"I got it." Dean says, flinching, as he complies.

When Sam doesn't give anything back and his breathing finally slows, Lucifer goes back to singing as if he had never been interrupted by Sam's panic.

_'Remember, I remember, all that you said...'*_

Sam goes back to businesslike interrogation, because if he has to deal with angels, any angels, he needs to brace himself, needs to just get into the rhythm of the case to not focus on all the things, all of it, Lucifer, and all the rest.

Needs to stop hearing Lucifer inside his head, although there's no solution to be had. Only keeping it as muffled as possible, and they've done everything they can for that.

"Anything else, Cas?" Sam pries.

Cas sounds almost halting and apologetic, like he doesn't want to talk about this, but sighs and gives in anyway, because better the truth and keeping Sam occupied than hiding it and Sam learning from someone else if another angel decides to bring it up. Better to hear it from Cas, who at least tries to be considerate as he's able, even if he's only ever been blunt, because that's just who he is.

"Benjamin is always very careful." Castiel picks out, careful himself, as he adds, eyes darting to Sam too much to be coincidence, "Long ago, he found a powerfully devout vessel in Madrid, and her faith, it..." Cas trails off and tries again. "She gave him everything – her trust and her body."

There's too much to parse there, so Sam shuts down.

Even Lucifer feels it, this time, and can guess at the cause of the emotions even if he can't get anything, information or otherwise, on Sam's end, thanks to the warding and the spells they've triple-checked to keep Sam as insulated from Lucifer as possible.

Cas sends over an apologetic look, and Sam breathes, centers himself, but he's grateful for the information, because he can move past this, he can-

_You gave me everything, Sammy. You'll give it all over again. I know so. I miss holding you, kiddo. Miss having you nestled in my arms._

Then Lucifer keeps on singing and Sam ignores it because it's all he can do.

"Wait. So Benjamin's a woman." And there's Dean, attempting to focus on the innocuous. Except it's not innocuous and he doesn't know it because he doesn't know focusing on gender is going to mess Sam up again because he doesn't know what Lucifer did to Sam back there, **and he can't know** -

Cas stumbles, trying to find his way out of this minefield Dean doesn't know is a minefield, for Sam's sake, as he answers,"Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman. But it – it's – it's more than that. She's not just his vessel." Castiel struggles not to make this worse for Sam, but that's no way to really alter the truth.

Sam does the work himself, since Cas has reached his limit, the angel's tiredness making the human ease he's learned to adapt fail slightly because he just doesn't have the energy to equivocate. "She's... She's his _friend_." Sam hints, all the weight of the world in that word, and cold realization washes over Dean like a shot to the chest and he glances at Sam, blood drained out of him, before re-hunching over the steering wheel and focusing too much on the road.

Not a safe subject.

_'And now, you say you love me, well, just to prove you do...'*_

Cas takes the out for what it is and tries to wrap this up, and that might explain his earlier reticence, Sam thinks, as Castiel's dead voice adds, "Yeah. Benjamin would never put her in unnecessary danger."

Dean lets some furious rage out as definitely-not-rage, but they all see it for what it is, and because the weight of everything they haven't talked about hangs there, and even Dean can guess what Lucifer did to Sam while Sam was his prisoner, even if he doesn't know the whole truth. He knows Lucifer, and knows what he and Sam once had, and knows what Lucifer won't let go of. And he can't take it out on Lucifer but he can take it out on every other angel they come across and he can let out the rage now, if nothing else.

"Okay, well, if this Benjamin is so careful, then what happened?" Dean snarls.

Castiel's wary voice gets an edge again, because he has no answers, and he needs them, because: **_not having answers isn't safe, doesn't Dean see that?_**

"I don't know." Cas grits out. "That's what I need to find out."

\--

When Cas and Dean and Sam get the initial information at the bar, all the things Castiel hasn't been dealing with wash over him, too.

Another dead angel seals the last of his coping skills. Another dead angel sets him off like nothing else.

A burn on the wall. Old friend. Dead friend.

"Get out." Cas orders. Grief, so much grief, even Sam can feel it like a leech sucking and brushing up against him without meaning to, because Castiel almost isn't holding it together, and Sam tries not to let it set off his own chain reaction of everything Sam isn't dealing with...

Dean picks up the slack once he realizes its the end of Castiel's rope (and he knows Sam is so far beyond his own rope its long past repair, so he pretends that isn't even a problem, because he can't fix it), and he can't keep up the fraught infighting when the love of his life needs something to give in the here-and-now.

"He means we can take it from here. Thanks." Dean manages indelicately as he leads the bar owner out, making convincing excuses as he walks off.

Sam approaches Cas as Dean rushes back as fast he can, calling after the witness, "We'll call you when we're done."

Sam stumbles over his words, but gives Cas a hand as he tries to hold it together. "Dude. You all right?"

"No." Cas says, too tightly. "No, Benjamin and I, we fought together. He was... he was a gifted soldier. I don't know how this could've happened."

Dean sees something shiny. He picks it up.

Angel blade.

The tightness in Sam's chest eases, only slightly.

Lucifer, if this was Lucifer, always preferred eating the grace of his conquests. Snapping. Ripping apart with his own two hands, bloody and sure, to tear into the vessels themselves. Like to eat other angels with his own true-form's many mouths and lips and teeth, tearing into them, bloody and celestial and exacting.

So if there's an angel blade... probably not him they're dealing with. Probably not on his radar, not yet, and not following or retracing his footsteps, which means they might not be closer to Kelly.

But they might find other angels, angels that want to find Lucifer and destroy his plan for their own purposes, depending on how this cookie crumbles.

Best to find your enemies before they become proper enemies.

Better than sitting around with no leads and nothing with only your thoughts and fears for company. 

"Got something. Looks like we had a little angel-on-angel action." Dean says, finding levity while he can.

Cas turns introspective and critical, voice discerning, "This isn't Benjamin's blade."

Then a wave of whispering Enochian washes over Castiel when he comes into contact with the holy weapon, and Sam feels a prickle up his spine, sympathy pains, the electric feel of grace and Enochian shocking Cas so that his wings and grace reach out and Sam feels that, feels the phantom limbs of another angel in shock.

Sam wonders what Castiel listens to, as he draws his hand to his brow.

"What?" Sam presses.

"We have to go. Now." Cas replies, feeling danger but not uncertain.

If it was Lucifer, or something else, a more immediate emergency, he would've flown them away without words or pause, and Sam would have felt it.

It's something else, then. Something dangerous, but just part of another case. Enough that wasting time by talking means it's something they can probably handle themselves.

They get back in the Impala, which only proves Sam right. If it was an emergency, Cas would fly them away.

Cas only explains he knows which angels they have to talk to, that he has a lead.

Good enough, for now.

\--

They finally reach the next destination. The Impala's doors slam shut after they get out, after yet another too-quiet car ride, Dean and Cas in some weird mood where they still want to send barbs at each other but also want to be considerate of each other's emotional breakdowns they are both in-denial-about at the same time, and the entire time Sam is always cranking the radio louder and louder to drown Lucifer's voice out.

Sam finally presses, throat in his mouth, "All right, who we meetin'?" 

"His name is Ishim. Before I, uh, commanded my own flight of angels, my own battalion, I served under him with Benjamin." Cas answers, deliberate but with an edge of nerves that Sam picks up on, as does Dean. Castiel shifts his gaze from Sam to Dean and back and back again, trying to divvy his attention evenly.

Dean immediately senses where this is going, the vulnerability there, and gets defensive as he asks, "And you think he knows what's going on?"

Cas is brusque as he sighs, "We'll find out." Then he says words both Winchesters hate. "You wait here."

**No, no, no, Cas, we have to stick together, please-**

Dean's mood flares, turning on a dime. "Whoa, wait. Excuse me?"

"Ishim said to come alone." Castiel's voice is it a bit too-matter-of-fact. "He doesn't like humans."

Sam shoots Castiel a look, and he meets that gaze, gives a brush of wings that is all pain, all apology, all fear, and Sam notes that they'll be close, they'll be within reach, so he can give Cas this space only if Cas promises not to take risks, and inside Sam's head, Cas promises Sam he'll be right there, they aren't separating the group, he wouldn't do that, not now-

Then Castiel's eyes narrow at Dean's frantic, angry expression as he tilts his head, and Sam forces himself not to step back from the angelic look on instinct, because it's not even directed at him.

"If I plan to do anything else stupid, I'll let you know." Cas adds as he shoots a look at Dean and his voice bubbles over with edge of bitter disagreement they still haven't ironed out.

Because Cas needs to protect Dean, ( **not like Lucifer 'protects' me** , Sam thinks, **not like that** ), and wants Dean to let him, but Dean's scared to, because he doesn't want to lose Cas, and Sam needs them to figure this out before their drama and Lucifer's bullshit tears apart the only frail coping mechanisms he has left-

Sam is still more-than-not thrilled at this announcement, and neither is Dean, for other reasons, and they eye each other, resigned, as Cas walks through the door to the diner. Sam's eyebrows raise as he looks at Dean, because he can have this one small moment bemoaning Dean's stubborn bullshit and Castiel's disregard for anything other than his own need to sacrifice himself for them, couched in a sassy defense mechanism no one believes in to cover Castiel's not-yet-recovered self-worth, still raw after Lucifer and letting him out after a full year now.

Dean gives Sam a look of miserable commiseration laced with so much anger under the surface that Sam can only look away.

Dean tries not to feel guilty. He can't afford to, not right now.

\--

The bell rings, too loud, as Castiel walks in.

"Mirabel. Ishim." Cas starts in, trying for friendliness, but it's a swallowed, nervous kind, and he's not sure how to greet his old comrades, now quite possibly enemies, after all is said and done...

Their true forms remain settled in their flesh, as calm as they can be facing an old ally in war, and Cas sits down when they don't make a move to fight. 

Cas continues, still gingerly, still awkward, trying to make himself seem not a threat, because the less enemies they have now, the better, and he can't afford not to be cautious. "Kept your vessels all this time. I'm impressed."

Mirabel isn't charitable, her voice chilled and eyes sharp as she answers, "We are not careless."

And there is a hidden meaning there, a whisper of grace from the angels real mouth, and beaming from the fire in her eyes: _Doubting us? We do not align ourselves with Lucifer in any capacity. We are loyal to Heaven. And we do not make mistakes, as you did._

Castiel's mouth closes slightly.

He turns at Ishim's voice as the other angel says, voice old and gruff, "But you, Castiel... I liked the old you better."

Cas did like that vessel. She was a good vessel. Not like Jimmy, though. Jimmy's body, vacated and remade by God to fit Castiel alone, fits better than a custom glove. Fits like Lucifer did over Sam, in some ways, but Castiel doesn't want to remember Lucifer saying that when he commented on the accommodations and made himself at home.

Ishim shoots Cas a look that Cas doesn't meet. There's enough said there, and it's not about vessels. More about the company he keeps.

But Castiel is not ashamed. He just doesn't want to start a fight, and swallows his prideful need to protect the Winchesters down. He fidgets with his tie to make the unwanted need to act pass by.

"We've been waiting." Mirabel cuts in, and he looks back up at her. She continues, a bit too directly, "I suppose it does take longer to get places now without our wings."

And Castiel's eyes narrow at her as she adds, "You had a hand in that, correct?"

 ** _Are you aiming for a fight?_** Is left unsaid by Cas, because there is no point in asking.

The moment passes.

Ishim's voice is a bit too congenial as he looks up at her, but it does it's job, backhanded ease all too obvious. "Now, Mirabel, some angels think of Castiel as a hero." Ishim starts in, and Cas looks up at that, knows he isn't one, not where it counts, except Dean still thinks he is, and Sam believes in him, and Cas might not believe it but he will be a hero for them, because he loves them-

"After he left us, he had his own flight to command. Balthazar, Uriel..." Ishim adds, and pointedly leaves a pause there.

One true friend, dead because of Cas. One enemy, also dead, because of Cas. Only one under the shadow of Lucifer, because the other one fled and hid from Heaven, from it all.

Ishim continues, eyes burning a pale lime behind his vessels eyes, folded, faded wings dusty inside his skin, a paler yellow than Balthazar's ever were...

"Great soldiers. Both dead now, of course. You had a hand in that, too." Ishim needles, and Mirabel's wings were always a royal purple, so different from the orange eyes inside her vessel, and Cas doesn't look back at them, at either of them, as Ishim finishes, "So is he a hero? Is he a spanner in the works? I don't know."

_That Castiel, they all say, oh-so-different... Don't pay it any mind, little Cassie. You love them so badly, like me. The other angels don't understand love, not like us, little brother. Don't look at me like that. You don't feel a little bit the same? I know you do. You know what it is to love them, Cas. I mean, you hate me so much, for my love for Sam, for everything I've done. But you'll look past your personal feelings to protect them. Because you love them. And believe me, I feel very much the same._

Cas tries not to remember Lucifer inside his vessel when he first said yes. Sam has to deal with that enough all the time now, Cas can't afford to be a weak link, and he doesn't have to remember his own possession, so different because it was not really his skin, it was Jimmy's, and the whole experience was just another angel crammed in there alongside him, but so much brighter, so much colder, filling up the meat and space and atoms so much Castiel was squashed against teeth and claws and blinking eyes similar to his yet so very, very different... Held in Lucifer's claws, hands over his mouths, keeping him silent when he struggled to protect Sam, and then thrown into the blank corners of unawareness when Lucifer got bored...

Cas knows what it is like to be torn apart by the same angel. Lucifer did that over and over, when Cas stole Sam from him, took over the frequency thanks to the Cage inftefering with their vessel connection until Cas was restored to himself, and Lucifer reignited another blooming flower of grace from what remained inside Sam, because so much grace lined his very soul now from when Lucifer glued it back together, all when Lucifer sent out his feelers and the Cage cracked open and the Darkness got out-

_It's not love for humanity or humans, Cas. Don't kid yourself. It's only love for the few humans God made to be perfect for his chosen, made for the best of us, the apex angels, back before Dad lost his touch. Well, made for me, and my brother. Then you got all covetous, naughty jealous you, and stole Dean out from under my brother's nose. Not that my brother didn't have it coming. You loved him more, so you got him. Loved them in a way where you didn't want to possess them, only be with them, as close as possible... You know, once I would have scoffed at you for that. But I understand now. I do, really. Their love is a gift, and loving them like this, outside in our own flesh? Mm. Just look at what Sam does for me, even when I'm riding in your skin. All from love. All the loyalty. From not letting go. We all deserve each other, this family. Don't you think? Look at him, Cas. Look how much he loves me. Look what I can do to him, and you once told me I'd never touch him. You never had a chance._

Cas shivers.

"I'm not a hero, but sometimes doing the right thing requires sacrifices." Cas answers. It has always been true.

It just has to be the right sacrifice. For the right reasons. Ones that the whole family agrees on when you consult them because otherwise everyone gets hurt.

Compromised, pre-understood sacrifices where everyone is on the same page.

Not sacrifices you choose for them, like Lucifer did. Like Castiel did, once and twice and three times until he learned his lesson properly.

Like he did when he had no options and God's other parts were going to devour creation and Castiel betrayed Sam because he thought there was no other option.

"True, but it just always seems that it's other angels sacrificing for your good deeds. Their wings, their lives." Ishim's voice is too droll. Castiel accepts the criticism for what it is.

He knows his failures. That's why the losses hurt so much.

Still. He has his priorities. Sam. Dean. Kelly. Sam's child. And for this case-

Castiel makes his voice as business-like and to-the-point as possible as he glances back (and Dean and Sam are safe, they are right there, no trouble) and says, "Are you here to insult me or talk about Benjamin?" Because that is what this is. Unfinished business about their old friend.

Ishim turns almost playful, "Can't we do both?"

And there is history there, too. Old chains of command. Old memories Castiel wishes he could leave behind, if it would save anyone. Maybe the old relationships are the only bonds Cas can use to keep other angels in line.

Still, Mirabel remains all business. In a way, Castiel prefers it. 

"In the years since we lost our wings, two others from our flight have been murdered, like Benjamin." She announces.

"We're all that's left." Ishim adds.

"Why didn't I know about this?" Cas asks, thrown.

"We didn't think you'd care." Mirabel says, arching a brow. That hurts more than it should, but Castiel knows what the other angels think of him.

Castiel still gives her a look of hurt, of disbelieving lack of trust.

Cas lost Heaven because he loved too much, not too little.

He thought people understood that, if nothing else. He has always cared too much.

That's what got him both the best things in his life and got him into all his troubles.

\--

Outside, Dean won't stop pacing. Sam doesn't wonder if he picked it up from Lucifer or not, because Dean would pace anyway. Sam pretends the fact he's comparing this doesn't matter.

It does.

_Missing me? Not sure what to do with yourself, knowing I hold all the cards and own everything you are where it counts?_

Sam keeps his arms crossed and talks loudly, not even under his breath, because he doesn't care that Dean can hear him and he still needs to keep Lucifer at bay, "And you're gonna storm in right... now."

Dean heads inside.

Sam follows. He shoots a look behind him as they go. An ice-cube of grace lingers on his spine. But he doesn't sense anything.

Lucifer goes oddly quiet.

Sam fears that, for what it's worth.

Quiet Lucifer is on the move and plotting something. Sam can only hope to out-maneuver him... somehow. It's a desperate action. Sometimes, they work.

Lucifer has held all the cards before. Sam still lost, but he won, when he threw them in. Sam can hope for another impossible victory.

The door jingles again as Dean wrenches it open. His face is stiff and tense until it becomes a mask of too forced-niceness Sam doesn't believe for a second. None of them do.

"Hey." Dean's voice is barely a choked noise as he stares Cas down.

"Dean." Castiel's voice doesn't say what they know he is thinking: I told you to stay inside. Why can't you even trust me with this? 

"Feel a little left out over there. Scoot over." Dean instructs, all because Dean's nerves got the better of him. Sam doesn't really blame him. They've been apart for months, been living a new Hell, and even having a door being between them is... Is a problem, now. Dean slides into the booth and huddles close to Cas, as close as he can, taking up space like he means it as he glares the other angels down.

Mirabel sits, taking the road of condescending non-aggression. Ishim doesn't meet their eyes and crinkles a sugar packet in his palm.

Sam squeezes into the edge of the booth, hunched and small despite his stature.

"I said to come alone." Ishim's voice would almost be forbidding if the three of them didn't fear one particular angel far more. As if Sam couldn't tear them apart with his eyes closed, except he can't, because the moment he tries **Lucifer will find him and if Lucifer finds him** -

Sam measures his breathing.

Idly, Ishim keeps pouring packets of sugar into his coffee, one after another and another, the sweet tooth most angels have, like Sam knows.

**Except Lucifer prefers blood and chocolate and meat and lasagna and Sam-**

"These are my friends. My friends," Cas stutters and gives them a pointed look, voice tired, "who don't listen very well."

Sam's voice is too forced politeness, too bright, because he's barely hanging on with all the angels in the room, and **what if Lucifer feels him by proxy, what if** -

"How you doing? I'm–" Sam manages.

Another angel cuts in, all burning righteousness of Heaven left to rot, "We know who you are."

Yeah. They all knew. Sam should know by now. And he shouldn't have bothered to have been polite.

Sam Winchester. Boyking screw-up. Their old abomination. The cause of Michael and Lucifer's long trip down. The one who led Lucifer back up again by being fooled, by leading Cas down there. Lucifer's chew-toy, Lucifer's possession, the other parent of Lucifer's child, seeing as Lucifer had broadcasted it far and wide for them all to know. Only reason they don't bite and only bark now is they want Castiel's help. And more importantly, they don't want to draw Lucifer's attention. Angels are many things, but suicidal is not one of them. Sam gets the message, loud and clear.

"Check outside to see if there are others." Ishim orders, voice as hard as the pits of his cheekbones and the glare in his eyes.

Sam cricks his neck absently, trying to ignore the link always humming, trying to ignore the fear that Lucifer could be anywhere-

Mirabel follows his directive, still following the chain of command in Heaven. 

Ishim keeps quiet as he stirs his coffee in the interim.

"I only brought Sam and Dean." Cas explains. 

"As far as you know." Ishim argues. There are other implications there. Whatever killed Benjamin and his vessel. Lucifer could be on their trail, too. That wouldn't be good. Only consolation is that means this specific faction isn't gunning for Lucifer, seeing as most of Heaven's been holding out against him, thrown into schisms all over again.

Sam doesn't start up more conversation, because he's too directly distracted by Lucifer, who has started crooning inside his head again, a mixed blessing, because that means its unlikely he's close by if he i s fishing for clues...

_You don't need to keep running, Sam. You don't even like running from me, I know you don't, just come home and I'll let everyone go. I will leave big brother and Cassie and all your little human trifles in peace. You can end this, Sam. You're the one keeping this going._

In the meantime, Dean is oozing so much protective testosterone and frustration it's like he's been struck dumb by it as he stares Ishim down.

He knows the type. Athletic. Arrogant. A bit too expressly patriarchal and militant. Not exactly like Lucifer, but as much of a dick. Dean can see it in his face. Selfish like Metatron, too. Machismo almost like Dean almost used to be as a demon, like he would be if he didn't have Sam keeping him down to earth or if Dean had developed standards or had the ability to be a decent human being now.

 **This booth is too cramped and uncomfortable but at least it's a public diner and not a cramped single room or a cell or the Bunker,** Sam thinks. He's been cooped up, going stir crazy. At least the angels don't send any messages through grace over and make no proclamation of names. Sam wouldn't feel it, anyway. Any link might send Lucifer his location and Sam can't have that, so the spell stops everyone except Lucifer's direct link. Sam can feel Castiel's grace from the proximity of his wings and nothing else. Right now, they are pinned and too-tense and Sam doesn't like what that says about Castiel's mindset right now. It puts Sam more on edge than he is already.

"Well, who wants some pie?" Dean finally asks, too forced.

Ishim doesn't spare him a glance. The angel only stares Sam down, like he knows Sam is painting Enochian banishment sigils in blood, blood that isn't his own, under the table, on the off-chance they are needed.

"You know, when I knew Castiel, he was a soldier. He was a warrior." Ishim announces, his eyes not leaving Sam's face. 

Like Lucifer made you to be.

"He was an angel's angel." Ishim adds. Then Ishim does look at Dean, a set in his mouth that gives Dean the barest consideration. Because Dean is not his Righteous Man, not anything, just a demon twice-over turned human again, never used for his proper purpose.

"Now look how far he's fallen." Ishim says as he pours more sugar into the coffee cup.

 ** _You brought Castiel down with you._** Dean hears unsaid, and then he's remembering Lucifer: " _You ruin everything you touch, like Sammy does, only unlike delectable Sammy with all his saintly intentions, you enjoy being a belly-to-the-ground, irredeemable sack of shit, don't ya? Does that bother you, that we're both unrepentant that way? Oh, sure, I would say your darling baby shortstack is better off without you, but we both know you two screw-ups deserve each other. He enables you. Takes all your shit in stride. The Little Angel That Could broke Heaven and and now has his perfect catch straight outta Hell dragging him down. What do you say? Am I hitting too close to home? Still, don't think I'm knocking your love for Cassie, Dean. I've found the best relationships are always a little... uneven, if you know what I saying. Always a balance of taking and receiving. You like it when Cas takes care of you. And your brother, well, he likes it when I take care of him..."_

"How about a little coffee with that sugar?" Dean snipes back, mouth twisting.

Dean and Ishim stare each other down.

Ishim blinks first, then looks at Cas.

"No wings, no home. Just a ratty old coat and a pair of poorly trained monkeys." Ishim's voice doesn't hide the disgust as he looks askance at Dean again.

The unspoken criticism Sam feels echo through Cas like a bad radio signal, so loud even Sam picks up on the interference, and that at least won't give him a line to Lucifer, but it's a shock all the same: _ You gave up Heaven for that. For Michael's castaway and Lucifer's chosen._

Sam feels so much rage then, wants to leap across the table and tear him apart except he can't, he can't, because Lucifer would know, and he's not Lucifer's, not a trained attack dog-

"Oh. Well, you can go to Hell." Dean's flat tone doesn't hide the snarl hidden underneath.

Sam's thoughts remain more incoherent and less generous, mind spitting in the language of the angels. Castiel is his friend. Castiel is the best of them all, every angel, every one, even the Archangel Sam loves most even if he hates himself for it-

"Dean, it's fine." Cas capitulates.

"No. No, it's not." Sam insists even more quickly on his heels, having finally remembered English, because Enochian isn't safe. His mouth twitches as he talks, with the violence he can't quite forget. Sam doesn't why he's caving.

"Sam, this isn't about me. It's about Benjamin." Castiel reminds him, eyes glancing sideways. Only it's not quite about that, either.

It's about getting out and doing something and finding a lead and eliminating threats to Sam's baby, only Cas hasn't told Sam that yet. Started this up with a different veneer because Sam needs to know the truth and needs to protect his baby not just from Lucifer but other angels, but Cas doesn't know how to tell him of Castiel's older sins, sins Castiel regrets.

Cas isn't good at being direct when it counts, he mourns. He thinks he is, but he chokes under pressure.

"Now that," Ishim points with his spoon, expression going blank as he spits, "Is refreshingly accurate. But since you brought a couple of extra 'people,'" And Ishim makes finger quotes with one hand, clenching the mug of coffee so hard Sam is surprised it doesn't shatter, before he adds too evenly, "To our little chitchat, we should go somewhere more private." Cas glances at Sam when he says that, nervous, not meaning to betray anything, but Ishim keeps talking, "I have a safe house nearby."

And Sam goes still, blood pounding in his skull. He's not sure if the implications were meant as he thought they were, but either way, hidden locales, hidden rooms, **locked** rooms, with angels-

_All mine, Sammy. You've always been mine, from the beginning to the very end of it all. And I will find you. I always do. It's only a matter of time._

Dean stares Ishim down but then looks at Sam, biting his lip as he sees how frozen Sam is.

Sam licks his lips and his throat bobs, and he starts when Ishim stands and says, "I'll go get Mirabel." The angel rustles inside his vessel's wallet, and ends his rambling words insincerely, as he sneers, "So nice to see you, old friend. Have some pie."

Money gets thrown on the table like a gauntlet.

Ishim walks out.

"Wow." Sam says clearing his throat and letting all his annoyance out. What a tool.

It's strange, how petty he feels. Like he's been feeling so many other things that the barest, shallowest emotions get precedence, because everything he's been ignoring got dredged up and Sam pushes it down and down and down so he doesn't feel any of it right now. He'll feel it later, sure. Not now. Not like this. Not here.

Sam shifts over and steals Ishim's spot so he's not falling out of the booth, limbs too tall, except he's not, because Sam missed this body and wouldn't trade it for anything, ever, not ever, it's **his, his alone-**

_Your body is mine, Sam. Everything you are is MINE._

"Hell of a friend, Cas." Sam says tightly. His feet kick under the table without much consideration but don't make contact with anything.

"Why do you let him talk to you like that?" Dean asks. Sam shoots Cas and his brother a look, all arched, like Dean doesn't talk to Cas like that or Sam like that himself when he gets in a mood.

**Pot, meet kettle.**

"If Ishim can help me find whoever killed Benjamin, then I have to." Cas asserts, too determined as he looks back and forth from Sam and Dean and keeps trying so hard to keep it together. Only Cas can't tell them why, can't tell the truth, because Dean doesn't know Lucifer's baby is Sam's baby, Sam still hasn't told him and has asked Cas not to tell him because Sam has to tell him, but he hasn't yet.

"Okay, yeah, look, I..." Dean stumbles as he talks, trying to be considerate, trying to keep cool, trying to make Cas get that he isn't trying to draw this out, not when it matters, "I get that we need super dick there, but, I mean, come on."

It's the closest thing to an apology Cas is going to get right now, because Dean tends to do that when he has to take a look in the mirror after dealing with people as selfish as him.

And they've been making that play for ages, relying on people they hate. Sam is sick of it. So is Cas. So is Dean.

Except Ishim is nothing, when push comes to shove, for Cas. Castiel has his mission and will not be dissuaded because Sam and Kelly need him and other angels might be the key to stopping Lucifer... somehow. Particularly if Cas is being targeted along with his unit and the fallout gives Lucifer a lead on how to find them. Better fight it before it blows up into something bigger.

"The angels that I served with are being killed." And Cas stops looking back and forth from Sam and Dean, and looks only at Dean when he says, "So I will put up with Ishim, I will put up with everything else, and so will you." That last bit is meant for Dean alone, and Cas would feel guilty but he can't, he's too worried, as his words run together as he adds, "I have to go." Cas moves to get up, and he defaults to avoidance because he needs to fix something and there is nothing he can say to not broadcast his fear the moment Dean smells blood in the water.

Dean lets Cas get up and leave the both. Dean watches Cas go, stricken and scared if they lose him they won't find him again because there are too many things out there, these days...

One in particular they can't quite beat.

Sam gives Dean a look he can't see, a nervous, critical look because Dean needs to patch things up with Cas soon so Sam can figure out what Castiel isn't telling him...

They follow their angel.

\--

"I know you." Cas says as Lily Sunder kicks him into the wall. And can't fight her with any angelic power, can't let her feel his grace signature in any capacity, because Lucifer will track it, Lucifer will find them-

Sam and Dean reach the other side of the diner just as some woman with an eye patch is attacking Ishim and Cas with two angel blades, and they can't lose Cas, they can't-

The rush on to the scene, already geared up for a fight as the woman is thrown down to the dirt-

Sam and Dean rush forward, guns cocked.

"Hey!" Sam yells to draw the attacker's attention as she rises from the ground. Sam's fingers brush over the pearl handle of his pistol, familiar and old and the safest tool he's had since he was a child.

The woman with the eye-patch answers, "I don't wanna hurt you." **That's a first,** Sam thinks as she adds, "I don't want to hurt any human. Just let me finish what I started."

 _Finish what we've begun, Sammy,_ echoes in Sam's memory, and he freezes for a millisecond.

"Yeah, not gonna happen, Patches." Dean yells, and Sam almost collects himself at the noise, but it's so far away... 

The lady mutters Enochian, and Sam leaps back.

 **What if it contaminates me, what if it interferes with the spell, what if Lucifer _feels_ me, please please no**\- The prayer bursts out of Sam before he can stop himself, and Lucifer hears that, clear as a bell.

_I already feel so much of you, Sam. No point getting shy on me now._

And Dean yells as a bright light blinds everyone but Sam, because Sam's seen brighter, beheld the brightest of his angels and his true face, and he tracks her movements but his aim is off because his hand shakes as he tries to hit one tire as she leaps into a car.

The woman speeds off.

"Did you get a plate?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, I got it." Sam mutters, not fully there yet. The numbers ground him, are seared into his head, as he repeats them inside his head, over and over, if it will help him pretend he's keeping Lucifer out.

Dean rounds on Cas and asks, "Who the hell was that?!"

Cas explains the bare minimum, as terse as possible. Sam has a headache lacing through every inch of his skull, and tries not to collapse.

The Enochian makes his bones ache, even if it's just an echo of what he knows it can be.

\--

They make it to the safehouse. Sam tries not to feel trapped as Cas tends to Ishim's wound if it means they are less vulnerable.

It's a church. Why did it have to be a church?

"Ishim, how is she still alive?" Cas demands.

"Wait a second. You know her?" Sam asks, shaken, as he looks up from the broken pew seat he's sitting on.

"Yes." Cas says.

Because that answers anything.

"You don't owe them an explanation." Ishim growls and waves them off from the ratty couch.

"Okay, hang on now. Uh, One-Eyed Willy back there wasn't trying to kill us. She was after you. So talk before she kicks in the damn door." Dean argues, pointing.

"Before the Apocalypse, angels, um... well, we rarely came to Earth." Cas explains to Dean, and Dean alone, because Sam knows this history, and Cas knows he knows it.

"Yeah, uh, basically never, right?" Sam adds.

Because Earth was Lucifer's playground before he got locked up.

"Right, except this once." Cas explains, and then his voice changes, "Many years ago, there was an anomaly."

"An anomaly?" Sam presses.

"They won't understand." Ishim warns. He knows what Cas knows, what Sam knows, and what Dean doesn't. Knows all about the nephilim Lucifer is planning to bring into the world.

But he also doesn't think Sam will understand Castiel's side of the story. What needed to be done, seeing Sam's closeness to the situation.

"Cas, what's going on?" Dean asks, lost.

So Castiel tells Sam the truth. Explains how nephilim are forbidden (except that's never mattered with Lucifer, Lucifer did everything forbidden), and how Heaven hunts nephilim down, and how angels are barred from taking human consorts if they can conceive, and Sam listens and tries not to let it all overwhelm him. He could guess, based on angelic perceptions of humans and how Michael and Raphael reacted to him and Lucifer, way back when, but he thought that's because it was mostly because of Lucifer, not his humanity.

And Castiel shows Sam and Dean his memory of the event. Doesn't know how else to be honest when Dean just wants Castiel to talk to him and since Sam is so scared.

\--

They watch as the angels explain that human soul mixed with angelic grace is dangerous. As they talk about how nephilim are forbidden by the oldest laws in heaven.

Watch as Cas says, "Nephilim grow up. They grow into their power and then-"

"Entire worlds die." Mirabel answers.

And some of Castiel's memory brings other things to the forefront for Sam, ringing with echoes of Michael, all too present, as Past-Ishim says, "Me? You were sent here to observe humanity, to watch and to learn. But instead, taking up with a filthy animal. Have you no shame?

Akobel's rejoinder is worthy of their Castiel, and Sam wonders if that's when Cas started to change, once upon a time.

"Who are you to lecture me about shame? Humans aren't animals. Most of them are good and true and... How could anyone know them and not love them?" Akobel asks.

As if Lucifer never existed. 

"You have broken our most sacred oath, and the penalty is death." Castiel announces, and Sam realizes he's lost time just as Akobel dies.

Later, Sam hears Lily yell from inside the house, "No! No! Stay away from my daughter!"

And Sam wishes he didn't recognize the same fear in himself that he hears in her voice.

\--

The first tactical thought Sam has is: knowing the whole business explains most of Lucifer's potential alternative motives for why he did what he did, at least outside of doing what he did to Sam for the sake of it. He might want to make something with Sam, something he can claim as his, and force Sam into compliance, but power has always been the Devil's real game.

And Lucifer had mentioned it in his own way, of course. Said Sam and the kid and him were going to remake things, shake things up, make the world better. He twists the reality of it all, like always.

The only question is why he'd be okay with giving life to something more powerful than him.

Sam finally finds his voice. "Cas, you, um..."

 **If it wasn't my baby, you would have killed it.** Sam doesn't say. Can't say.

Cas stares at him blankly because anything else is dangerous. "We completed a mission."

"Some mission." Dean argues. Only way he's okay with ganking children is if they've done something. If they are a definitive monster in his book.

"It was horrific, but it was necessary. It was right." Cas keeps up the blank assurance.

 ** _At the time, I thought so,_** Castiel doesn't add. **_I don't think that now._**

Sam and Dean recognize that, anyway.

Sam can tell it still doesn't sit right with him, and he knows a strategically deployed lie to throw off the other angel in the room. Best for Ishim to think Castiel wants Lucifer's son dead.

"Well, you say so." Dean picks up on the strategic lie, too, but doesn't know the reason. He only hates Lucifer's potential spawn because it's Lucifer's, not because it's half an angel.

"And the woman?" Sam asks.

Ishim interrupts, looking at Sam with a weird scrutiny as he speaks, "Lily Sunder. She was a professor of Apocalyptic Literature. Studied angels, speaks fluent Enochian." Ishim's face remains flat as his voice as he keeps going, without pause, "I took mercy on her by letting her live."

"And now she wants revenge." Dean says.

Ishim makes a noise of begrudging assent as he turns to look at Sam's brother.

 **Mercy,** Sam thinks. Angels don't know mercy, save for Cas, who is only capable of it sometimes.

Only one particular detail isn't adding up.

"Wait a second." Sam cuts in, mind whirring once he's able to fully accept the implications. "The mother... They don't live, when they give birth. To the kid, I mean..."

Sam knows that fact all too well.

Dean and Cas and Ishim stare at him.

**I tried to die and _he_ wouldn't let me, and now Kelly is going to die-**

Ishim clears his throat. "There are workarounds for that, except they work when you consider the power inherent to Archangels. Not that it's been relevant before now."

**Oh.**

Ishim adds, "For lesser nephilim sired from other angels, it is usually fatal, as well. However, with her expertise, and with the magic keeping her alive-"

"She lived. I mean, she's gotta be what, 100 years old?" Sam asks, mind racing. He wonders if that's tied into any of the tests or workarounds that didn't work for Sam, or if that's how Lucifer even started looking into it, or if it didn't matter because whatever was keeping her alive would be forbidden, because it would change Sam's nature fundamentally, and Lucifer would never suffer Sam to be anything other than human (or akin to an angel, with Lucifer's grace swimming under his skin), those were the only two options after Sam took in all the bloody demonic poison so he could let the Devil in... 

"No. More." Cas answers absently from their makeshift circle. His voice draws Sam out from old thoughts, old scars, Sam shouldn't think about.

"Yeah, but somehow, she's still kicking ass?" Dean argues, readjusting his posture over the broken pew.

 **What has kept her alive? She didn't have anyone keeping her alive, not like I did, no one like Lucifer, unless she did?** **And maybe Kelly can live, maybe there is a way, maybe we can ask Lily how she did it...?**

"No. Not somehow." Ishim clarifies, and then he's looking at Sam like he knows what he is thinking. "I know what she's up to. She made some kind of demonic pact. Keeps her young, keeps her strong. Keeps her immune from our powers." Ishim adds, mouth always drawn with the same pointed lack of caring, an omnipresent condescension. It's different from the possessive rage and love and pride and hurt humming under Lucifer's hidden smile, from the Devil's boredom, but close in other ways, even if Ishim speaks with a slower tempo than Lucifer. Even if Lucifer is haughtier without letting you in on whatever secret joke he's laughing at. Ishim doesn't have that, at least.

His explanation still sends Sam's hopes tumbling down, and it explains why Lucifer didn't use it on Sam, then, even if it would work for an Archangel-

"All right, but we'll find her, me and Sam." Dean answers.

"No, Dean." Cas argues.

"Cas, she doesn't care about us, okay? She's gunning for you guys." Dean answers. ** _And I'm not losing you,_** remains the unstated argument.

Sam's mind is back to being a million light-years away, thinking of what else matters. "Yeah, maybe we can reason with her."

Maybe there's a way to save Kelly that isn't through demons, isn't a trap... Except if she had a line to demons, how has Lucifer not been on their trail yet?

It doesn't make sense.

Still explains why Dean wants to get them out of here...

Cas isn't budging on this, though. He's not chancing them splitting up. "Uh, four dead angels indicate that perhaps she is not reasonable. If she has this dark power, it will take all of us to fight her."

And we can't chance a fight like that, Cas doesn't say, although he looks at Sam.

Can't chance you being sensed by Lucifer again.

Cas covers by looking back at Ishim, and says, "And I need to heal your wound."

Sam is grasping at straws, but now that they have a lead, have an idea, he doesn't want to let go.

"Wait. Wait a second, Cas. Her family was murdered. I mean, I... I know you were just doing a job, but..." Sam stammers and struggles to find the words, but he does say them.

**Maybe it's not as bad as we think?**

"Are you saying that those angels deserved to die?" Castiel's voice turns to flint. It's not like he would blame Sam for thinking it, for using it as a coping mechanism, although it hurts, hurts too much when Cas thinks of all the angels he's failed, all the ones he's loved and lost...

Sam is thrown by that. "What?"

"You think I deserve to die?" Cas asks, all his insecurities coming out to play.

**Cas, how could you think that? Even at my worst, I never wished death on Lucifer, and you think... You think...?**

Lucifer left no one hanging in making them all second guess themselves, it seems.

Unless it's a ploy. It has to be. Something Cas is using to throw Ishim off to stop him from getting suspicious. That's all.

"No, no. That's not what he's saying." Dean interjects with finality.

"What is he saying?" Cas challenges, the idea of everyone splitting up freaking him out, that strand of feeling all too honest. He's lost them too many times, he can't lose the two of them again...

"I'm saying," Sam clarifies, "Maybe if we find her, we can explain to her that you're different now, you know?" Sam tries to show as much patient concern as he can, but he's so tired, and it shows.

Cas shuts that down too quickly. "Sam, that won't work. She won't quit. Think about it. Would you?" Castiel pleads. His desperation rings true.

And it's the closest they are going to get to hinting anything of the truth at Dean, even though they still won't say it.

Sam understands, though. He can't forgive Lucifer for what he's done, and would never forgive Lucifer or anyone if they hurt their child. Cas makes a decent point.

 ** _It's too risky._** Castiel is thinking it, and Sam knows he's thinking it, knows his best friend is thinking: **_What if she sells you out to the Devil, Sam? We've barely gotten out the last two times. I'm not letting this be our third near-escape._**

"Castiel's right. It won't work." Ishim says, too quickly.

Only Sam tastes the lie on his end, and knows there is something definitely fishy about this, and he's going to get to the bottom of it.

"We have to try." Sam replies. If anyone can help them, or at least understand...

He can talk to her.

Dean is on board for an entirely different reason. He needs to protect Cas, and he doesn't trust Sam in this room, and he doesn't trust Ishim, and they need to get out of here before Lucifer finds them thanks to the angels.

"He's right, and we're not askin'." Dean assures.

Sam and Dean leave, leaving Cas alone with Ishim and wondering how this is going to end badly.

\--

"The way you let those simians talk to you..." Ishim starts in when they are gone.

Cas ignores him. He's heard worse. Had Lucifer rummaging around inside the same skin.

Ishim keeps talking, though, and doesn't take the hint. "Castiel, when did you get so gooey? You know why we're meant to stay away from them humans? Hmm? It's not because we're a danger to them. They're a danger to us. Case in point." Ishim rambles, like Sam's defeat of the Devil and the feelings of Lily Sunder prove that the angels should fear the beings God asked them to protect.

And Cas doesn't believe it. He knows if Lucifer were still inside him, he'd laugh, and say while love is dangerous, it isn't a danger to him. Would say it hurts more for the humans on the receiving end.

"Well, my friendship with Sam and Dean has made me stronger." Castiel answers. It's not a lie. They are the best thing he has.

"You can't really believe that." Ishim's disbelief is so strong it almost feels like a physical sensation. Like an iron door slamming on Castiel's vessel's hands. Cas hates that that reminds him of Lucifer, of the Archangel he let out and let wreck havoc, only in the opposite way, in all the ways Castiel agrees with the Devil. Lucifer knew that Cas believed in his friendship with Sam and that love he has for Dean. He lorded it over Cas like a weapon and made Cas fail those he loved through beating Cas over the head with that self-same weapon. Cas would never forget.

Unwilling to be plagued with such feelings, Cas presses down on the wound less kindly than he could, hard enough that Ishim feels his vessel's pain.

"Your wound is deep. This'll be painful." Cas grates out, and while he would say Ishim is an old associate, it doesn't change the fact he wants to make him shut up.

He doesn't like how any of this has gone. He left to protect people. Not have Sam and Dean face someone coming after him, not having them be alone to face things without him...

But Cas still heals someone who was once a friend, and the pain of his own weakness scares him. He should save his powers, if Lucifer returns, but if Cas can convince Ishim to fight Lucifer, to rally other angels against him...

Then Cas can hide Sam and Dean far away, and they can find Kelly, and protect themselves, together, and it won't matter that Cas has always been too weak to save them when it really counts.

\--

At the hotel, the elevator opens. Sam and Dean walk out, a bit more than hurried.

"You sure about this address?" Dean asks.

"Well, Lily's car was a rental, so I called the company. I told them she was wanted for questioning by the FBI. They pinged the LoJack-" And Sam knows if he says every step, it will shut Dean's stupid questions and anxiety up faster.

Sam has his own fears to worry about.

"Okay, you could've just said yes." Dean answers, having got the message.

"Yes." Sam answers with a toss of his head. "So what's the plan?"

"Well, we knock on her door and ask her nicely not to kill anymore angels." Dean's voice is a bit too calm.

Except maybe Lucifer. Dean doesn't say. If she could kill Lucifer, that would be great.

"And if she says no?" Sam asks.

Dean's voice remains steady and sure, because Cas wasn't here and pretending is the new name of the game. "Then we burn that bridge when we come to it."

They turn the corner and Lily is there, equally startled as she pulls out her blades.

Sam holds up his hands. "Whoa! Whoa!"

"Give us a second." Dean adds, mirroring Sam's movement.

"How did you find me?" Lily asks, coiling up with fear. Sam can recognize the look.

"We're here to talk, that's it." Sam makes the snap decision to cut to the chase, in case they have less time, in case Lucifer is waiting in the wings, somehow, and says, "We come in peace. Just hear us out. We heard what happened to your family."

"My family?" Lily's voice gets softer.

"See, Cas is our family, so we can't let you hurt him." Dean says, says with so much feeling and conviction. It's true.

"Let me?" Lily's voice turns dangerous.

Problem is, Dean is dangerous and desperate, too.

"We don't wanna kill you." Dean says a bit too honestly.

"I don't want to kill you." Lily answers, every word measured.

Sam can sense the honesty and relaxes slightly. They all lower their hands.

"Okay, good. Look, there we go. Agreed." Sam says, all measured, and then his voice breaks as he starts in to make his case, "Listen, it's not Cas' fault that Heaven has these crazy rules about Nephilim. Your daughter."

"You think..." Lily replies, trailing off, and she shakes her head, dropping her blades as she approaches.

"Her name was May, and she was beautiful." Lily's voice gets softer and full of pain as she speaks of her daughter. "I had a life, a wonderful life, until... They took everything from me."

She's so wistful, and so drawn, and all the years bleed off of her with the same dusty antiquity Sam feels when he thinks of before Hell, and after.

Sam can relate.

And Lily struggles to find the words, her eye growing too wide and her shoulders falling as she says, "All my life, I dreamed about angels. I studied them. I made them my life's work, until finally I learned the spell to summon one – Ishim." Then she pauses and swallows.

A pit forms in Sam's stomach. He has a bad feeling about where this is going.

Lily looks into Sam's eyes and senses something there, her voice filled with the same awed, afraid feeling Sam felt clawing at his throat every time Lucifer so much as looked at him. "When I first saw him, it was like looking into the face of the Divine. I thought he was perfect."

Like Sam thought, even when he knew he failed everyone as he watched Lucifer rising from the Cage, like he thought, feeling and looking into Jessica's eyes, like Sam thought when Lucifer said he loved him and held him close in the Cage and Sam let himself feel loved because there was nothing, absolutely nothing, left. Like when Lucifer looked back at him and Sam forgot how to breathe.

"But he is a monster." Lily says with more force. More venom, so certain and true.

Sam really can relate.

And whatever Enochian magic hums between Lily and Sam resonates with the prayers they almost share, and Sam still has too much grace in his throat and lungs and heart and skin, activates the not-so-latent Enochian with his own proximity, like he does with Cas, and Sam gets a flash of memory from her as his powers run wild, and Sam sees Ishim walking towards her as he feels her fear and pain, so much like his...

"Ishim, what have you done?" Lily asks, and Sam sees it as if he is her, feels her voice inside his throat.

Ishim looks distorted, and Sam sees the true visage under his skin, as Lily does, beneath his eyelids, now, thanks to the Enochian inside her in the present day, overwriting any older visions of him, of just the meatsuit, and Sam sees it, sees all of it, all the need Sam recognizes and hates from Lucifer, like a diluted, imitation poison, all the greedy wanting in his eyes, human in its familiarity...

"Oh. What have you done?" Ishim mocks as he turns it around on her. "I shared all of our secrets with you, taught you all of our ways for your precious studies."

There's a pause, and Ishim pulls off his gloves as he keeps staring her down.

"I... I loved you." Ishim says.

Lily's voice rings out, strong and clear and terrified, like when Sam said no to another angel, "You didn't love me. You were obsessed with me. That isn't love."

"I loved you." Ishim repeats, less patient this time. Then he points backwards, all jealousy. "You threw me away for him."

Sam feels the same sinking knowing that Lily did, filled up with the knowledge that an angel she chose as her friend, the angel who chose to protect her, is dead.

**Like Cas, like Lucifer's snapping fingers, all violence of exploded vessels, of twisted necks, of Lucifer punching Dean out by the car, before the Cage opened, before Sam resurfaced...**

And the connection wavers for a moment as Sam almost pulls them both under-

Lily swallows, and the vision of memory returns. Sam feels the lump in his own throat, a familiar phantom feeling.

"No. I never should've let you into my life." Lily says.

**Like I should have never opened the Cage, or fallen prey to the Devil inside Jessica's skin...**

"I needed Akobel to protect me from you." Lily replies.

Like Sam needs Cas to protect himself, now. Needs Cas to protect him and Dean and Kelly and his baby only there is no true protection from Lucifer, never has been...

Ishim is too smug as he answers, "Well, that didn't work, did it?"

"You killed him?" Lily asks, only it isn't a question. More of a denial.

"Obviously." Ishim replies.

He gloats more than Lucifer would. Lucifer's tone would be blank, yet somehow more gleeful, more hungry...

"And now you're going to kill me?" Lily asks, holding May closer, frozen in place.

"No." Ishim finally answers. "You broke my heart, Lily. Now I'm going to break yours." 

Then there's the Cage, all of it, and Lucifer whispering, huddled over Sam's broken body... 

_You almost broke my heart, Sam. You. But don't worry, I forgive you. I love you, and I know you love me, too. So I promise I'll make it all better... But you've got to learn to stop sabotaging yourself, Bunk Buddy. It's not healthy, you know. So I'll be taking care of you now. Never fear, Sammy. Isn't this what you wanted?_

Inside the memories that aren't Sam's, Lily gets pushed by Angelic grace, and it holds her in place as Ishim grabs May.

Says, "You are powerless to do anything."

"No." Lily answers.

"You are powerless." Ishim replies, voice flat. He's different from Lucifer in the nuance of how he gloats over the loss of autonomy and the power he wields over his target.

Lucifer liked to pretend he was giving Sam choices. Like Sam chose him once and that was enough to choose everything all over again.

But Ishim didn't care about choices, or illusions of choices. He only cared about demonstrating his own control. In that, there is a similarity.

"No. No! Stay away from my daughter!" Lily begs, trying to break free. "No."

Sam doesn't need to watch as the angel blade comes down. The memories overwhelm Lily and Sam, but he's seen enough.

"I had my daughter long before I ever laid eyes on an angel." Lily says directly to Sam in the present. She still stares at him and stumbles and catches the wall, overwhelmed by the bleed-through of Sam's own memories sending the other direction, Cage memories, until she recovers.

So it turns out, this won't save Kelly. But Sam might be able to help someone else. Someone with similar enough grievances to the three of them.

"Wait, so..." Dean keeps Sam from collapsing as Sam's wipes sweat from his brow, not entirely sure what happened but having seen enough of Sam in action to know this was caused on his end, not hers, however unconsciously.

"My daughter was human." Lily states. Her lip quivers, but her gaze remains.

Sam swallows and tries not to feel the pain she feels, a different pain from the pain he's been carrying around and not dealing with because he doesn't have the right to give in yet, he hasn't gotten Kelly (or Jesse or Mick) out of Lucifer's grasp...

"Just... " Dean turns and clears his throat, still holding Sam up so he doesn't collapse or heave or anything after whatever psychic episode that was. "Um..." Dean lowers his voice as he whispers to Sam, "Are you buying any of this?"

Translation: What the Hell happened?

"Yeah." Sam whispers back. You can't fake that. Sam could feel the purity of the Enochian, and doesn't pray his thanks that his own Enochian wards and spellwork didn't fail, because if he did, Lucifer might catch on...

"All right, well, we gotta make sure, you know. I mean, Ishim's a tool, but-" Dean stumbles, except even he knows what the deal is now, but doesn't want to believe it because then Cas is in danger, "You know what? I'm gonna call Cas." Dean says, too scared to admit that they might have left him alone with an enemy and scared they are going to lose him and they never should have left him with him. Sam lets him panic, because it's inevitable, now. Sam's not too calm, either.

The cell phone rings and rings and rings.

"Come on, come on, come on. Yeah, he's not answering." Dean panics.

"Okay." Sam answers. He knows the drill. "Just go. I'll stay here."

No use running into a fight that will just bring Lucifer breathing down their necks. Sam is a liability here.

And if he can talk to Lily, maybe they have another ally, another way...

Dean hates the idea. "What? And leave you here with her? You kidding me? She–"

"Is no threat whatsoever to humans. And she can hear you." Lily answers, sharp as a tack. Then she exhales.

"Okay. Okay." Dean answers. He caves, because honestly, Sam needs to lie low, and this one has more juice than Cas, at the moment. Hates angels, too, so provided they can keep her from hurting Cas, they know she won't sell them out.

Sam remains in the hallway with Lily, both of them not quite sure how to proceed once Dean leaves.

Memory bleed-through of similar traumas tends to make conversation starters awkward.

\--

Back at the church, Ishim does pushups while Castiel clutches his side.

"Mm. I haven't felt this good in a millennia. Mm!" Ishim's voice is too loud.

"Oh, goody." Cas answers. He probably shouldn't have caved, should have saved his strength, but what's the point? He didn't want to leave them vulnerable, and Cas is already a liability enough on his own.

He's useless. Lucifer could tear him apart on a whim.

"Ah, quit your whinin'. You'll regain your strength soon enough." Ishim replies, too flippant.

"Where's my phone?" Cas says to himself as he keeps trying to find it, he knows he had it, he's been keeping it handy so Lucifer can't get the jump on them...

"You'll have to keep better track of your things, Castiel." Ishim says. Internally, the angel enjoys knowing he hid the phone, seeing as Cas shouldn't be concerned with the Devil's vessel and Michael's discarded vessel any more. Might get him killed.

\--

Lily and Sam head to her hotel room, silent. She sits, and Sam watches her stare at her picture of her daughter. It's an old photo.

Sam can practically taste her grief, only it's muted, like her feelings were bathed in something sharp and almost angry but more purposeful, like Sam's were in the Cage in his worst moments.

Like Sam, out of the Cage, when he was running around without knowing what was wrong with him, exactly.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sam asks, tentative.

Lily accommodates. "Yeah."

Sam stutters, "I get wanting revenge. I... I really do."

Lily believes him.

Sam keeps going, "But...why wait so long?"

Lily looks at him, pragmatic. "I had no choice. Before the angels fell, before they lost their wings, there would've been no way to hunt them down. But now... Patience is a talent." Every word is drawn out, emphasized, as Lily admits, "You'd be amazed what a person can do with a little bit of purpose and an abundance of time."

Only Sam knows that too well. Has lived it himself, in the Cage.

Has seen Lucifer live that way, day after day after day.

Comparatively, Lucifer without purpose wasn't as horrifying. Lucifer, in those moments, likes inflicting pain and felt too many emotions. It hurts, but there was a victory there, for Sam. 

The "we're never getting out of here" kind, where Sam lost everything but still saved the world.

But Lucifer with a purpose...

Lucifer with a purpose was as terrifying as Lucifer winning.

Sam changes the subject. "Ishim said you made some kind of pact. Um... that you're using dark magic." Sam doesn't believe it, but wants to hear her side.

"Did he?" Lily scoffs. "I've studied angels all my... very long life."

There's an unsaid mention there from the bleed-through. Not as long as yours, though. Not quite. Lily doesn't say to Sam.

Sam picks up on the gist, anyway.

Lily adds, "I use their magic to fight, to hear them, to stay alive."

Like Sam picked up things when doing so wouldn't lead to Lucifer tracking him down. Sam hadn't been able to do that for a while.

Enochian Magic. Angel magic. 

But a human, not a vessel with any grace at all, using a direct line to Enochian magic? Not just sigils? Not just warding? Not just rituals you set off and run and carve into places? Using your body as an anchor, instead of letting something else channel the weight?

Actual, raw, Enochian magic?

Sam doesn't like the implications. He knows how potent it is.

After all, Lucifer helped Sing creation into being with the same tools.

For a human, there would be a high price to pay. It's practically a guarantee. 

"Enochian magic. That's...possible?" For humans? Sam doesn't add, because the omission is obvious. He can use it, of course, thanks to being a True Vessel and all the grace inside him that he'll never get out, thanks to Lucifer. For others, though...

**Maybe there is hope for Kelly, after all, if humans can wield it wholesale.**

"It is." Lily admits, but then he tone becomes stilted. "If you're willing to pay the price of admission. Every time I use one of their spells, a piece of my soul burns away."

And nothing is easy. Sam knew there would be a high price, too high, to use it as a human alone, and his other hopes get crushed.

Lily continues, "And once it's gone..."

"You won't feel anything anymore." Sam interrupts, having gone so very still. "You won't, uh, care about anything anymore. You won't be human anymore."

Sam remembers being Soulless. Both outside the Cage and inside, soul and body with two different sets of memories, and none of them good. He knows how much Lucifer marked him up, even when his body couldn't remember Hell at all.

Lily looks at him like she knows he's lived what might just be her future.

"I used to dream about my daughter every night." Lily admits, so quiet.

Sam doesn't want to think about his dreams. His dreams haven't been his own for so long...

"Do you know what I dream about now?" Lily asks, so scared, except the fear is muted, because parts of herself have already been stripped away. "Nothing."

Sam almost wishes he dreams about nothing.

But he still remembers not sleeping. Remembers clamoring for bodies in the dark. Remembers absence he doesn't want to think about.

Remembers missing the Devil and hating himself for it.

"You don't trust me. I understand." Lily answers the look on Sam's face, so drawn and weary. "But when your brother confronts Ishim, the angel will kill him. Ishim's a big man in Heaven. He's got too much to lose if the truth comes out. And when your brother's dead, you won't stand in my way anymore. You'll help me. And for that, I can wait."

Lily shares one thing with Lucifer. And that is patience. Patient certainty that someone will try to kill Dean.

And it still scares Sam, whether coming from her or him.

\--

Dean makes it to the Church, the safehouse, as fast as he can.

"Cas? Hey. You okay?" Dean asks, and he keeps his tone level for fear of giving something away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. And Ishim is fully recovered." Cas says.

"Yeah. Okay. Uh, maybe wish you hadn't had done that just yet." Dean murmurs very quickly, thinking fast.

"Wait, why?" Cas asks, immediately on edge.

"This Lily chick? Says that her daughter was human. I think Ishim... I think he's playing you." Dean spits it out, blunt and not sugarcoating it because they have bigger problems than whatever domestic things they need to work out right now.

"You're back. So what's new?" Ishim interrupts.

Castiel struggles to his feet with Dean's help.

"Is it... is it true, Ishim?" Cas asks, all flinty.

"Is what true?" Ishim clarifies, eyes narrowing.

"Lily Sunder's daughter, was she human?" Cas adds, all steel.

"Who told you that?" Ishim deflects.

"She did. Said you were pretty obsessed." Dean answers and stares him down.

"Well, she's a liar." Ishim lies.

"Why would she lie?" Cas answers.

Ishim is dismissive. "She's human. It's kinda what they do."

"Well, if she's a liar, she's pretty good at it. You, on the other hand, kind of suck." Dean argues.

Ishim only looks at Castiel. "Who are you gonna believe? Your brother, or some filthy ape who's always talking down to you, always mocking you?" Ishim tries.

"You know, Cas and I might not agree all the time, but at least he knows who his real friends are." Dean defends, standing shoulder to shoulder with his angel.

**_I may not always know what I am doing, but Castiel is the end of the line for me, and that's that, and he knows it._ **

"Why do his words bother you so much, Ishim?" Cas needles, deliberate, like Ishim might walk this off. Cas buys time, time to think, to figure a plan, because he won't be much help here as he is now.

"Who is he to question my choices? Who is he to question yours?" Ishim argues.

_Who is like God, above all others?_

Michael's vessel, chosen for Michael, questioning an angel of the Lord.

"Well, it seems that some of my choices may need to be questioned. Now tell me. The girl – was she human?" Cas reiterates, angry now.

"Oh, you're not gonna like the answer." Ishim responds, and the greedy condescension grows like flesh-eating disease over soaked, wounded skin as it permeates Ishim's tone.

Dean goes to stab Ishim, but is thrown against the wall.

Cas defends him, but he's weakened, and Ishim's true form tears into him as his vessel punches Castiel to the floor. Ishim grabs Castiel's collar, expression one of both hate and pity, "I used to envy you, Castiel. You believe that?"

Ishim punches Cas. Cas smacks his forehead into the other angel and tries to do as much damage as possible.

Dean takes a leaf out of Sam's book and starts drawing an angel banishing sigil with a cut palm.

"You survived Hell. You were chosen by God. But now look at you. You're just sad and pathetically weak." Ishim adds. He hurts Cas, hurts him so that he can't stand.

Ishim gloats. "So now... I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna cure you of your human weakness same way I cured my own–" He stops as he pulls out his angel blade, then finishes, "By cutting it out."

Ishim advances on Dean.

A stray thought lingers, not logical, in Castiel's mind. That Ishim would never follow Lucifer, because Lucifer would never condone killing anyone he loved permanently. He would just try to keep making his target love him. In that way, Ishim and the Devil are polar opposites. Lucifer revels in any love given to him, even if it's half a lie. As long as he gets what he wants, he's can live with it. As long as he keeps what he sees as his, he won't kill what he loves. If he does kill it, kill Sam, he brings him back, because he doesn't want to be lonely. Whereas Ishim just wants to make people hurt and know that he's the one hurting him. Wants to break the love out of himself because he doesn't know how to deal with any too-human emotion or rejection.

Lucifer doesn't allow rejection. He just forbids it wholesale.

Dean shows his cards. In this case, the angel banishment sigil on the wall. His hand hovers there.

Safe enough to use it, if Sam's not around for Lucifer to sniff out.

"Don't move." Dean threatens.

"Do it." Ishim goads. "You blast me away, you'll blast away every angel in the room. I'll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he's hurt. He might live or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall. Roll the dice."

Dean makes his decision.

He can't chance Cas dying. Dean can die, that they can fix...

Not Cas, though.

Never Cas. 

Cas has given enough for them, and Dean loves him, loves him so much, and Sam needs Cas more than he'll ever need Dean.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Ishim says.

"Ishim! No." Lily's voice rings out.

Ishim turns around and is met with angel blades in both Sam and Lily's hands.

"Hello, my love." Ishim responds.

Sam wants to tear him into pieces for it, but Lily herself has the right of first blood. 

Ishim walks to Lily. She goads him closer so Sam can run to Dean unimpeded.

"Hey. Hey." Sam says.

"I thought you were supposed to keep her out of this?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, I changed my mind." Sam answers, quick as a whip.

Lily and Ishim throw down.

"Good call." Dean asserts.

The fighting continues between the two of them until Sam sees an opening.

"All right, Plan B. Come on." Sam announces, and he attacks Ishim the manual way. Still doesn't kill like Lucifer taught him, because then everything is for nothing, then Lucifer will be breathing down his neck all over again...

Ishim snarls and goes to punch Sam, and Sam lets him, because that gives Dean and Lily another opening and because Sam can take it.

Sam's lived far worse.

Dean gets thrown, but Lily is still going for it.

"It's over." Ishim gloats, oblivious to his true peril.

"No." Lily answers.

She peels off the eyepatch.

One eye is white. Like Lilith.

"I will never be powerless again." Lily declares.

Her hand rises and her eye flashes with bright, bright light. Like Lilith did, once, only it never hurt Sam, not as bright as Lucifer.

Ishim is held against the wall.

"You can't hold me here forever." Ishim warns, struggling forward one step at a time, and raises his blade.

Only Cas stabs him from behind.

Ishim burns out.

Cas falls to his knees. He looks at Lily.

"You held him for long enough." Cas answers, so tired. Still grieving. So determined to protect those he can.

Then Cas looks at Sam, too.

And Sam gets the message.

You held _him_ for long enough, too.

They all stand over one dead body, leads and plans all shot to Hell. But Lucifer hasn't found them yet. That's one good thing.

As long as Cas is safe...

Sam will make sure he's safe.

"All right, so, uh... What now?" Sam asks, tentative.

"He's dead. Are you done?" Dean asks Lily, a bit more aggressive now that one enemy has been dealt with.

"Revenge is all I've had for over a hundred years. It's what I am." Lily answers.

"Wrong answer." Dean growls. "You're done."

Always making the decisions for others.

Cas interrupts, "Dean."

Everyone looks at Cas.

Cas looks at Lily. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. And...while it's true that I didn't know we were killing an innocent, ignorance is no excuse." He walks towards her and continues, "I truly can't imagine the depths of your loss. This was your child. I can't imagine the pain. So if you leave here and you find that you can't forgive me... I'll be waiting."

A thought swims in Sam's mind, a quote from lifetimes and lifetimes past, just him and Jess the first day they had together, when they watched Kill Bill, and Beatrix says, "When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, I'll be waiting."**

Except everyone is all grown up now. And Sam doesn't even know why he's thinking about it. Except he does.

"Thank you." Lily answers.

She leaves.

Cas is safe. As safe as Cas and Sam and Dean can be, for the moment.

\--

Back at the next hotel, Dean hands Cas a beer. They can celebrate this small victory.

They didn't find Kelly. Didn't find a way to beat the Devil. But they might have one more ally in the fight at hand, and Cas is safe, and that's what matters.

"You earned it." Dean says.

"Well, this will do very little for me, but I...I appreciate the gesture." Cas stutters.

"What Ishim said... You're not weak, Cas. You know that, right?" Dean tries, instead.

"I mean, obviously, you've changed, but it's all been for the better, man." Sam adds.

"And you have been with us every step of this long, crazy thrill ride. And no matter how crazy it got, you never backed down." Dean adds.

Sam keeps going, too. "And that takes real strength."

"Thank you." Cas breathes. He hugs them close with his wings, and then they clink their beers together and chug.

When they stop, Dean looks pensive. And Sam and Cas wait for him to say whatever he hasn't said yet.

"Cas, I don't like how the whole Billie thing went down. Okay? I know you think you were doing the right thing. And I'm not mad. I'm worried. Because things like 'cosmic consequences' have a habit of biting us in the ass." Dean grunts.

"I know they do. But I don't regret what I did, even if it costs me my life." Cas replies.

Sam vehemently answers, so quickly, "Don't say that, man."

Then still the same elephant in the room. The elephant Sam and Cas know, that Dean doesn't, yet.

"So what are you gonna do if you find Kelly and, uh, Lucifer Junior? It is a Nephilim, right, even if it's... His?" Dean says. "Based on Sam's, uh..."

"Oh, no. It's more than that. An ordinary Nephilim is one of the most dangerous beings in all of creation. But one that's fathered by an Archangel, the Devil himself? I...I can't imagine the power." Cas answers.

He gives Sam a look.

Sam tries to deal with this without actually telling Dean the truth, because Sam can't handle it, not yet.

"But, Cas, at the end of the day, it's a mom and her kid. I mean, do you – do you think you'll be able to..." Sam deflects.

"There was a time when I wouldn't have hesitated. But now, I don't know." Cas replies.

Sam and Cas try to talk Dean down without Dean realizing it, but alluding to it, by pretending.

"What are we gonna do?" Dean asks.

"Let's drink, and hope we can find a better way." Cas answers.

They all take another swig and think of their next move, constrained as they are.

Time is running out, and they need to find Kelly fast.


	106. Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally there supposed to be a chapter of everyone regrouping and Kelly Eileen Sam stuff and then Jesse and Eileen hiding Kelly after some Lily sunder stuff (and I'm pretty sure I was gonna have some demon related thing going on with lily sunder and heaven while everyone was trying to figure out what to do about a nephilim), and then it was supposed to go to The Suburbs, which was me trying to figure out how the showdown with Lucifer goes once Jack is born because obviously that goes down pretty different, but then I never wrote it. So ppl can use their imaginations I guess.
> 
> S13E1. Also if there's one thing I regret about these initial parts, like the rest of this fic, was how reliant on canon and I wish I diverged more while keeping the gist.
> 
> chapter title a song by blue foundation

Outside, Dean stares at the imprint of Castiel's wings. Traces the burn marks absently with his hand and dusts off Castiel's coat before he rises to his feet.

Stares into dead blue eyes that he already shut, eyes that won't ever burn with cold fire and holy love ever again...

He stares at the love of his life until he can't stare anymore.

Castiel's tie is askew.

Dean looks away and doesn't fix it.

Dean would cry, but he can't, because that would make this all too real...

The absence of Cas is a physical weight, heavy and cold inside his ribcage, and Dean feels his heartbeat stop like it's him on the floor and not the angel he loved.

It is too quiet.

Dean goes to fight whatever thing has left Kelly dead, whatever monster Lucifer brought into the world that no doubt would hurt Sam if given the chance.

Dean can't lose Sammy. Not his little brother. Not again. He's already lost Mom permanently, and Cas...

He's lost Cas.

Dean cocks his gun and stalks inside.

\--

It's dark, very dark, in the nursery where small burning footprints lead. Sam follows them until he finds his son after he entered the world, alone, with only Kelly's dead body to greet him.

Jack is huddled on the ground in the corner of the room. His body looks human, all naked in its newborn skin.

His golden eyes glow, pinpricks in the darkness.

Through the small amount of light peeking out from the hallway, Sam can see that his son is small, and his hair is wavy and the color of sand, that it looks both brown and blond, like Sam and Lucifer and Kelly, combined. His hands are huddled against his chest, like he's cold.

Jack looks about three.

When he sees Sam, he rises to his feet.

Sam makes an abortive step back and gives an involuntary, autopilot swallow because his grace and his _eyes_ and the darkness are too much like Lucifer, all too familiar, lighting and feeling all too much like the Cage and other places outside of it even if his son is a tiny toddler in front of him, because his presence sings with all the raw feeling of an Archangel, and the sight and sound and taste of the air, of it all, every familiar sensation, is enough to make Sam feel like his child is inside him again, like Sam is young and his body is wrong and Sam is Lucifer's prisoner in a small dark room with a Thing he didn't ask for hitching a ride within his body all over again-

Sam freezes and fights the aftershocks, but he still feels it, hears the ringing signature of his son against his eardrums, and all it took was a too-long millisecond to send Sam shivering from the waves of power radiating off Jack, who is so small and young, yet still radiates so much...

"Father?" Jack asks. His Grace is everywhere, unfocused, like waves of the ocean trapped inside a too-small washing machine, tumbling over each other all at the same time and dousing Sam all-at-once in an almost-pleasant, tentative warmth, like Castiel's, present but not overwhelming in its warmth. It's not a brushfire or the surface of the sun, like Michael's.

Not the freezing Artic of Lucifer.

And that breaks Sam out of whatever trance he's been locked inside, too many things choking him up.

He felt that growing inside him. He felt it when it left him, when Lucifer cut Jack out from under his skin.

"Jack, that's... That's me." Sam answers, stuttering. He can't quite move.

Jack stares him down and swallows, as if mimicking Sam's movements. His eyes memorize Sam's face, rapt, like Lucifer, only where Lucifer was reverent and hungry, drinking Sam up, Jack is blank and open and curious.

Sam's son keeps his body so very still. Angelic stillness.

Not breathing.

Stands like Lucifer when he was waiting for something.

Sam wonders if his son expected to find Lucifer inside his Sam's own skin, wonders just how his son remembers Sam from inside the body he once wore, wonders if he's got this all wrong, wonders if his other fears aren't misplaced, and thinks of Kelly's dead body...

"Father." Jack insists, repeating the words with more force.

He shuffles forward.

One step.

Two.

Sam doesn't step backwards but he can't quite step closer to meet him.

"That's me. Sam. Your Dad." Sam says, as softly and gently as possible. He bends his knees and opens his arms as best he can, as if he'll catch him or hug him, on Jack's level. Sam's hands shake.

"Dad?" Jack asks, tilting his head like Lucifer and Cas and every angel Sam has seen confused. His voice mimics Sam's level of quiet, as if Jack is unused to his own throat, because he is.

 ** _Dad. Father. Dad is Father, Dad is Sam, Father is Sam-_**

And Sam feels Jack's Grace sing on repeat, like a baby learning new words. The bond humming between them is just as strong as Lucifer's line to Sam when he drank deeply of anything Lucifer made him take in, when Sam drank demon blood or Archangel blood or when Sam said 'Yes,' and let Lucifer inside him. Just as strong as the bond when Sam beheld Lucifer while unhoused and laid bare to see in all his glory, in his true form, kissing and holding and hugging Sam close while he caressed him with Sam crushed deep inside the Devil's many wings.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean's voice echoes loudly from the stairwell outside the nursery.

Jack flinches at the noise and stops for a second, and looks to Sam like he has all the answers.

 **Jack. It's me. It's safe. It's okay.** Sam prays and tries his best to infuse the words with every feeling of love and protectiveness he can. **I'm here.**

Jack's posture seems to relax at that, so Sam assumes he can hear him.

"I'm in here." Sam says, still quiet to not spook Jack but loud enough for Dean to know he's alive just as Jack starts tottering forward again..

Jack shuffles closer and almost falls into Sam's open arms-

But then Dean enters the room, sees Sam crouched down, almost kneeling, hair in his face, with something with glowing eyes coming towards him, and he jumps to conclusions. All he sees is moment in the shadows as the thing with the golden eyes stiffens at Dean's own silhouette and its body grows, and grows, taller than Sam's hunched figure-

A giant shadow rears on the wall behind him-

A shadow with wings.

And Sam feels Jack's fear light through them like a shot to the heart, because he doesn't know Dean, doesn't recognize him like he knows Sam from being inside him, and Jack feels Dean's panic and aggression and endless waves of grief, and Jack's grace lights through both of them like a riptide, plunging them headfirst into the pure, raw feeling of fear, fear, fear-

**_Not Father, not Sam, not Dad-_ **

Dean shoots first on instinct, gun ready before he even entered the room.

Sam tackles Dean's arm away and throws off his aim.

The bullet from the Colt goes wide.

Jack looks older now, and his eyes glow and his pupils widen as he wordlessly starts screaming, mouth agape, and his grace cries out in a shockwave that blows out all the lightbulbs and every fuse in the house.

It throws Dean out the door and he hits the banister, knocked out cold, flat on his ass, and Sam tries to say something to his son, but his throat won't work right, and his prayers are frozen because it all too much, all of it-

And the remainder of the golden, radiating, uncontrolled waves of power that Jack doesn't even know how to stop sends Sam flying into the opposite wall. Sam hits his head thanks to another aftershock even as Jack tries to stop himself, but the more he tries the more afraid he gets and that makes it start up all over again.

Jack stumbles backwards and his face scrunches up like he might cry and he shrinks down, smaller and smaller, until he's a toddler again, and he is crying now, just as another wave send Sam reeling-

Sam's vision starts to fade out, and he hears the flutter of wings.

The last thing Sam sees is Jack in the body Sam first saw him in as he disappears into thin air.

Unconsciousness takes Sam with the swiftness of instant sleep.

\--

When Sam comes to, Dean has just scrambled through the doorway on his hands and knees and is shaking Sam like he's afraid he's dead.

"Sam, Sammy!" Dean pleading voice as he holds Sam's shoulders, and Sam comes to, finally awake.

"Dean, I'm okay. I'm okay." And then Sam is sitting up and Dean helps him up against the wall. Both of them clutch their heads.

"You scared him." Sam gasps out. He doesn't even know if Dean hears him, though, since Dean's expression is so far gone right now.

"Wait, was that-" Dean asks as he puts two and two together, finally able to focus now that he knows Sam is okay...

"Lucifer's son." Sam answers. He meant to say his son. He really did, but he still can't say it, so Sam says other things, both equally important. "Jack. We have to find him."

Dean grabs his gun from the floor and gets up just as Sam struggles to his feet.

"Can he teleport?" Dean's voice turns into an interrogation, rough and grieving, as he rushes down the stairs towards the door.

"What?" Sam asks, not quite following, and he runs his hand against the wall as he tries to feel the link to his son, to the grace, find a trail, any trail...

Nothing.

Dean starts heading outside.

Sam follows on his heels to keep him in line and to check in case Jack didn't fly far away. He doesn't know how this would work, what the radius is, if Jack even knows what he's doing-

"The kid. Did you see wings?" Dean asks, brushing his hand over his jaw.

"Yeah. He does, but Dean-" Sam protests.

"Get in the car-" Dean starts to order, but Sam shuts him down.

"I can track him. I have a spell." Sam says. Pragmatism, first. Find his child, explain everything before they get there.

"Then do your thing. We can't waste time." Dean says.

No. No, they can't.

And Sam still hasn't told Dean what he needs to say.

The big secret.

He has to, and soon. Sam doesn't know how he's going to, he's been choking on telling him for months...

But Sam won't let Dean shoot his nephew.

Won't let his brother shoot his son.

And Sam stops his shaking hands by grabbing all his supplies and he gets out a bowl from the trunk and cuts his own fingertip, lets the blood flow, to start a tracking spell, kneeling on the pine needles on the ground outside the trunk of the Impala.

Family tracking spell.

Blood for blood.

Dean doesn't recognize it for what it is.

Still, with Lucifer's grace and Sam's blood together, mingling inside Sam like always, it should be simple to pinpoint Jack's location.

The question is if they can catch up before Jack accidentally flies off again. Because it was probably an accident, Sam thinks.

While Sam is doing what needs to be done, Dean calls local police and sheriffs for any sign of a nude blond runaway. Sam reminds Dean to ask the officers to call them if someone shows up, particularly if they are looking for a Sam, or if they call themselves Jack and if they aren't totally aware of their surroundings. 

When Dean hangs up, he tells Sam he shouldn't have given his name to the Devil's spawn.

Sam would argue, but at that moment, Sam's ritual Enochian spell points them in a direction, having gone off quick, and both brothers pin down the point on the map and enter the Impala with a furious, rushed intensity, albeit for different reasons.

\--

Dean keeps flooring the gas while they drive. The car is silent while Sam tries to find the best way to tell Dean outright who Jack is, tries to ease into the discussion in the wake of everything Lucifer just did to them and their family, but before he can, one sheriff calls in saying they found a sandy blond someone named Jack matching their description who is looking for his Father and is asking for a 'Sam.' without being able to provide a last name.

Dean confirms they are on their way to pick him up, but he isn't pleased the kid is looking for his Father. When the call ends, he says so.

Only Jack isn't looking for Lucifer. Unless he is, but he won't find him.

Sam honestly thinks Jack is looking for him, just him, and has an instinctual hunch that Jack didn't know how to find his way back after he flew away.

Sam's son is less than a day old, after all. And granted, the shapeshifting, or more accurately, age-shifting when he saw Dean, is new and weird, but Sam's seen weirder. Maybe it's some kind of defense mechanism, like owls puffing out their feathers to seem scary and intimidating.

And when Jack did throw Sam back, Jack was crying, so Sam heavily suspects his son doesn't have the emotional grasp of something beyond a toddler at the moment. The flying and the waves of aggressive grace are more familiar, and apparently out of Jack's control. Maybe. Probably.

Unless they aren't.

But Sam knows that Jack wasn't trying to hurt him back there. Not on purpose.

He was just scared of Dean. That seems obvious.

"We still have holy oil in the trunk, right?" Dean asks, trembling with all the grief he hasn't processed.

"For what?" Sam's voice is hoarse and soft.

"'Cause we're going to have to hit it with everything we got." Dean answers, resolute. His jaw clenches.

"Hold on a second." Sam tries to keep his tone as level and calm as possible otherwise he's going to fall apart. "Can we just talk about what happened back there?"

**You shot at my son and didn't even know it or think about it-**

"Sure. Which part? Let’s see. Kelly’s dead, Cas is..." Dean says every word, one by one, but he can't finish his sentence. He swallows.

Sam can't help but ask, still scared of the answer. "Is he - is he really dead?"

**He's come back before, please, please-**

But Sam knows Lucifer struck to kill, and wanted to make it stick, this time.

"You know he is." Dean chokes, but then he forces himself to keep going. "And now Mom’s gone, and apparently, the Devil’s kid hit puberty in thirty seconds flat. Oh, and almost killed us." Dean's right hand punctuates each word, sharp and violent in its movements.

"Yeah, because you tried to shoot him." Sam responds, rubbing his forehead, almost not keeping a lid on his own freaked out too-many-still-unprocessed things behind that statement and what he hasn't talked about.

"I tried to shoot the monster, Sam. It’s kind of what we do." Dean argues, turning his head.

"We don’t know what he is yet, Dean." Sam rasps, and he swallows, because what if his son is like Lucifer, and not like Sam, except Sam can't think that, he can't, "And I had it under control." Sam insists.

"I’m sorry." Dean's voice lowers as it grows more bloodthirsty. "Are you defending the Son of Satan?"

Sam's voice turns heated as the truth almost bursts out of him right then and there.

"I'm not defending anything."

**Just my son.**

**My son.**

**And I'm not defending what happened to me what Lucifer did to me to Kelly to me anything not defending what _he_ did-**

And Georgia won't leave him alone but Sam can't think about it, he can't-

Sam inhales and forces his voice into something calmer. It doesn't really work.

"I'm just saying..." Sam's hands don't know what to do with themselves as he speaks, moving, aimless and punctuated and shaking as he keeps talking, "Look, with everything that’s happened, I’m obviously spun out also, but we need a plan." And now Sam's grasping at straws and rambling but he really doesn't know how he's going to say what he needs to say now that it's all a lump choking in his throat, like a gag, like the enforced suffocating silence of Lucifer's mouth against his-

"Yeah, kill him! Okay?" Dean yells. "That’s the plan."

And Sam looks away and closes his eyes too tightly and swallows and bites his lip and tries to take in one deep breath, then another, as Dean keeps talking.

"Look, right now all that matters is finding him, and ending him, before he hurts anybody else." Dean voice is a throaty growling hateful thing as he adds, "And once we do that we’ll figure everything else out."

Sam realizes there is no way to ease into this and bites a bullet he still doesn't know how to talk about.

He takes a breath and opens his eyes and tries to keep himself from being sick as he feels Lucifer hands all over him. An echo of every day of every month somehow worse than almost 7,600 years in Hell itself.

"Dean. Pull over." Sam orders.

"No, Sam, I'm not going to-" Dean growls.

"PULL OVER!" Sam commands at the top of his lungs.

The Impala skids to a stop. Dean stares Sam down, completely thrown by whatever has him shaking and out of it and won't let him meet Dean's eyes.

"What, Sam? What could possibly be so important that we have to stop hunting for the Devil's spawn before it torches everyone-"

"He's my son. Jack is my son." Sam answers, too quiet and too calm.

Dean's voice cuts out immediately.

"I'm...I'm sorry, I thought you-" He stammers.

"He's my son, Dean." Sam repeats, louder and clearer this time.

Dean starts shaking his head and doesn't stop.

"No, he isn't. That's not possible. Not unless you said yes when Lucifer knocked up Kelly-"

**How fucking dare you-**

"I did not consent to anything. Don't even go there. And Lucifer kidnapped Kelly six months after the angels already knew the kid was on the way, remember? Then he cut her open to make her a surrogate and forced her to carry Jack six months after he was already gestating." Sam keeps rambling despite all intentions to the contrary, and the words won't stop now, not after silence for so long. "Dean, don't fucking pretend you don't understand exactly what I'm saying. We both know how much Lucifer hates humanity, how he can't be bothered to get near one unless he's physically ripping them into pieces. Everyone, that is, except me, although he'll tear me apart whenever he likes, easy. You said it your own fucking self. Lucifer would not and will never fucking touch anyone else, they aren't good enough for him, and it's not like he hasn't fucked me however many times before. No, Dean. He..." And Sam closes his eyes, gasps out the next words as fast as possible. "Lucifer raped me."

"No, no, that-"

"Dean. He raped me, again and again, and he forced me to carry his child while he had me trapped, alone, with him."

"Sam-"

Sam doesn't stop and opens his eyes again. He's tired of all the hiding and shame and pretending to be fine and lack of communication that always plagues his family. For once, Dean can deal with his own damn problems. It's not like Sam isn't grieving Cas, or Mom, or still terrified of what Lucifer might do trapped in the other world. But Sam's not keeping his on lockdown any more to spare him or save face. He doesn't have the energy to pretend he can take this after all the silence for so damn long, and right now, they have one priority and that is Jack. Nothing more or less.

Dean needs to hear the truth whether he likes it or not.

"De-aging spell." Sam keeps going, and hysterical laughter creeps into his voice despite his best intentions. "Like that witch hit you with that one time. Only it brought me back to 21, right before I got to fucking Stanford, before I transitioned with Jess-" And then Sam can't stop his voice from shaking and his trembling hands fumble with the car door and then he's on his hands and knees on the grass heaving up his stomach contents. Dean follows him outside, frantic. 

"Sammy-" Dean says, softer now, aimless and quiet and standing next to him like he wants to help but he's useless.

 **Don't call me Sammy, that's what he calls me-** Sam doesn't say. He had never been able to voice that, either, not before the Cage, and certainly not after, because how do you explain to your brother the nickname they gave you was used by the Devil thousands of years longer than they ever did? How do you tell him the reason you hate it is because that is what Jess called you before the love of your life destroyed you in all the ways that mattered?

Sam doesn't look at him as he wipes his mouth. Just stares at the bottoms of Dean's shoes as he adds, "He only gave me my body back after Kelly was in the picture. After 6 months." Sam takes a breath, and then adds, less quietly, "I don't know why he even wanted a kid. Maybe he thought I'd stop fighting him, maybe he thought it might force me to stay, or maybe he was planning on using our kid as blackmail to keep me with him, otherwise he'd hurt him, like some awful fucking soap plot. Maybe he just wanted to stick it to his Dad by having a kid of his own. Maybe he only wants another person to own and control and to use to hurt me and to bind me to him. But I'm thinking at the end of the day he didn't fucking care, Lucifer just wanted to prove how much he owns me in every way possible, how much I'll never get away from him..." And Dean holds out and hand and tries to help Sam up but Sam stops him, brushes him off, and keeps kneeling as his elbows keep hugging the dirt. "No, Dean. Lucifer trapped me in a damn room alone with him for over nine months, even before Jack was in the picture, and I only know that because you told me how long I was gone. And even after he got what he wanted, Lucifer still left me alone and in the dark whenever he felt like it, just like he did in the Cage, so I would miss him, so I couldn't ignore what he did to me, what he just kept doing to me. And it never stopped, not even after Jack was out of me. He kept touching me, and he kept fucking me, and kept telling me how much he loves me and how I'm never getting away from him. And I tried to end it, Dean, I tried to kill it and myself because I didn't want it inside me, I didn't want any part of _him_ inside me, but it didn't work, and I didn't know that having a kid with an angel was lethal anyway, Lucifer didn't let that slip until Kelly almost got me out, but he got us anyway, and only then did he break the fucking news that 'oh by the way, Sam, having my kid would've killed you, but don't worry, I'm not letting you go anywhere, you're mine, and I'd never let anything happen to you, because you belong to me for all eternity, so just hang in there and I'll just keep on fucking you over and keeping you alive until the universe burns out and we've moved on to greener pastures, don't you worry or go expecting anything less because you're going to be together, with me, forever and always, we're going to make this work, I promise-'" And Sam's voice breaks off into a high wail, and the tears are streaming down his face, and he can't stop looking at the ground and his hands are still shaking as they bleed fistfuls of grass.

"Sammy, even... Even if he is, he's not... Lucifer raped you, you don't have to take care of-" And Dean's panic and fear bleeds through now past the grief for Cas, because Sam needs him, really needs him, and this was even worse than anything he had ever thought-

"No. Jack is my son, Dean. You don't get to make this call. You don't get one single say, even if he is your nephew."

"You don't have to keep him-"

"What, are you saying I should put my son, Lucifer's son, up for adoption?" Sam lets out a bitter laugh. "The kid will never be safe, Dean, and we don't even know what he can do, he's already flown off and the angels are already looking for him to use, and, oh yeah, he's family, and he's scared, and he needs me, we're the only family he has, and you shot at him-"

"Sam-"

"No, Dean. We're going to find Jack. And we're going to protect him. And you sure as Hell aren't going to kill him or hurt him for anything. I'll stop you, whatever it takes, you hear me? And I'll take Jack and hide somewhere you and Lucifer and anyone else can never find him. Lucifer is never going to so much as touch him, even if he comes back, because we know he's going to find a way out, he always does... You understand me?"

"Sam-"

And Sam leaps to his feet and grabs Dean's shoulders.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Dean hugs Sam close, and Sam holds on for dear life, every inch of him still shaking.

"Okay, Sammy. Okay. We'll find him. We'll... Okay. I'm with you. I'm here." Dean's voice whispers. 

They get back into the car without another word between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the yeeted suburbs part because it was too much like canon and also it sucked:
> 
> "Well," Lucifer exhales and clasps his hands together, watching them from beyond the warding, "This is a fun surprise."  
> His eyes never stray from Sam's face, not once.  
> Cas unsheathes the angel blade that won't kill Lucifer, but will still hurt him.  
> "I gotta hand it to you guys," Lucifer keeps going, blinking, not quite smiling, "You never give up. Even when you should. Even when it would be so stupid not to."  
> Sam keeps his voice steady as he stares Lucifer down, "Look, whatever you're planning on doing, we'll stop you." And then Sam's hands grip tighter around the blade in his hand and the gun in the other as he adds, "I will stop you."  
> Like I did the first time.  
> Will you, now, Sammy? Will you really? Because the way I see it... You've never really stopped me, Sam. You only ever offered yourself up.  
> Sam keeps staring Lucifer down. The Devil licks his lips.  
> Lucifer eyes Sam, speculative, blue eyes so clear it's like seeing through a glacier beyond into the entity beneath. The red. "Sure you will, Sam. You're right. All you gotta do is lay down your weapons, throw up the white flag, and welcome me home." Lucifer holds out both his arms wide as he asks, "Just let me back into your life, Sam. Let us raise the kid, together. Come on, kiddo. I can be good to you. I want this for us. And you don't need to keep fighting. Give me one last go of it. I promise, you won't regret it."


	107. Hot Damn (old version KEEP AS DRAFT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by ivy levan s13e1
> 
> note to self figure out if you are cutting this or not due to how canon derivative it is and you can alter it more

When they find Jack, he's sitting on a stool in the middle of the precinct, being babysat by an older teen that they find out is the sheriff's son.

Jack keeps munching on nougat, successfully distracted, until he catches sight of Sam.

"Dad!" He cries, then he leaps up, rejoicing and calling Sam's name, only to stumble and stop when Dean walks into the room, but Sam starts to reassure him, and Dean stays very still, and Jack goes to hug his father and go home.

Before Jack can, the lights flicker, and he doubles over on his knees, holding his head, and he's saying disjointed words and there's broken glass and people being blown back into cabinets and the vending machine.

The sheriff gets injured. Sam hits his head on a lamp.

Dean grabs the sheriffs taser and tases Sam's son.

Sam yells and crawls over and holds his son close as he falls.

Dean isn't giving ground. "Better that than something else." He grits out.

When the sheriff comes to, she arrests both of them, Sam mostly as a precaution because of some of the things coming out of Jack's mouth earlier. She keeps Jack locked up, too, to ensure the safety of the people around him. Sam would pick the lock and make a run for the car with Jack in tow, but he can't leave Dean, and there's no used getting put back on a wanted list when he needs to lie as low as possible for his son's sake.

Dean is kept in another cell and taken out for questioning.

Sam waits.

He would still rather not be in any kind of cell with bars at all.

\--

When Dean's being interrogated, some demons brute force their way into the precinct.

He deals with them, accustomed to it by now, and explains what's what to the sheriff. She's inclined to believe him, considering all the craziness of the day.

\--

"Easy, easy, easy, easy." Sam starts in as Jack comes to, eyes glowing, expression terrified. Sam holds up his hands and tries not to feel the same kind of intensity that he felt around Lucifer, tries not to smell sulfur or hear thunder or feel the bars of the jail cell closing in around him... "It's okay. You're okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You let other people hurt me." Jack grits out, accusatory, all hunched over. Sam can feel his wings spread out to steady him.

"Yes, I did. I... I'm sorry." Sam stutters, swallowing with each word. "They were just trying to slow you down. But I should have stopped them in time. I'm sorry. You... You were, uh... Are you all right?" Sam finally asks, not knowing what else to do.

Jack huffs in a few breaths and hunches in on himself, shrinking down back to toddler size. His clothes are too big for him again. He's practically swimming inside the jacket the sheriff gave him earlier, seeing as it's large enough to be a blanket. He stumbles forwards, dragging his clothes with him, and Sam reaches out to stop him from tripping.

"I don't... I... I was scared, and when I get scared, things happen." Jack gasps, voice soft, and Sam stops, all too able to relate for other reasons. Then Jack is looking down and back up and his mouth is half-open not sucking up enough air. "I can't stop them." Jack admits as he trails off, and then he's finally stumbling in Sam's arms, and Sam picks him up, sits him on his lap, and keeps holding him to his chest, rubbing his child's fabric-covered shoulder like it might help.

Sam still isn't sure how the hell his child got the grasp of English so quickly, but that can wait. 

"Why were you scared?" Sam asks, gentle and careful. Jack still won't look at him. Sam stays patient.

"Because of the voices." Jack insists, tottering, each foot kicking a little, still unsteady on his toddler legs, and he looks up and keeps whispering, "They were so loud, so angry."

Sam blinks, unsure of what to make of that. He swallows and pushes down other concerns. One thing at a time. Whatever Jack is struggling with... They will figure it out.

"Do you hear them right now?" He asks, trying to keep his son from shivering and hyperventilating again. Jack huddles closer.

"No." He says, spine straightening a little. Then he leans against Sam's chest.

"Good." Sam answers, and then a chuckle, nervous and subdued and releasing some of the fear of what might happen, because he has his son, his son is going to be safe now, gets released in one giant exhale in Sam's chest, as Sam repeats, "Good." And beams at his son, finally able to breath a little.

Sam rocks forward a little, and Jack stays on his lap.

Jack exhales, calming down from Sam's own calm. "I'm sorry." He says quietly.

"What?" Sam asks, thrown.

Jack wriggles off on Sam's lap and sits on the bench beside him, mirroring Sam's stance. He keeps looking at his Dad, at the shoulder around him, and back into his eyes, keeping so very still.

"Will you tell them that I'm sorry?" Jack asks, plaintive. His face scrunches, nose twitching as he sniffs.

"Yeah." Sam assures. "Sure. Of course." He looks at his son, concerned, wondering what's going on in his brain, but also knowing that whatever happened, that in this way, he was not his Father's son. He already cared more for other people than Lucifer ever would.

Jack's brow furrows, and his lip trembles.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." He adds, pointing at Sam's head where it bruised. Sam winces but looks as encouraging as he can.

"Jack, I know you didn't mean it." Sam assures, holding his hand and re-wrapping the falling jacket around his son so it keeps him warm. Jack leans on him, feeling safer from the contact. "I'm okay. You can't control your powers right now, that's all. You were just scared."

Sam keeps his back against the wall again, feeling his own fear, the grace and the stillness of his son's body and the bars still a bit too close to Lucifer even if his son isn't, and he moves on to other topics, trying to forge ahead. "Jack... How are you, um... How are we talking right now? I mean, you're... You're not even a day old. How do you speak English?"

"My mother taught me some." Jack answers, smiling to himself. 

"So you talked to her." Sam clarifies.

"I was her." Jack answers. "And I can't always grasp it, what she taught me, but it's there, when I try to hold on to it. And I listen to people..." Jack tilts his head, adding, "I see... patterns?"

"Okay." Sam answers, encouraging, "And, um your powers. Did Kelly teach you those, too, or...?"

"No, I... I don't know why these things happen." Jack mumbles. He traces the side of the wall as if transfixed, and his chest still doesn't move. His voice is low and level and quiet. "It's like I'm me, but... not me?"

Sam files that information for later, unsure of what that can of worms might be, and keeps going.

"And do you know if that's why you get big or small?" Sam asks.

"When I get scared, I get big. My mother, she said the world was a dangerous place. That's... That's why I couldn't be a baby or a child. That's why I had to grow up fast. But I don't know how, and it's not... I don't understand. It's hard. There's so much to take in..." Jack sniffles.

Sam can see where this is going and hugs him again, wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Jack, listen to me. You don't have to grow up fast just because the world isn't always safe. I'm here. I'll protect you." Sam assures. "You're my son. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you if I can help it. From here on out, I'm looking after you. You don't have to change just because you're different. And while it's smart to be prepared..."

Jack looks up at him and hugs him close.

"Sammy!" Dean's voice interrupts. Jack grows a little, startled, looking about six, and Sam holds Jack closer to his chest, arms around him like a shield. Defensive.

Dean looks thrown by the age shifting all over again, and Jack inhales, taking deep breaths in as Sam instructs him, whispering the words and repeating, "It's okay, Jack."

Jack shrinks back down to toddler size, half-hiding in the jacket as he nestles into Sam's arms.

Dean's expression turns guarded and blank, but he holds it together better than before.

"All right, we're good to go." He calls gruffly, unlocking the cell.

"Really?" Sam asks, walking out. Jack is still spooked, and ducks his head when Sam passes his brother.

Sam pats him on the back and sends soothing prayers over.

**It's okay. Dean was just scared of you before. But he won't hurt you. He's family. And I won't let anything hurt you, Jack. You're safe.**

"Yeah, the Sheriff. I gave her the talk." Dean explains, eyes darting from Sam and to the floor. Dean makes a point of keeping his gun not in his hands, and holds a hand to Sam's shoulder. "She's gonna need a minute, but she's cool." His eyes still won't look at Jack as he adds, "So let's grab Damien here and go home."

"My name is Jack." Jack corrects in that too-childish, informative voice.

Dean eyes Jack warily. "Alright. Jack. Sorry." He tacks on. "And sorry if I spooked you before."

Sam knows that's a lie, but can't mind it, because Dean is trying, and Jack nods and relaxes more.

They walk out the door, amazed nothing's come after them.

Sam did ward himself very carefully, though. It's going to take a while for angels or demons to get past the wards bled and stitched on in their clothes or the blanket Sam gave Jack.

Sam was prepared, after all.

He know Lucifer would come for them, and even if Lucifer's in another dimension, wardings strong enough to deter him hold most other things off.

\--

Jack dozes in the back of the Impala, all stretched over the backseat while Dean and Sam talk.

While he does, Dean keeps worrying and voicing his worries under his breath.

"He only looks like a kid, Sam. He's like something out of the Shining-"

"Dean, he's half-angel. Who knows how their biology works. Hell, Gabriel shape-shifted all the time..." Sam argues.

"We don't even know what his deal is-" Dean hisses, the radio mostly drowning him out.

"Dean, Jack is not evil. He... He... He's just a kid." Sam answers. "You said-"

"I know what I said. But Sam... Be careful. He's... He's Lucifer's son, too."

"Don't. Dean. Don't." Sam answers.

And that ends that discussion.

While he drives, Dean stews in silence, because he knows Sam could never forget that, but Dean has never gotten over how Lucifer got Sam in his clutches at Bobby's the first time, and that fear bleeds into the grief and the anger and the pain until Dean shoves it down to blame. Except he can't blame Sam.

But he can blame Jack.

The radio gets turned on, low and quiet, and Sam puts on "Hey Jude" even though it makes them both think of Mom.

\--

When Jack wakes up, he's hungry, and Sam picks Jack up from the backseat, Jack climbing in Sam's lap and looking out the window at the trees whizzing by.

Dean still won't look the kid in the eye. But he does go to scout out the nearest fast food joint. One that will also have salad, for Sam's sake.

Sam uses this time to learn more about Jack and to try to get Dean to stop being on edge.

"Jack, look, um before you were born, you... You opened up a door to another world. Do you remember that?" Sam stammers.

Jack inhales and closes his eyes, hesitant. "Yes."

"Okay, um, could you do that again?" Sam asks. 

"I don't... I don't know." Jack answers. He turns the dial on the radio as if transfixed. "Why?"

Sam hesitates, then goes to explain, "Your grandmother... Um... She might need you-"

"Sam, no. We've had a long day, and the kid's tired, and we're not talking about that. Not right now." Dean isn't saying it to be nice. He's saying it because they just trapped Lucifer over there, and if Jack can open the door up again, there's no telling if Lucifer will just waltz right back through.

And he knows Sam knows that. But Sam is more scared that Lucifer is holding Mary hostage, thinking of all the ways Lucifer might hurt her to get back at them, and he must know that Lucifer will try to use her as bait, as a bargaining chip-

That's why Dean knows she's dead. There's no options otherwise.

Sam doesn't want to think about this as much as Dean, and swallows, then settles on something else to talk about.

"Jack, why did you leave before?" Sam finally asks. "After Dean scared you?"

"I was scared I'd hurt you if I came back, so I was looking... I have to find my other father. He'll protect me." Jack insists.

Dean swerves and curses under his breath, white-knuckling the steering wheel.

"Jack, you gotta listen to me." Sam starts in. "That's not really what Lucifer does."

"Lucifer? No, that's not his name." Jack answers, matter-of-fact. "My other father is Castiel."

Dean goes still.

Jack keeps talking, oblivious and solemn. "Mother said Castiel would keep us safe. That's why I chose him to be my father. Where is he?"

Dean takes in a ragged breath and grips the steering wheel so hard it might break.

Sam gulps, the grief very near. But he can't lie.

"He's dead."

Jack looks at him, stricken and not fully sure what that means. But he can taste the grief in the air, can see Dean's almost-snarl and the watery quality of his eyes, and feel Sam's tired body slump.

Jack's wings curl around himself as Sam hugs him tighter.

\--

Back at the house, they prepare to burn Castiel and Kelly's bodies. Dean douses them in gasoline in silence.

The air is heavy.

"You wanna say anything?" Sam asks, looking at Jack's small form still held in his arms.

It feels strange, holding him, like this. Sam was worried he wouldn't be able to hold him, after everything. That holding him would hurt too much.

It doesn't.

Sam can't help but think of the scissors against his throat and the twitching of his own body sprawled out on the ground, in the room, blood not yet dry when Lucifer found him, gasping air.

"What do you say?" Jack asks, all quiet. Sam focuses on his eyes, on his face, instead of the shrouded bodies on the ground.

"Right..." Sam whispers, trying to think of something worthy of their friends, and the words come out, a river calling them out to sea. "Thank you. You say thank you." Sam inhales, voice trembling, "And you say you're sorry."

**I'm so sorry, Cas. Kelly.**

Dean stumbles on the hard ground. His hands shake, and the gasoline arcs wide.

Sam keeps going, hands brushing through Jack's hair, soft and protective as Jack leans into his chest and looks out. Sam can't keep death hidden from him.

Death was too close, in his life. The fire and blood and death always comes for them, one way, or another.

Better to show Jack in a controlled environment. Better to let them all look upon the dead and know their sacrifices to keep him safe were not in vain.

"You hope they're somewhere without, uh, sadness or pain." Sam says, so quiet, voice breaking, "You hope they're somewhere better. You..." And Sam swallows and hugs Jack close as the fire roars to life. "You say goodbye."

"Well, goodbye, Cas. Goodbye, Kelly. Goodbye Mom." Dean adds.

Sam answers, "Dean, we don't know if Mom..." Sam trails off.

"Yeah, we do." Dean replies, all steel. No room for anything else. He repeats, "We do, Sam. _He_ killed her the moment he realized we trapped his ass." And he keeps talking like talking will make it true, like Sam doesn't know Lucifer better than him, like saying it will be a kinder mercy because all the things Lucifer could do to her, that would be worse, "He killed her. You know he did. She's gone." Then Dean's voice gives out, and he rasps, eyes shadowed and bruised, "They're all gone."

The giant pyre goes up in flames.

The smoke carries for miles.

Sam looks out at the water, Jack dozing in his arms, as Dean readies the Impala and makes sure all their gear is packed and good to go.

Dusk glitters on the surface of the water, muddy and cold.

Hiding all the secrets underneath.

\--

The next few days are a blur. They can't hop to the Bunker too quick, and it's a long drive.

So they motel hop. Lie low.

Sam worries at how much Dean is drinking in the interim.

Worries, can't help thinking of Dad, of words spoken to Sam when he was young, so young, whiskey heavy on his breath, "You killed her."

Not just because he's thinking of Mary.

But because he's worried Dean might blame Jack the same way.

\--

Lucifer laughs as he hunts Mary across the desert wasteland.

Some Apocalypse world this turned out to be. His version would have been far more scenic. Shows what kind of interior decorating this Michael has a flair for.

"So you thought you could run away from me? Me?" Lucifer laughs, but it's mirthless noise, because his son and Sam are a universe away. And it's her fault. He groans. "Really? You do know I can fly, right?"

Mary spits up blood as Lucifer waves her into a tree. His grace pulls her up on her knees, frostbite eating at her palms.

"So what now? You kill me?" Mary rasps.

"Sure." Lucifer crouches down, not touching her, but his wings are out and Mary has to hide her face so she doesn't get burned up. Then Lucifer's presence draws back, absence giving way to space and trails of dust Mary coughs on. "Or maybe not. Maybe... Maybe I need you. See, Sam knows I've got you. He won't want to leave you here with me. So it's a game of roulette. You stay with me... And I might just give you back. Only fair, seeing as you helped steal Sammy and my son from me."

Then Lucifer clicks his tongue, and hauls Mary upright only to breaks her ribs. Snapping them in half, one by one.

"Or maybe... I kill you, and then I bring you back. We've got some time on our hands. And killing you might summon something interesting. We'll see." Lucifer answers, all vengeful.

\--

"Dean, I think we're being watched." Sam says as they sit outside the Impala in the parking lot, redrawing wards in sheets of paper they stuff in their pockets under the cover of some plants and well-placed trash receptacles.

"You're telling me." Dean grits eyes, surveying the area.

Jack keeps feeding ducks by the pond, throwing in stale lettuce from a sandwich Dean hoarded somewhere but can't make himself eat.

"Angels?" Sam asks.

"Who knows? Nothin's got close. Tell you what. You take the kid to get a proper meal, and I'll keep an eye out." Dean answers.

"You sure you want to be left alone?" Sam asks.

Dean grunts, "I can take care of myself. And we get better service out here. So I'm gonna call Jody, check in, see if she can't help us put a nationwide APB out any suspicious angels or whatever... See if there's any signs to look out for."

"Right." Sam answers, robotic. "Good."

When Sam stands to leave, Dean grabs his arm, and adds, quieter, "Don't ask me to like this, Sam. I can't... I can't be near him right now. Not when Cas..."

Sam jerks out of his grip.

"Fine, Dean. Fine." Then he holds his arm out for Jack to take hold of, and Jack stumbles after him, Sam walking extra slow so Jack can keep up.

Sam would carry him, but he needs to keep his hands free in case of trouble.

\--

Alone in the parking lot, Dean prays to a dead God, and prays to the angel he loves, and punches a wall until his knuckles bleed.

"Give him back." He says to no one. To Billie. To Death. "Give him back."

But Death doesn't bargain.

All the angels in a fifty mile radius hear the intensity of Dean Winchester's grieving prayer.

\--

The door jingles when Sam and Jack walk in. Sam keeps his back close to the door, and surveys every exit.

The place is mostly deserted except for a lady whose makeup is uneven and who smells like sweat and booze. Her dress is an obnoxious animal print that makes Sam's budding headache worse, and he refocuses on the menu, reading the options off to Jack.

Jack asks what milkshakes are. Sam explains.

A drunk lady slurs at the acne-ridden employee at the cash register, irate high-pitched drawl grating out, "Friiiiies."

"Lady, seriously, we don't have fries. It's breakfast only until 11:00. But like I've said three times already, hash browns are basically the same-" The guy tries to talk her down.

"Boo! Fries!" The lady snarls.

The employee sighs and turns to Sam, reciting, all wooden with canned, fake cheer that is almost grateful, because at least they aren't her, "Welcome to Pirate Pete's Jolly Treats. Argh. How can I help you?"

"He wants fries. We all want fries." The lady cuts in, still throwing a tantrum.

"Shut up!" The employee finally snaps through gritted teeth, "Ignore her. She's drunk off her ass."

"Little bit." The lady slurs, and then he phone beeps and she walks off to the side.

“Right, uh, okay, I'm..." Sam starts and inhales, then gathers his thoughts, "I'm looking for a cheeseburger, a cup of coffee, black, two bottled waters, a garden salad, and an order of hash browns. And a vanilla milkshake.” Sam turns down to Jack and murmurs, "If you don't like it we can get something else, okay?"

Jack nods, not having eaten anything except nougat before.

He rubs his stomach. "It feels funny." He says to himself, head tilting.

"I bet you wants fries.” The lady interrupts, eyeing Jack a bit too intently.

Sam holds Jack closer and narrows his eyes. She feels off. Might just be a bad combination of booze and aggression, but still...

Jack peers up at her.

"I don't know?" He says, voice high pitched from the question.

Sam sighs and tries to explain, "Jack, you shouldn't talk to strangers-"

“You and me both, sister." The drunk woman replies before she walks out the glass doors into the parking lot, flip-phone in hand.

Sam scowls as she leaves, then his expression softens again as he looks back down at Jack.

"It's dangerous." Sam continues. Jack looks up at him, drinking in the information.

"But you talked to him." He points at the cash register guy.

"It's different when you aren't a kid. And he works here." Sam tries to explain.

\--

"Whoa. What happened to your hand?" Some black-haired woman bothers Dean as he fills Baby with gas.

"Nothin'." Dean says, all terse.

The woman gabs and gabs anyway, not seeing she's unwanted company. "Doesn't look like nothin'. You punch a wall or somethin'? I punched a wall once. Well, a poster on a wall, but same diff, right? Freshman year, I had this roommate, Becky. She had this giant poster of Elsa. You know, from Frozen? And, I mean, first, who brings something like that to college? A cartoon? Really? Like, 'Hello, homeschool,' right?" She chuckles.

"You done?" Dean answers.

Now he knows the woman is being obnoxious on purpose since she just keeps going, "Anyway, Becky was, and I say this in the most feminist, screw the patriarchy way, a giant super bitch. She'd take things and break things and piss people off and just do whatever she wanted, no matter who it hurt. It's like the whole world was just Becky to her. You know?"

"Mm. So you punched her poster." Dean says, all flat, hoping if he eggs her on she'll walk off.

"And lit most of her stuff on fire. I got issues." The woman answers with a shrug.

Then Dean catches sight of Sam exiting the fast food joint, and Sam calls, noticing the blood on Dean's knuckles. "Dude, what'd you do to your hand?"

"Don't ask. He's super sensitive." The drunk lady from earlier answers.

She watches the car speed off, Sam handing off the burger to Dean as he floors the gas to get away.

\--

The angels can't quite get close to Jack or the Winchesters yet. Only can observe.

But they wait to ambush them, all the same.

They did spike their drinks, after all.

\--

Sam gets dizzy and sick thirty minutes down the road.

When they make it to the next rest stop, Sam runs to the edges of the bushes and tries to catch his breath, dizzy.

Then he's puking his guts out, and Dean keeps Jack in his sight as he helps Sam to the restrooms. On the way out, Dean nicks some jerky.

And Sam sees the angels incoming, a second too late.

"Jack!" He yells in warning.

Something heavy and round shatters the nearby window and showers Sam's head with glass. He ducks, and then the drugs have done their work, downing Sam instantly.

An angel picks him up and holds an angel blade to Sam's throat, stopping Jack from throwing him back. Even Jack can see using his powers would only lead to Sam getting hurt.

Jack stays cornered at the other side of the room, the same drunk lady who is really an angel in his face, as Dean tries to rise from the floor.

Two other angels walk through the door as it jingles, another three coming out from back around the restrooms.

An angel blade gets snatched out of Miriam's purse to settle in her palm. Dean can see the nametag on her purse, now.

"I don't know what he's told you." The angel says to Jack before she plans on stealing him. "I mean, I can guess. Some line about how he and your daddy save the world. Grr. So macho, But really, he's not a hero. He's Becky."

"Becky? The roommate Becky?" Dean asks, trying to keep her talking while he tries to find a way to break the trap, or douse them in holy oil, or recover the angel blade...

Miriam tilts her head, eyebrows arching as she explains. "You take things and break things and piss people off and just do whatever you want, no matter who it hurts. Also, you're a giant super bitch."

"Well, it takes one to know one." Dean counters.

"So, yeah, you're Becky, and Becky needs to die." Miriam continues.

"Why are you here?" Dean asks.

Miriam sneers as she answers, "We want the Golden Ticket. Lucifer 2: Electric Boogaloo."

"Why?" Dean asks.

"Because Bieber? He can do almost anything."

"Anything?" Dean asks, longing clear on his face.

Miriam laughs. "Oh, sweetie. Almost anything. Castiel, he's dead. All the way dead, because of you."

"Stay away from the kid." Dean warns.

And Sam starts to come to, and the angels wrap it up, knowing he's a raging inferno from the get-go.

Three angels burn out as Sam goes to work, but with ten of them in between him and Jack, Miriam has enough time to make her play.

"I won't let you have him-" Sam rasps, burning the ninth angel out as Miriam clutches his son.

"You're right. But if we can't have him," Miriam answers, "No one can."

An angel blade stabbed Jack in the stomach.

Sam screams, "Jack!"

Jack burns Miriam to ash and pulls the blade out, slow and sticky with his own blood. The wound heals.

"I'm fine." Jack answers. Then he sways and passes out.

Sam gathers him up in his arms and rushes back to the Impala.

They shouldn't have stopped.

They need to find somewhere safe, somewhere warded, and fast.

\--

"How's the kid?" Dean asks when they're back in Baby.

"He's gonna be all right." Sam answers, still shaky. Jack is stable, and there's no wound, but all the exertion from throwing around those other angels really tired him out. "I mean, Angel Radio sets his brain on fire, but other than that-"

"So apparently, he can take an angel blade to the heart and keep on tickin'." Dean marvels.

"Yeah. I guess." Sam's voice is tight with worry. "Listen, this is the third time we've run into angels this week... I... I think we should take him back to the Bunker with us. I know what you're gonna say-"

"I agree." Dean answers.

"What?" Sam asks, thrown.

"I agree." Dean repeats.

"So you changed your mind?" Sam asks hopefully.

"No. No, nothin's changed. He's still the Devil's kid. And even if he hasn't gone Big Bad yet, he will."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do."

"He's my son, too-"

"Sam. When have things ever gone right for us, or you? So until I figure out a way to get you to see that, we'll bring him home. At least there, the only people he can hurt are you and me." Dean finishes, not brooking any argument.

Sam will fight him about that later.

For now, he has the assurances Jack will have a home that Dean won't keep him from.


	108. Mouthful of Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by phantogram
> 
> semi relevant stuff salvaged from a previous deleted section:
> 
> Jack dozes in the back of the Impala, all stretched over the backseat while Dean and Sam talk.  
> While he does, Dean keeps worrying and voicing his worries under his breath.  
> "He only looks like a kid, Sam. He's like something out of the Shining-"  
> "Dean, he's half-angel. Who knows how their biology works. Hell, Gabriel shape-shifted all the time..." Sam argues.  
> "We don't even know what his deal is-" Dean hisses, the radio mostly drowning him out.  
> "Dean, Jack is not evil. He... He... He's just a kid." Sam answers. "You said-"  
> "I know what I said. But Sam... Be careful. He's... He's Lucifer's son, too."  
> "Don't. Dean. Don't." Sam answers.  
> And that ends that discussion.  
> While he drives, Dean stews in silence, because he knows Sam could never forget that, but Dean has never gotten over how Lucifer got Sam in his clutches at Bobby's the first time, and that fear bleeds into the grief and the anger and the pain until Dean shoves it down to blame. Except he can't blame Sam.  
> But he can blame Jack.  
> The radio gets turned on, low and quiet, and Sam puts on "Hey Jude" even though it makes them both think of Mom.

It's a few weeks before Dean's inability to cope with Castiel's death or Sam's son being the child of Satan blows up in their faces again.

"How was it? Jody told me about Missouri, that's... I hope she's at peace." Sam trails off.

"Yeah, just another day at the office." Dean answers, gruff exhaustion permeating everything as he doesn't acknowledge the loss, it's too near all the other losses. Then his tone changes. "How's the kid, he go darkside yet?"

Sam closes his eyes, jaw tensing as he shakes his head. He'd been expecting this, honestly. Dean was not dealing with his grief for Castiel well at all, and Sam wasn't going to let Jack bear the brunt of it. There's a reason he'd packed a bag early.

"Nope." Sam manages to grind out. Then he inhales, swiveling around in the chair. One hand almost clenches into a fist as Sam's hand lays out against the table.

He'll try once, for Dean's sake, for his own, because he doesn't want to do this alone. But he needs to protect Jack.

"He's pretty messed up, though." Sam continues, waiting to see if Dean will admit anything on his own.

Dean gives his a pointed look, chin raised. "You're telling me." He grumbles and looks away, like he knows he should feel shame but doesn't.

Sam forces himself to remain seated and for his voice to say quiet and level.

"No, Dean. He's messed up because of you." Sam answers.

Sam stares Dean down.

Dean blinks and stares back, not giving ground.

Sam's fist raps on the table as he adds, "Dean," And Sam can't help it, he fidgets, trying to quell the rage, the need to fight, "You said you'd kill him."

**You know what I promised.**

Dean does look away at that. "It wasn't exactly like that," He deflects, excuses, like he always does-

And rage, pure rage from being used, from everything Sam's been keeping on backburner from Dean's behavior, his avoidance, from everything he always did to back John up when they were children, from all the things before the Apocalypse and after, from the trials, from the Mark, from Gadreel, from Lucifer and how he still used all that as a weapon, for Sam himself, for his son, sets Sam on fire, because it's always the same with Dean, and Sam's done with blindly accepting it because he has nowhere else to go and no one else to rely on.

Sam still keeps himself calm, though. He will wait this out. Someone has to be the adult here, and it sure as hell isn't Dean. "Then how exactly was it?" Sam prompts.

"I told him the truth." Dean starts. And Sam almost lashes out then, but sees it's not the truth he's banned Dean from saying, not the reality of Jack's conception, so Sam waits, lets Dean say his piece. Waits it out like he knows he should, to see if the situation is any kind of salvageable. He already knows it isn't, but he needs to know how much on warpath Dean is now.

"See, you think you can teach this freak, you think there's good in him," Dean says, caustic, "You think you can protect him, that it will all be okay, like you always do. But I know how this ends, and so do you. We lived through it before. And I'm not letting you relive this, for you to suffer another nightmare because you believe in some... _thing_ that doesn't deserve it. Stop kidding yourself, Sam. Trying with the kid, helping him develop his powers, thinking he's going to turn out all right... It doesn't matter if he's blood. He's not all human, and it shows, and he's going to end up bad."

"I didn't." Sam answers, too still.

"What?" Dean growls.

"I didn't end bad." Sam answers, enunciating every word. He gestures to himself, airquotes, "When I was the 'freak'." Sam hisses as he rises, hands on his thighs, until he gestures, punctuates, "When I was drinking demon blood."

Dean scrunches up his eyes and turns his head. "C'mon man, that's totally different."

"Was it? Because you could have put a bullet in me." Sam counters, and then his voice raises, ignites, as he points at his brother, "Dad told you to put a bullet in me, but you didn't." Sam yells.

Dean licks his lips and looks down, voice at a loss.

There is too much history there.

"You saved me. When we were at the Cemetery, you saved me." Sam adds, still accusatory, "So help me save him."

"You deserved to be saved," Dean's raising his voice now, "He doesn't."

"He does, Dean. Of course he does." Sam answers, vehement. "He's a kid."

"When has that ever mattered? Sam, I know that you want to use him as some inter-dimensional can opener, and that's fine." Dean sneers, and then he's bellowing, "But don't act like you care about him. You, of all people, know what he is to you. So if you want to pretend... That's fine. Me? I can hardly look at the kid. Cause when I do all I see is everything and everybody we've lost."

"Mom chose to take that shot on Lucifer, that is not on Jack." Sam gets in Dean's face, unable to keep the rage back anymore. He had to live through it all. Not Dean. Dean doesn't get to pretend he's fighting for Sam here.

"And what about Cas?" Dean challenges.

"What about him?"

"He got him dead. Now, you might be able to forget about that, but I can't." Dean shouts, and then his voice becomes a hiss. "And I can't forget everything that was done to you because of him either. You can't save him, Sam. He's already too much like Lu-"

"Get out." Sam snarls, and pushes Dean away.

"Sam, don't-"

"GET OUT. YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MY SON, DEAN." Sam yells. "And you stay the Hell away from me."

"Sam, I have to protect you, you're all I have left-" Dean answers as he looks at him, speechless, bereft, still furious from all the fear-

"Get. Out." Sam repeats, with less volume, but more force as he shoves Dean back, throwing the bag he's packed into his arms. "Or I will take him and go."

Dean doesn't fight back, though, however much he might want to.

He walks out the door, the bag of essentials in hand.

Sam knows this isn't over.

He hopes Jack didn't hear any of that and goes to find him...

Only when he does, Jack is gone.


	109. Misguided Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by paramore
> 
> also I was gonna add some of the Jack Sam canon conversation without the jumping through hoops to dismiss Dean's behavior but I never got that far so it's happened off screen in between this

It takes Sam driving ten miles aimlessly out of Kansas before he's even able to pull over on the shoulder and find enough air in his lungs to make noise enough to be heard over the less than stellar cellular service, which says something, seeing as Sam does get a better connection than most thanks to the perils of the job and his own innate need to ensure things can't go pear-shaped. (Which they have, they definitely have, although not for the reasons Sam had been expecting- or he had, but had hoped and prayed otherwise, which honestly hadn't been a good thing to bet on, in hindsight.)

"Hey, Jody. It's me." Sam rasps, swallows, then collects his voice, adding, "I don't mean to impose, but I didn't know where else to go, and... I need your help."

His voice shakes despite himself.

The grief, even though familiar, is always a punch to the gut.

Calling Jody hadn't exactly been the plan. She'd always been a friend, and reliable, but there had always been this invisible line in the sand, separating Sam out from the rest of the world that wasn't Cas and Dean and the bubble he'd found himself isolated in. Once he kept failing to get out of the life and things slipped from his grasp so easily after the Cage, and after all the fallout and blackmail and need to keep people out of the radius of disaster that follows Sam like a curse, thanks to Lucifer- and after Owen, and needing to make things right by giving Jody and Donna and Claire and Alex space- Sam had found himself clamming up and keeping them at arm's length, out of principle, because even if it wouldn't protect them it would at least insulate them better than it would keeping them in the eye of the storm, and because he didn't want to drag them into anything when they already had enough of their own lives to worry about.

But Sam found his hand clutching the phone like a lifeline, a feeling of sharp, fuzzy swallowing pain deep in his throat, making it hard to breathe right.

He hasn't always had the best track record, trusting people, having so often been taught to doubt, to second-guess, both from his own mistakes and the habit of others to play mindgames that Sam still finds himself falling for even against his better judgement.

That, and Sam knows he leaves a lot. (Dean hadn't hesitated in reminding him.)

But it was all for good reasons- some unavoidable, always necessary, and while Sam often wishes he didn't have to, it doesn't change what must be done.

It didn't make it easier, even though he knows this is the only decision he can make.

And he can't let Jack live a life like his.

He's suffered too much to let the kid bear his burdens, or fight his battles, or abandon him to his own.

Coming back was always a choice for Sam, even if it wasn't always a choice freely given. But he sure as Hell wasn't going to make that choice for anyone else.

Not when it's his son that's on the line here. (Not when he needs to prove that he can do this, not just for Jack's sake, or Dean's so he realizes this can't continue and that he needs to get help or there's no going back, but because some part of him also needs to prove that festering fear and anger and exhaustion hasn't won, hasn't poisoned him against an innocent child who had just as much control over his fate as Sam did under Lucifer's thumb, and not when Sam needs to prove that he isn't drowning from all the other things he's been trying to pretend aren't an issue.)

Sam loves Jack. He loves him unconditionally, with all his heart, and he will keep him safe.

But if he's going to keep him safe from Lucifer, and the rest of the world, and Heaven, and Hell, and Dean, he's got to keep him safe from himself, too.

And that means Sam has to take care of himself just as much as the kid, because you can't save or protect or guide anyone when you are drowning, too.

Sam is scared. Sam is scared all the time and he doesn't know if it's fear around the kid or of the kid when he knows it's both, really, and Sam knows he hasn't been dealing with that, even if the only thing he's done wrong is not be proactive enough in addressing how much he hasn't been processing.

He knows he can't do this alone. There's too much pain there, too many fears and wild, eternal things that keep Sam from ever feeling safe, even around this child that has power he can't control, a power that is both Lucifer's and Sam's- and neither of them because Jack is his own person and he will learn to live for himself- then Sam will just have to find a way to cope and deal and not let himself get in his own way, helping the kid through it, helping the kid just be a kid and not a pawn or a weapon or a vessel for misfired rage and grief and pain that wasn't his responsibility, not when all he did was exist and when Lucifer was really the one to blame, just as Dean was responsible for not dealing with his own emotional outbursts or intents when it came to Jack's wellbeing.

Just as Sam won't risk Jack's physical or mental health from others, Sam can't and won't risk fucking his kid up on his own. Not like John did with them, not like God did with everyone, and part of taking responsibility was realizing that Sam didn't have the support he needed and that he needed to re-adjust the plan and adapt, because that's all you can do when life throws these things at you and expects you to survive.

Before, Cas was going to help, and had been preparing with Sam and Kelly while they tried to find a way to do this together and to make things go right- but that had been wrong, like Sam always was, and now both of them were gone and dead and there was no one else left except Dean who was close enough for Sam to cling to...

Except Dean hadn't ever dealt with what had hurt them, what he still chose to follow, in the ways he'd echoed John, too, no matter how much he feared turning into him.

Sam couldn't let himself settle for that.

And Sam wouldn't let himself pretend that couldn't be him, too, that looking in the mirror didn't betray other fears of what was looking back.

If he was going to be a parent... He had to parent.

And that meant knowing when he wasn't ready or good enough to do it alone.

That meant admitting when he was afraid, and angry, and ill-equipped to deal with it, and knowing when to step back, because you can't parent a kid when you're fucking terrified both of hurting them and of what they could do and of what they had already managed to do to you, even if it's no fault of Jack's own.

Failing to take responsibility had been a legacy John and Chuck and Lucifer had left Sam with, a legacy he would not bury himself under and drown and choke in, not when he could change it for himself and everyone he could manage to save.

And if Dean couldn't bear the weight on his own, if he was smothered under that same weight he'd never really escaped- then he had to acknowledge that, and deal with it, and while Sam could help, he could not save him, couldn't make any more excuses, just as he could not enable Dean to hurt others, to render Jo's and Ellen's and Bobby's Castiel's hopes and dreams and sacrifices moot.

Sam loved him. He'd loved his brother even after Gadreel, and the Mark, and every other time Dean made a call that Sam felt was more guilt-trip than choice.

But just as Sam would not let Dean make the call for him to stay back at that doorstep when he left for Stanford, just as Sam told Lucifer no and meant it despite everything else that always followed... Sam made his choice. He would not let Dean bury himself or Jack right along with him.

When it came down to the wire, you could only ever save yourself, and hope that it gives those around you the strength to believe that they could act, to reach out to who they could rely on, then break free and save themselves, too.


	110. Detox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by angel haze

There is something about distance from an event that cushions every fall.

Leaving Dean shouldn't be this easy, not after so many times, so many regrets, so many fears...

It is.

And this time, while there is a familiarity there, a nostalgia Sam doesn't want to linger on, something feels pulled taut, like this time there's no slack left to give, no matter how much he tries to hide from the things that are long-ingrained habits.

(It's a little too much like Stanford, on walking off the doorstep and into the night, or walking out into the night after facing down the barrel of Bobby's shotgun, of driving listless down a highway and speeding faster and faster after Dean and Cas exploded and Sam was left with no one to steer except the echoes of blond hair and a killer smile and the false-sympathy of the one person whose never left him well enough alone, but it's not. It's not that at all, but all the same, it winds Sam with the same constant pressure and feeling of weightless, directionless loss and fear anyway.)

Sam is surprised he even remembers how that felt back then, after all these lifetimes of being reborn in the ashes of his own charred bones, rejoined body and soul left out to dry and crackle under the false light of a sun, the shadow of the only God left down below, until the Devil breathes his own lifeblood into Sam's lungs and gathers up ripped out teeth so he can screw them back into Sam's gums, and Sam is aware of every second because he never died at all, was only suspended in a state without beginning or end, the only difference between before and after when the inevitable always happened. It never took long before Lucifer bought him back to life, hanging above Sam's throat until they are mouth to mouth, a fallen star setting Sam alight as he scoops up his vessel's painstakingly remade image with the gentle-bright cradle of his wings.

Coming back never hurt, and that was the worst part. Lucifer was a monster who made all the pain fade into a joy so complete it felt like it will fill Sam and overflow, the rustling whispers rustling through Sam's skin all crowning glory and a need so endless Sam almost forgot every second of eternity until the contact ended and awareness breached and the shame gnawed through veins and teeth and broken skin all over again.)

It's not that time heals all wounds- the wounds are always there, always band-aids ready to be ripped off- but there is scar tissue, and it's harder to breach. Sometimes, all of Sam's soul might as well be crisscrossing veins of reinforced membranes and remembrances and awareness, stitched and stitched and then coiled back over, threading a needle through all he's ever been, without temporality, just existing in this half here, half-formed state, with eyes looking at him waiting to fill him up with Light and Ice and Teeth so that he can be anything other than an empty vessel.

Except Lucifer has never wanted him empty, he likes being crowded and tactile and close, so close Sam's lit-matchstick soul will keep him from flash-freezing back into ice while all the Archangels being melts in all the empty nooks and crannies around him, nestling in every hole and crevice and hiding place and open wound that Sam or the Devil itself has never sewed back up.

In Georgia, even while apart, Sam could feel that gracelight lighting him up from the inside-out, could feel the cold, flat palm of the devil drumming and thumbing over his ribs while the other splayed against the back of Sam's head, knotting up his hair and tight against his scalp, and he's forehead to forehead with the Devil's puppet mask of flesh and smiles while Lucifer breathes, _c'mon Sammy_ , _open up_ , and lips are crushing every bit of air Sam can't quite inhale, the contact pushing his face down with the slow coax of lips that are soft but taste like blood and wet and warmth with an old, terrible laughter that make Sam's lips chapped and aching and something low thrum in his sternum, a flighty feeling of panic or want or addiction that he pretends doesn't send him reeling.

_you're so shy, even after all these years. just like you were in the beginning, you remember?_

Only Sam doesn't care if he does, not anymore.

Fact is, replacing a headlight and pumping gas in the Impala on this too-warmth, muggy night, when Sam's feet are firmly planted on solid ground and the Devil is a world and a universe away, the back of Sam's leather jacket still prickles with cold sweat despite the thermometer reading 72 degrees and the heat of Baby's hood burning hot against Sam's palm.

It still never feels any farther away from Hell or Lucifer or captivity, not at all. The Cage had been vast, and endless like the horizon too, even if it's walls never felt far, because Lucifer took up all the space he can and backed Sam up into claustrophobic closeness until he knew nothing else (except when he left, when he left, and that was like being unmade all over again)-

But every time that feeling of too-tight undoing wants to uncoil in Sam's chest- every time he thinks of Castiel's punctured throat and dead, glassy eyes in Jimmy's skin, or Lucifer's curled grin, or Dean's ground-teeth booming words said in haste and raw loss and hate and that feeling of uselessness echo in Sam's head- he looks at the small his dozing son in the passenger seat, Jack's chin tucked to his chest, at his closed golden eyes, and thin rise and fall of his son's careful, delicate breaths that could so easily forget to breathe...

And Sam knows one other thing: sometimes, you are so focused on not-dying, on surviving, on forgetting the realities of being born and born again, that you forget how to live.

And he promises himself that he will not go on like that, and that he won't let the same tired runaround feeling of eternity and shambling haze of non-identity ever touch Jack, or himself, because he can't parent him trapped in the mire of his own failures, and he owes it to the both of them to remember how to smile, how to laugh, how to latch on to a moment and not fear the consequences and to let loose and feel like eternity is miles and miles away.

Sam can't take care of anyone if he doesn't let himself choose, doesn't let himself breathe, doesn't let himself run and lick his wounds and carry his son down a safer road to a new future Sam has never been able to hold tight.

But Sam has never let go. And he will harness the free, empty dawn that stretches out along the stretch of highway that's bereft of decisions or judgments or purposes already manufactured and made for them, for his son, because even if he's not allowed to keep his dreams of living free and safe, he will be like Icarus and reach for the stars and take the plunge back down on false wings and a memory of hope if it means Jack will soar on the skies Sam has cleared before him.

\--

When Sam revs up the car again, his hands are steady on the wheel, and his breaths don't feel so tight or full of icicles.

Twelve exits and three truck stops down the road, halfway to Sioux Falls, Jack slouches awake with a yawn and stretches stick-thin limbs, face half-sticking to the flannel hoodie he's used as a makeshift pillow.

Then Jack turns the dial up on the radio, fiddling with the dials for a minute, until he settles on a beat that makes him smile and tap his feet, and Sam listens to him hum and mumble the words of a band Sam doesn't recognize at all, and when Sam glances out of the corner of his eyes, he tries to remember what is was like to sing Bob Seger off-key instead of worship and Enochian hymns.


	111. Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by depeche mode
> 
> there is part of another chapter in here because chronologically it went earlier than other events but i'm not sure where...

"Why on earth would you trust me with a child?" Rowena finally asks him. "I'm not saying no, Sam. But... I don't understand. You know my track record, with my own family. And you know I'm not good with little ones, and I mean, your son, he's yours, but he's... he's his, and why would you trust me, with him?"

Not good with them is an understatement.

Sam gives her a hard look, all flinty, and then the exhaustion burns though, sagging through every limb.

"Because I don't know who else to ask, and when it comes to having powers, using them, and teaching them... Well, you're the only person I can trust. You're the only person alive who has seen Lucifer for who he really is. And I can't do it alone. There's too many people after Jack... And... And if Dean tries something, well... I know you won't hold back." Sam answers. "I don't know how to teach Jack, or protect him, not on my own. I have powers, but I haven't used them in so long, I don't even know if it'll work to help him with his, and honestly... I have no idea what I am doing. Jody- Jody knows better than me, and I can trust her, with helping with the parenting and teaching me how this is supposed to go. You don't need to take that on, I know where you are coming from, and honestly, I wouldn't ask you, for something like that. But when it comes to magic, and power, and expertise... And when it comes to common enemies, well... You said it best. We both have an understanding, and I know, even when we might be at odds, that there are some things we just... Trust each other, with, some things no one else understands- and I know you're in my corner, because we want the same thing. And I know you know that I won't let anything happen to Jack. He's my son, first and foremost. And I need your help to protect him from everything else until he's safe enough to handle himself, until he's not defenseless, or when Jack is too powerful- he doesn't have the judgement or the control or the emotional range to understand the scope of it all, to keep himself and people around him safe from what he can do, and that shouldn't be on him. He's a kid- and if I'm going to let him be a kid, he needs a good teacher. And so do I."

\--

Dean shows up at Jody's two weeks later, but doesn't come in. Just waits outside in the street.

Sam goes out to meet him, but makes sure Jack is inside with Donna and the others. Jody follows Sam out.

"Sam," Dean slurs, drunker than ever. He looks like Hell, bags under his eyes, five o'clock shadow, the whole deal. "Sam, I'm sorry, I just..."

"What are you doing here, Dean?" Sam asks, quiet.

Dean hugs him, and Sam can smell the whiskey on his breath, so strong. Dean's hands shake.

Then Dean actually starts crying in Sam's shoulder. Dean never cries. He's cried maybe three times in front of Sam as an adult.

"I don't want to be him," Dean sobs, holder Sam tight. Sam tries to hold him up, a lot of Dean's weight leaning too much on him.

"Who?" Sam asks softly, trying to focus.

"Dad. I don't want to turn into him and I don't know how not to and I don't want to have to be someone you run away from. Not again." Dean chokes, hugging Sam tighter. "And I don't want to be like _him_."

Sam swallows and tries not to think of Lucifer, of all the arguments he ever made about anything.

"What do you mean?" Sam asks. He freezes up.

Dean looks at Sam head on, expression haunted and his own heart jumping in his throat.

"He always said... He always said I was too much like him in all the worst ways. That I made you have to run away from me. That that's half the reason you always came back to him, why you needed..." And even drunk, Dean sees how stiff Sam goes, how his eyes blink, and he stops, and keeps going, softer now. "He said that I never gave you choices or took what you wanted into account. And he said I was just like him, because I never changed. I can't be him, Sam. I can't." Dean's voice breaks off. "And I think I've started to. And I scared, Sammy. I'm so scared I'll look in the mirror and not know who I am anymore..."

 ** _That I will hurt you and ruin your life like he did in a different way. I'm scared I already have since that time I dragged you back into the life in the beginning._** Sam sees on Dean's face, although Dean doesn't say it.

Sam almost forgot Dean had been dealing with Lucifer, too. Only he hadn't. Sam just hadn't wanted to think about it, because he had his own things to handle. Way too many things. But there's no way Dean came out unscathed on the other side of it all.

"Dean. Dean, listen. You aren't going to be like him. You just need help. Okay? You need to get help. Then we can fix this."

"Okay, Sam. Okay. I'll do it." And Dean cries harder. "I just don't want to lose you again. And I don't want to ever let him hurt you, I swear. I won't turn into either of them. I just... I had to let you know."

"I know, Dean. It's... We'll figure this out. But you need to stay away from Jack, okay? At least until you get better and I know you won't do something..."

Dean nods, then sits on the edge of the lawn as Sam turns to go.

"We'll talk later, okay? You just... rest." Sam adds, turning back around, and then he heads back inside to the others, to Jack.

Dean watches him walk away. Sam tosses Jody the keys to the Impala before he heads back inside. Jody doesn't leave, though. She gets Dean a lawn chair from the garage and stows in the Impala, and Sam lets her drive Baby with Dean as a passenger to whatever park or place they are going to situate Dean in the meantime.

Jody has a lot to say to Dean on her own. Dean listens.

Sam passes the day with Jack, Donna, Rowena, and Claire. They go out for lunch and get flatbread pizza (Jack's new favorite food that isn't candy) and feed some ducks proper duck-appropriate food at a pond and check Niagara Falls and then head back to the house and make dinner. Sam watches a movie with Jack and reads to him before he sings Jack to sleep.

After Jack has dozed off and is tucked into bed, safe, peaceful, Sam heads outside to where the Impala just parked, Jody and Dean back from their trip and talk and everything.

The stars blink overhead. Sam grabs another lawn chair and sits with his brother, both of them quiet and watching the sky. Dean asks if Sam's planned anything for the fourth of July. Sam answers they are going out for fireworks in the woods.

Dean smiles a watery smile Sam can see in the darkness, thanks to the light of the stars and the three-quarter full moon shining down on them.

And Sam can't let Dean stay there for the night. He can't let him drive back wherever he came from drunk, either.

But he does let him sleep in the Impala for the night. (After he wards the house so Dean or any weapons he might have can't get in, does so for the third time, checking them all over. Sam can't chance it. He can't.)

Sam sleeps in Jack's room on an extra mattress Donna dragged in for him. Makes sure he can see him at all times, in case something comes for him.

Sam doesn't sleep one wink that night. Lucifer's face stares at him no matter what he does to try and banish it, and Sam just stares at the nightlight by Jack's bed until it's seared into his eyelids instead.

Jack doesn't like the dark. Sam used to be like that. Now Sam's afraid of both, things too bright (too cold) and too dark (too empty, pure emptiness with nothing and no one and you are slipping away...).

The nightlight is a good compromise for both of them.

\--

The next morning, Sam brings Dean breakfast outside by the lawn, homemade waffles he made with Jody and Donna on a plastic plate with plastic utensils along with some water for the road. Rowena and Jack watch from the window. Donna and Jody walk with Sam down to the driveway.

Jody and Donna hug Dean, say a few words of comfort and support and give him the numbers he needs to call. Dean lets them.

Dean gives Sam the keys back.

"You take good care of Baby." Dean asks, real quiet, with red rimmed eyes before he goes away again.

Sam promises he will. Dean won't take her back right now. Says Sam still needs her more than him.

But Sam does have Rowena and Donna check for anything left in the car.

He can't trust Dean, not yet. Not on the off chance he might try to still hurt Jack or take him away or kill him thinking he's protecting Sam...

Hell, Dean doesn't even trust himself or remember what he's doing half the time.

\--

Dean calls Sam that night.

"Hey... I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries. I know... I know you don't want me near you or... Right now. I just..."

"Dean, I don't want to shut you out. But I can't let you come back unless you get help. I can't risk you being near my son. You... You of all people should understand. You basically raised me. You did your best. And I've got to do the same thing for my son. He... He has to be my priority right now. He needs me."

"Okay."

"And I can't handle your emotions on top of mine right now. I just... I have my own stuff to work though-"

"Sam. Sammy, trust me. I understand. I... You do whatever you have to. It's just... What do I have to do? To be trustworthy again?"

"I can give you some references. First thing you need to handle is... None of us are dealing with Cas being gone, but you... I mean... And I can't have you drinking yourself into oblivion, this time. You need to talk to someone. Jody even will help, if you want to, but you need to talk to a professional, this time. Jody and Donna and Alex know some people, hunters, who are in the life... Or got out, but they know the deal. And if you want to be around me, and maybe even have a chance of me letting you near Jack, you need to talk to someone and get a handle on the alcoholism. You hearing me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. I'll see... I'll talk to them. Am I... Am I still allowed to call you?"

"Yeah, of course, Dean. I'm not... I'm not cutting you out of my life, Dean. I just can't field all of your stuff on top of mine, I need to take a step back. And I wish I could let you stay. I really do. But you need-"

"I know. I'll... I'll do whatever I have to. I'll... I'll handle it."

"Okay." Sam swallows. "Okay. You... I have to go, but you get some sleep, okay? Take care of yourself, best as you can, right now?"

"Yeah. Course, Sammy. You don't... Don't worry about me."

"Okay. Call me or Donna or Jody or Rowena if it's an emergency, okay?"

"Okay. Okay." Dean repeats. "Goodnight, Sammy."

"Goodnight, Dean."


	112. Teenagers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by my chemical romance

Sam hasn't been used to being sick with an actual, regular, non-magic virus for a few years now. Back during the Apocalypse, Lucifer kept him from catching much, and after the Cage, Lucifer's grace still had aftereffects. That, paired with Sam's general eating habits and exercise regime usually means he avoids the worst of being sick more often than not.

That tanked after the Trials when Sam's body started to fail, and his immune system was compromised, even after Gadreel. But Sam still got over things quickly, all things considered. He had to look out for physical injuries more. Concussions. Broken limbs. Torture, or heat and cold exposure, thanks to Cole and other people not exactly being gentle.

Avoiding scythes and hammers aimed at the head by his brother.

That sort of thing.

Once all that craziness abated, well, then it had been unleashing God and the Darkness and Amara, and then Lucifer got out, and Sam...

Sam could feel the stasis setting in, in hindsight. Lucifer always made sure to leave his mark and make sure Sam knew he was along for the long haul whether he was on board or not.

And during and after Georgia, well, whatever Lucifer did, between whatever was injected into Sam from the IVs and the rest of it, Sam hasn't been sick in a long while.

But Lucifer's been banished to the other dimension for a while now, and with that, Sam's beard has started to regrow, he's started to age more visibly again, and he's been more often than not able to get sick. The grace is still there, of course. Cas has been too afraid to try and get rid of it, seeing how closely Lucifer's long since grafted his presence inside Sam's skin...

But that hasn't stopped germs from coming out to play, thanks to everyday human biology.

Case in point, Sam has chills, a fever, and a splitting headache.

His throat feels rubbed raw.

It's sort of overdue, if he thinks about it. After all the combined stress of escaping, and rescuing Dean, and being recaptured, and escaping again, and facing down Lucifer, and recovering Jack, raising him for a few months now...

All the combined stress and the relative safety Sam now finds himself in has made his whole routine and body go haywire. It's like his body knows it is relatively safe now, so everything crashed all at once.

Sam rests in bed. Jody and Donna have insisted on Jack and Sam staying with them, and Rowena has basically become another semi-permanent resident, while Cas and Dean have been visiting more and stopping by every day.

Dean's been improving a lot, now that Cas is back, and that he's actually working on actual coping mechanisms. Therapy has been really good for him.

They still don't let him stick around Jack alone or for too long until Dean proves he can stop himself from having an episode, but he's been a lot nicer and more open to the kid, now that he's finally readjusting. Cas keeps watch, too, along with Jody, Donna, and Rowena and Sam, so it's been easier. Claire has also been a godsend, seeing as Jack and her are thick as thieves, and Claire gets along fairly well with Dean by now, despite all the history.

Supernatural-wise, it's been really quiet. Not too many angels are foolish enough to try and get close, most of the higher up demons are dead or secluding themselves in Hell...

Things are finally looking up. 

If not for Sam being sick (and the remnants of everything he still hasn't entirely dealt with, although he is trying, Mia's been a real help there), he'd say things are finally peaceful.

He needed the break from hunting. He's got it. And he's been using that time to figure out how to raise his son.

Things... Things aren't bad. Sam's trying his best, and some days are really good...

Today just isn't one of them.

Fevers never make Sam do well. Everyone knows to look out for that, seeing as it reopens old wounds. Dean's even keeping an eye out with Cas, because they know what happens there, and Castiel's grace can't do much for Sam. Not since Lucifer did whatever he did.

Jack visits Sam as he rests more often than not. Sam was initially not on board, not wanting to chance his son getting sick, seeing as he's still a six months old and half-human, but Cas and Rowena have done enough routine tests that it looks like Jack isn't susceptible to most diseases, which is a relief.

So Jack usually curls up next to Sam. Makes broth with tofu or noodles (not chicken, because Sam still can't stomach meat after all this time), and snuggles next to him over the blankets, or fluffs Sam's pillows to help.

It's comforting. Having him there. Having him safe.

Sam does make him leave the room when he can feel an episode of his own coming on, though. He usually can tell when he's about to get worse.

The shivery kicks up.

Cas usually can take a hint, too, and gets Jack out of there before Sam is too out of it.

They don't catch everything.

Sometimes Sam falls asleep and dozes without realizing it, though, and Jack can still hear him making tiny snuffling noises, or whimpers, or whispers and snatches of phrases, of words in a language he does not understand. Jack cuddles closer when that happens, which usually calms Sam's sleeping form down, ever so slightly.

He doesn't like people making him leave, so unless Sam gets too loud and other people notice, Jack just stays there, draws the covers up around his Dad, and watches movies on Sam's laptop, or plays the gameboy Dean found in a garage-sale as an apology gift from before.

He likes Pokemon and all the animals, particularly Sunflora, Meganium, and Bulbasaur, on the account he likes that they look so happy and green. After that, Cas and Donna saved up to find him a bunch of the games, so he's been chatting their ear off about it. Cas doesn't entirely understand the premise, but Rowena basically says it's like magical familiars and eventually they all reach a consensus on what exactly the games are about. Cas and Jack have been staying up to catch them all, seeing as Cas doesn't sleep and Jack needs half the amount a human does, and eventually Cas even gets into the story with Jack, although they've teamed up to baffle Dean and Donna about it. Jody knows about it, though, from Owen.

Speaking of: Owen himself hasn't been acting strange for his age, but he still hasn't said a word since Lucifer resurrected him back at Asa's funeral. Jack tries to get him to play Pokemon with him, and Owen does, although he likes playing checkers or hopscotch with Jack more.

Other than that, Jack watches shows from Star Trek to Sesame Street to Die Hard (when he snuck downstairs one night and sat down next to Dean when he was staying over on the couch, who let him stick around and watch, considering Sam never said Jack couldn't watch the movie, although Cas caught them halfway through and shut that down while Sam was asleep), and he reads books ranging from Dr. Seuss to stuff like Paradise Lost, although Cas and Dean both elected to maybe have him read something else when they found out about the latter. Aside from that one gaffe, Dean had thought the idea of Jack being so smart was a riot, said it was just like Sam's kid to be a nerd reading comes easy to him, like the numbers. Jack knows he's being so enthusiastic about it because he's still scared of Jack. Jack can tell. But he's trying, so Jack and Dean get along more often than not, provided Dean treats him like a weird genius kid with odd quirks and not the child of an archangel. Doesn't change the fact that whenever Jack gets excited or emotional and his wings show or his grace flares up, Dean immediately leaves the house. But Sam makes sure Jack knows it's not him. It's just Dean, and part of his adjusting to recovery. He'll get used to it, eventually.

Thankfully, Jack is less scared of Dean now. Enough so that when he's home with the family, with everyone, not just Sam, that he keeps his body in it's usual tiny four-year-old skin and doesn't feel the need to take on the likeness of a teen unless he's helping with hunts, which Sam has them not focused on too much except to teach Jack the basics. And they've been on a break for a while now.

Sam has needed it. They all have, and everyone jumps at the excuse to be as normal as possible, even if Dean gets antsy from not going on too many hunts.

Being in AA has taken up most of Dean's time, though, as has his other attempts to fix up everyone's cars in the neighborhood along with setting up a supernatural angel-and-demon centric detection system with Cas through the town's satellite dishes, as has his attempts to learn to cook with Rowena when they are both detoxing from their different vices, so he keeps busy while Sam rests. The culinary competitions they have and Cas attempting to teach Dean knitting, of all things, is not something Dean would have seen coming, particularly since he sucks at it. But Owen and Jack like playing with the yarn, so more often than not it turns into keep-away with the yarn ball in Jody's yard than actual scarves and shit. Rowena and Cas can knit to their heart's content.

But all of it keeps Dean from focusing on his anger, keeps him from relapsing, sometimes, through the repetition. Dean can't default to violence as a coping mechanism, now, seeing as there's conditions to being near Jack, one's that Sam won't let him break. And Owen helps Dean dissociate from the rest of things, even though he dredges up things, too. Being a traumatized formerly zombie kid means Dean has to hack up more effort to get him to be responsive.

Owen does like cooking grilled cheese, though. Dean's managed to get him to help him with that, and Jody is more than grateful.

\--

Over the weekend, the house is mostly vacant. Sam stays in bed, sweating and overheating

Alex is around from her job at the hospital, even if she's rarely here during the week except for dinner.

Today, she's practically been stopping in every hour to check on Sam, whose more delirious today than yesterday. His fever broke, though, which is one good thing.

Jack's gone out with Cas and Rowena to get groceries. Alex isn't too sure who divvied up that decision, except Donna and Jody are at work, and Claire is working her part-time job, and Dean is at one of his therapy sessions.

Sam isn't always there. He backslides, and when he's not whimpering in Enochian, he's rasping in English, hiding under the covers.

When he is all there and not delirious, it's with a startling amount of clarity. Like he knows just how far gone he's gone under before.

It's hard, lying down, even when not restrained. Sure, he's got his own body, and clothes on, and he's in a safe place.

But you don't get tied down to a gurney and locked in a room with a space heater, some sheets and pillows, a lightbulb, and the Devil without having some serious issues being in enclosed spaces on a bed, even discounting the Cage.

Thankfully, Sam's dreams are blissfully blank and devoid of anything except rest. Sam would be too tired to deal with anything else right now.

It doesn't stop the flashbacks, or the rest of it.

Or how he can sometimes feel Lucifer on top of him, even though he knows he's not there.

How he can feel how part of himself is so used to the Devil that he misses him, and he hates that part of himself for wanting him back when he's vulnerable and hurting and feeling like he's been run over by a truck. Lucifer did, after all, make everything better, when he wanted to. When it suited him. When Sam couldn't take any more pain or hurt and Lucifer made all the aching weariness or broken ribs or frantic, panicked abandonment all go away.

Sam hates himself for remembering just how fucking dependent he was.

Hell. He still can't sleep without a fucking nightlight because the dark terrifies him, reminds him of the empty, blank nothingness, or the way Lucifer left him alone in the dark, and how when he'd come back, he'd be so bright, and he would hold him, ever so gentle, make all the fear and tremors go away, whispering that Sam doesn't have to be alone.

Sam hates remembering how gentle Lucifer could be, considering the scope of his cruelty and the violence and ability to make Sam's skin crawl with adrenaline and disgust and fear- blank, existential animal fear...

The dissonance was too jarring, and Sam was altogether too hot, too stuffy, even though getting cold would just give him pneumonia right now, so he's stuck with five different color comforters, sea green and pale yellow and lilac and red, but never white, never that, because the way the light glanced off of it was too bright-

And then Sam's under again, not here, not at Jody's.

He's back in the room.

The white room, and the warehouse, hiding under covers to hide from hands and whispers and a prescence that isn't there, but he can't get out from his pounding skull.

Alex eventually comes in with a banana and more water, and sits down next to him.

"Sam..." She says, then hesitates, and Sam looks at her, weary but there.

"Yeah?" Sam asks.

"You want something to eat?" She finally decides on, holding out the plate.

Sam considers, then nods. Much as the nausea churns in his gut, he has to keep up his strength.

Thankfully it's not an omelette. Sam couldn't stomach even looking at one, right now.

Sam eats slowly, picking at his food.

"Can I check for a fever?" Alex asks. Sam doesn't like being touched without warning, too, more often than not. Especially when he's this vulnerable.

Sam pauses, and spaces out, then nods again.

Sam takes the thermometer from her hands and does it himself, wiping his damp forehead with his sleeve.

"Thanks for checking in." Sam says, looking at her and down again.

"Happy to help." Alex answers. But she waits instead of leaving, and the scrutiny makes Sam fidget.

He hates feeling so weak, and so useless, and so...

He just wants to be better, again. Sam's better when he can run, or hike, or take Jack to the park, or the lake, or the drive-in movie theater Sioux Falls prides itself on.

He's not good just sitting here.

And he doesn't like everyone seeing him at his lowest. He's good at comforting other people. He's good at being there for them.

Hell, it's practically the only thing he knows how to do to distract from his own problems. That's half the reason diving into parenthood almost was a distraction in and of itself, despite every bit of trauma Sam knows he's barely unpacked.

Just... sitting here, helpless...

Sam can't take it well, even if he needs a rest.

"Can you help me outside?" Sam finally begs.

Alex helps him out of bed to get some fresh air and sunlight. Keeps him wrapped in blankets so he doesn't shiver or get too clammy, seeing as Sam is dizzy and unsteady as Hell. It's more dead weight than Alex is used to supporting, considering Sam's height and tottering steps, but she's dealt with more unruly people in the hospital, and Sam uses the wall to steady himself, too.

They make it outside. Sam sits on the porch chairs. Alex sips some fresh-squeezed lemonade she left out for Owen, and offers some to Sam, which he takes a cup and a few tiny sips of. Vitamin C, and all that.

Owen jumps rope by the largest oak tree in the backyard. He's being homeschooled, all things considered. But it's meant Jack and him both get some company, learning the ropes of how to fit in on Earth and live their lives, considering their unique circumstances.

Sam inhales deeply. He does better when he can smell trees and feel the sun and isn't confined. He shivers and closes his eyes whenever a breeze floats on through, though. Alex notices every time.

"Sam. I hope I'm not overstepping, but... You want to talk about it?" Alex finally asks, voice subdued and far away.

Sam freezes and looks at her, unsure.

"Alex..." He whispers.

"I'm... Look, you don't need to say anything." Alex starts in when Sam's voice fails him. "But I heard you, before... And all I'm saying is, if anyone knows a little bit of what you're going through... With... With him, and all of that... I can listen. Or we can swap stories. Whatever helps, you know?"

Sam considers. Part of him, the part that isn't so worn down but doesn't want to face his own problems head on, wonders if this is Alex's way of talking about what happened to her, too. She hasn't ever really opened up, either. I mean, he knows she has. But not a lot.

Sam bites the bullet. He needs to do something...

And maybe Alex needs this as much as him?

"I... I just..." He stammers, then mumbles as he looks at her, lips sticking together before they part from how tired he is, "He locked me up, and he hurt me, and he made all these decisions, and if he ever... And he made me miss him." And then Sam's eyes are watering. "And I hate him for it."

Sam curls the blankets tighter around himself.

Alex nods and looks out past the backyard.

"Yeah." Alex murmurs.

Sam finds his voice and keeps going. "And he just... He made me so reliant, on him, even when I know he set me up. I know everything he did, to do this to me. I saw and felt it all happen. So why... why do I still feel something? When can't I just... rip it all out? And I know why I can't, but..." And then Sam's throat closes and his eyelids flutter and his hands shake, and he grasps Alex's hand when she holds it out and squeezes.

They sit there like that for a moment, like that. Then Sam lets go, crosses his arms over himself and hunches smaller.

Alex pulls back and clasps her hands together in her lap, then leans back in the chair, staring at the clouds. "Celia... She always knew how to make me feel like everything was my fault, you know? Like if I just was better, if I just listened, I wouldn't have to be locked up in our house so often. But she always turned it around on me. And I believed her. And it hurt. But she... She was always there, when I got sick. She'd take really good care of me. Pay all sorts of attention to me. Make sure my hair got combed. Made me homecooked meals. Sat and read my favorite stories until I drifted. Whatever got me grateful, you know? And I'd forget the bad stuff, for a while, until it got bad, again, like it always did. But the worst part-" Alex's lip quivers, and her voice shakes, and she inhales, a raw, ragged sound, "Aside from all the blood, and my brothers... The worst part was just being trapped, and wondering if I'd just be staring at those walls, out that one window at the same tree, trapped in those woods, forever. I hated that." Alex trails off.

Sam nods. "They just... They're the same. All the time. Closing in. Making you wonder if anything outside is real..."

"Yeah." Alex adds, voice stronger now, as she adds, "And I hated her. I knew she took me. But she... She was all I had. The only one looking out for me. Nothing else stuck. So I just pushed it all down until I couldn't and then things would just... Happen all over again. Until I got out." Alex stumbles.

Sam looks at her, and they both exhale.

Sam starts in when Alex waits for him to speak, unable to trust her own voice.

"It's just," Sam's voice is level now, even if it's raspy from being sick, "I know exactly what he is. I've lived with him, for so long, and... He'd hurt Jack without even trying, just by being near him, that's just who he is. But in the worst moments, he'd tell me... He believed in me. In us. And he'd make me believe he'd want to be a good father and that things... Things could be good, if I just... If I..." And then Sam is hyperventilating and looks away.

Alex waits until it passes. Doesn't touch Sam, or rub his back or anything. They've all seen what happens when he's remembering and someone touches him too kindly. It doesn't end well, and she doesn't want him curled up in a fetal position on the floor.

Sam looks at her when he regains his composure, looking out at Owen, still skipping rope until he's decided to climb a small tree instead.

"In Hell. I told him I'd never say yes, that I'd never be his. And then he just found a way in and I don't... I don't know how I'm supposed to look in the mirror and not see him, or... How do any of you even look at me, after what he did, just barging in here, after he just... Undid everything?" Sam rasps, despondent.

"Sam, you can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault-"

"But it felt like it. And even if it wasn't..." Sam protests.

"Sam, you stopped him." Alex interjects.

"Maybe." Sam answers. "But he still made me feel..." Sam looks down at the grass. "Like I'd always belong to him. Like... Once I let him out, it's like... Like I never really got away."

"You did. We did, we got out, Sam-" Alex insists.

"But he can't die, and he always comes back." And Sam looks at her, face screwed up, shivering harder. "And the worst part is sometimes I want him to."

And then Sam hides his face in his hands and crumbles.

"Jody might be my mom, now, but she... Celia was my mom, for a long time. But it doesn't make us weak, or... It just shows how twisted they were. I know you know that. She... She'd always tell me it was the family against the world. That I could only rely on her. But it wasn't true, Sam. I know you know that, too, whatever he's said-"

"I know. But he took everything away. He took my body, my mind, my ability to trust myself. He told me I deserved this... And I... I built so much around him. And he loved me. And when I couldn't let him destroy everything it was like... Like a switch, flipped, somewhere, and all of a sudden every good thing was reliant on me not... not screwing up, or breaking his heart, when he'd given me so much, before. And then even when I got out of Hell... Everything just kept leading back to him, and there were always new messes to fix. And he was always just there, in the background, until he was back again, until he had me, and... All my life, demons were working for him. Watching me. Finding ways to get close. Even when I transitioned, they were there. " Sam says, not looking at her. "And then he just... undoes it, like he helped give it to me and he can just take it away, like my body... Like it was always his to decide what to do with, and the fact it's my body is just something he could..."

"Hold over your head?" Alex asks, when Sam trails off again.

"Yeah." Sam traces his palms and hugs himself tighter.

Alex sighs. "Sam... I gotta ask... Do you feel like you never really got out, even now? Like he's just tracking you down slow. Like you're still in the same woods going in circles? Like how my brothers would follow me?"

"Yeah." Sam gasps. "Yeah."

"Well..." Alex's voice is strong and sure even though it's quiet as she answers, "I don't know if this helps, but... When Celia tried to turn me. When I tried to get out... It felt like she was taking my body away from me. Not anywhere like what happened with you, not... Like that. But it felt like... Like I was so hungry and I couldn't fight how it felt and... And I just... I fought. And until I stopped her from killing Jody... She was always faster and stronger and.... Until she was gone... I was used to her. I got used to Celia because she was just... There. But Sam... Once you have enough time... You'll feel safe again. It will just... If it's anything like what happened, with me... It might just take... awhile." Alex finishes.

Sam stares out into the woods. "You think so?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Because I have to. And because I'm finally starting to feel safe. And it's only fair you feel safe too. You're... You're a good guy, Sam Winchester. No one should ever call the shots on your life except you." Alex answers, definitive.

Sam holds her hand again.

"Thanks." Sam answers.

"'Course. We gotta stick together." Alex answers, and then she inhales and keeps her watery eyes from tearing up and chokes out, "And if the track on your brain keeps telling you you deserved this, or you're not getting away, or you get afraid, and can feel them breathing down your neck when they aren't there... Just know that it's okay not to feel okay. It's not... It's not forever. Just give yourself space to breath, and heal, and find something that doesn't... Remind you. That's all I got." Alex finishes.

Sam nods. Both of them don't trust themselves to speak, after that. This is the most they've talked about it to anyone else, and they were surprised they were both able to talk about it at all.

They watch the sunlight filter through the trees, and Owen, swinging on monkeybars, feet crunching on gravel when he laughs (the only sound he makes) and goes back to the slide, and see the wind, rustling the leaves. Sam and Alex sip more lemonade.

"How am I going to do this? How do I know if I'm not messing up, if I'm-" Sam asks, so quiet, looking at Alex, so lost. "If I'm too damaged..."

Alex pats his shoulder. "Sam. Look at me. You're a great dad. You're already doing good. And Jack's a good kid. But you can't worry about the future. You've just got to live in the here and now. And it'll work out. You're doing so good already."

It's not long before Sam shivers and his eyes start to close and Alex helps him back into the house and back to bed.

"You need anything, Sam, you ring me." Alex points to the pager. "I mean it."

"Thanks." Sam mumbles, and then he's lying back down and asleep, drained, but with some weight on his shoulder's lifted.

\--

When Jack comes back from the grocery store an hour later, Sam's awake, so Jack gives him the rundown of every food and veggie they got and excitedly babbles about all the food they've planned to make for the week. Like tuna stroganoff. He's really fond of saying stroganoff. 

It's funny, too. Jack's really intelligent and eloquent, considering he can grasp high level concepts and bypass certain human limits on development, seeing as he's half-archangel. But in some ways, he's just an excited little kid, with all the emotions and intensity that comes with it.

Sam listens and when Jack asks if they can go on a hunt when he gets better, can't quite tell him no. He's really into exploring and seeing what's out there. And the kid needs to know the basics, to keep himself safe, even if this life isn't necessarily the one and only for him.

Heck, with the way Jack's being going on about star wars and spaceships, Sam wouldn't be surprised if he plans on being an astronaught.

Then Jack hops on the bed and snuggles up to his Dad, playing more Pokemon Black 2. Sam settles into listening to Jack ramble on about the game, at least until the subject matter is weirdly fitting.

"See, I like this game the most, except for Soul Silver, because it has Sunflora and Lugia. Anyway, this one, has the legendary Zekrom- it stands for ideals. And that one's Reshiram- it stands for truth. And in the past, they were one, but then the two brothers in charge fought, so they got split apart. Then later, N, he was tricked by his Dad, who wanted to take over everything. But we stopped him. So then Ghetsis, N's Dad, he found Kyurem and froze over this city, and he tried to freeze us, too, but N stopped him. But Kyurem could only be used because it was empty, and that's how Ghetsis fused it with Reshiram, and I'm wondering, what if you fused them all together...?" Jack trails off, thinking.

And Sam, despite everything, thinks he might have a kid-friendly frame of reference for how to explain Lucifer to Jack one day, now, and angels, and possession. But now's not it.

"Have you ever tried platformers yet?" Sam asks. Jack shakes his head in the negative, but looks interested.

Sam motions to Cas, who gets out the old gameboy games Brady had once gifted to Sam, and hands the box over until Sam finds what he's looking for.

Brady and Sam played the shit out of Donkey Kong Country 1 and 2 that week in Flagstaff.

But it was time to pass on the good times and leave the bad in the past.

Sam pops in the game and lets Jack have fun with chimps questing for bananas with animals, fighting off pirates and ghosts...

Jack gets hooked immediately, although Sam makes sure he paces himself and doesn't stay playing games for too long. Balance, and all that.

But if the gesture feels both wholesome and like a small fuck you to Lucifer, well...

Sam won't pretend it doesn't feel good.

By the end of the week, Sam's not confined to dinner in bed. He's more himself, less out of it, and his chest doesn't feel like it's about to burst, or his head like it's going to split open. His body aches less.

While Sam heals, slowly, and by Friday, Cas helps Donna make casserole and stroganoff. Jack sits Sam down and sets the table like he prefers to, kicking his feet when he finally settles in Sam's lap. Owen sneaks some strawberries and cream with Rowena's help when Jody isn't looking, although Jody doesn't mind.

And later that week, they all eat outside, and Dean puts on a cubs game on the radio, drinking ginger ale while he helps Jody make some BBQ veggies and rice and beans. They keep the bacon isolated in the house, so Dean can nosh but Sam can't smell it. Mia comes over and brings over homemade cupcakes that Claire devours faster than you can blink, although Alex fights her for them. Once dessert is over, Owen keeps munching on cheerios with Donna's help, although he ditches the bowl to run around. Jody gives chase and eventually swings him around on the tire swing while Cas, Claire, Alex, and Jack play flashlight tag. Dean kicks back and cleans the grill while Sam rests with Rowena analyzing star charts next to him, with Sam just watching his son and his family, hardly able to dare to breath, to hope, but...

Life is good.

And their family starts to heal.

All the while, Sam and Dean try not to feel guilty for Mary still being trapped on the other side. But they have to take this slow, and honestly...

No one is in a place to chance Lucifer getting out.

Sam will save her, one day. But she made that sacrifice of her own free will, and while it eats Sam alive, doing nothing-

He can't face that chance, that chance he'll face Lucifer, again, so close, right now.

He knows he's one pulled string from falling to pieces again.

It's like oxygen masks. You can't save anyone if you don't save yourself first, and everyone right now has just barely found the strength to breathe...

And Sam knows she would understand, and want Sam to do right by his kid.

He owes Jack that.

He owes himself that.

He knows Mom would want him to take the time he can, before throwing himself into the thick of things all over again.


	113. My Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by otep

Sometimes, the inside of the Cage is dark, a darkness that eats at the inside what might be sight because there is no seeing, no taste, no sound, no anything, an empty vacuum lined with tiny lights, all flickering here and there like tiny diamonds and Sam thinks he can almost reach them.

Reaches out, one phantom ghostly hand before his soul flickers with searing pain and then the trip-fall feeling of nothing, of-

Sam floats there, wishing to remember sleep, to remember softness, not hard sharp heavy smothering blankness, a canvas without a Promethean candle before this forgotten place eats him and keeps him suspended, always drowning, always barely aware of existing at all-

It almost gets him and Sam finds he remembers a fear worse than any other, a fear of forgetting himself, of forgetting his own name, of forgetting age and flowers and the feeling of sand and leather seats and the crinkle around Dean's eyelids when he smiles and the smell of Bobby's aftershave and the thick woodfire smell mixed with oil when Bobby ran the woodstove in the coldest winters.

And Sam almost forgets. The nothing takes it all, plucks everything out so even the sandpaper taste of nothing fades into grey and static and nothing and...

But then he is saved, and pulled back, and the free-fall into the abyss stops when the constant, forever weight lifts him up, and before the wide, gaping rows of teeth smile at him in the darkness, the brightest crown of eternity, of the Chesire cat grin Sam can only hold on to, the same smile ready to tear Sam's weeping eyes to shreds inside a box that is neither here nor there nor anywhere.

It's so cold, so beautifully cold, and Sam nestles closer, closer, burrowing because maybe if he goes deeper he'll feel real again. Maybe his heart will beat. Maybe he can pretend to remember what skin and bones and sunlight was inside this burning star of celestial height and spirals and teeth-

Sometimes, the worst of it all was remembering how close everything was, the breathing that wasn't breathing, the bodies that weren't bodies-

The feelings that felt like colors on Sam's tongue and an understanding that was a melted sun dying and emerging from the darkness in this place that is not quite real, not quite alive because there is nothing that can live or die when clutched in the hands of an Archangel.

And then the flames begin to climb, begin to drown out the pure darkness, a Song rises from the other sides of a vast cage with closed in walls and sharp angles and harsh bars but an endless array of space that goes on and on and on until space doesn't feel real, either.

_Sam._

Glass breaks, and Sam lurches with the echo of a whisper caressing his throat, eyes pried wide open, his heartbeat a physical barb in his throat, and the throbbing chest-tight blind panic slows only when he hears the muffled cursing of his brother downstairs where he stumbled into whatever liquor cabinet he broke into, and there's a sharp stab of pain as Sam falls on the side of a book, still tangled in his the pale sheets Jody loaned him, moonlight streaking past the window and blinding Sam's eyes.

And Sam wakes, tastes dust, and his fingertips prickle, and he heaves in breathes one after the other, wet and throaty, the sounds of a drowning, dying man brought back, over and over and over. One leg is still askew out from under him, cold against the wood floors where he parked the mattress next to Jack's bed.

Carefully, Sam grips the rubber of flashlight tucked under his pillow next to Ruby's knife, and flicks it on, muffled beams barely breaching the covers.

Suspended on the bed, Jack is pretending to sleep again, like Sam can't see the velcro sneakers he snuck back on over his fuzzy socks or the exaggerated way his chest rises and falls.

They were going to have to talk about Jack sneaking out, soon. Sam's been better at explaining why they have to be careful, why Jack can't act like he's invincible, why he can't sneak out to try and badger Rowena for more lore lessons or to talk to Dean now that he's no longer afraid of him (or to stop trying to get him to go late night fly-fishing again after Sam puts him to bed), and they'll have to negotiate something, because Jack only sleeps half the time, and Cas would watch him if he hadn't been distracted by Dean falling off the bandwagon again.

Sam sighs, waits for his heartbeat to slow, and wipes the sweat from his brow, rolling the cuffs of his pajamas as he goes to check on his brother and Cas. He nudges Jack, and says, tiredly, firmly, but with a gentle fondness he can't quite keep the quavering relief that Jack is safe out of it anyway, that everything is fine-

"Hey. I know you're awake. I'm not mad, and you gotta sleep, and we're going to talk about this tomorrow, but... Right now, you want to grab a midnight snack?"

Jack doesn't need to be asked twice, and when he smiles, Sam sees Dean's dimples and the bright gleam of Castiel's gracelit eyes and the crease of Kelly's brow when she smiled, and he clutches Sam's hand as they stumble down the hallway, and something in Sam feels warm again. He hopes he didn't sing in his sleep, that he didn't whisper Enochian, that Jack couldn't here the whimpering words Sam has warded himself to hide and stitched into the bed to keep his secrets a secret, but sometimes, sometimes Sam wonders...

Sam doesn't have time to finish the thought. There's a broken bottle on the floor, and Dean's hunched silhouette cuts through the dim light falling over the counter-tops from out of of half-open door of a not-yet raided fridge.

Dean is cradling his hand, dripping small drops of blood, with Cas using up the thin wisps of his own faded grace to seal the wound.

\--

Downstairs, after Cas heals Dean and they all sit, Sam still has to argue his case and talk Jack out of yet another bowl of cookie crunch, the sugary cereal he's become addicted to (and Sam doesn't know if nephilim can get cavities and doesn't quite find he cares to find out, they need to be responsible about this, they need to be practical), but Sam finds he doesn't really mind even when he knows Cas smuggles a third handful to Jack off by the stove when Sam walks his brother back to the kitchen table while he wraps his hand in bandages and covers him with a blanket. Dean had been sleeping out in the Impala, just drove up when no one else noticed, and there's frost out there, and Cas would have noticed if he hadn't been patrolling, scanning for any signs of approaching danger they'll have to deal with, and Sam doesn't know how long he's been out there, but Dean doesn't say anything as Sam wraps another layer perhaps too tightly around his brother's shoulders as the echo of false frostbite on Sam's fingertips twinges, never fully flushed out from his skin.

All the while, Dean is half-mumbling nonsense that isn't quite nonsense at all as Sam walks Dean back to the futon Donna left out for nights like these, inter-dispersed with apologies and wavering hand movements as his inebriated, tired hands clutch for a bottle Cas already disappeared into Nepal. He stumbles and leans of Sam's shoulder instead, and while the smell of whiskey on his breath does nothing to calm Sam's nerves, in some ways, he knows how to fight this battle already, and holds his brother steady. He knows addiction well, and knows relapse. Dean will get there. He's trying. His drunken rages haven't been rages, thanks to therapy, although they've become something quiet and brutal and broken, and hell, Sam's still trying to fish out the painkillers out of Dean's pockets he's stolen from their medkits.

At this rate, they'll need another intervention soon, but someone has to watch him. Rowena's threatened a few ideas of her own, but Sam can't help but know where Dean is coming from, with the nightmares, with just knowing what's out there-

Honestly, Sam is okay with taking care of Dean tonight. He never wishes the weight of the world he carries to weigh Dean down, or the pain he feels to crush Dean so completely, but he's here for them, and Dean is doing better, and they'll get through this, they will, they always do, and Sam believes in them all, in their family...

But Sam can use the distraction from the lips he can feel, from the fingertips he can feel drawing ice sculptures down his spinal chord.

And Sam tries not to think of Mary - of the one person they're still failing - and gleaming red eyes in the dark.


	114. Teen Idle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by marina and the diamonds

"I'm afraid to be angry." Sam admits. He just pushes it down and down and down and pretends it doesn't exist.

But it's always there.

"Why?" Mia asks. Patient. Open.

Sam picks at a scab on his knuckle, slumped in the chair, then raises his eyes to meet hers.

"Because it's always used against me." Sam whispers. Then his voice finds more strength, and he adds, even more desperate, "And it never helps, not even when I try to use it to ground myself, or keep myself from giving up, or to just fight, because if I fight, at least I feel like I haven't given him what he wants..." And then Sam's throat feels tight and his hands shake and he taps his foot, glancing around the room. "But mostly... Because things just keep happening to me. It doesn't make anything stop. It never has. He just got off to it."

Sam presses a thumb into his hand again, just to make sure.

Just in case.

"I see. I know you said you didn't want to talk about your, um-"

"I don't. Not yet." Sam answers quickly. "It's just... It's like everything I felt... Like it was stolen, from me. And I don't know how to get it back."

Mia nods, writing something down. Then she clasps her hands together. "I know you don't like too many open ended questions, so... Figuring out what feels right to you, Sam, I think that might be a good first step. If you want to reclaim your anger... Do you want to acknowledge it for other reasons? Why was it the first thing that came to mind?"

Sam rubs his jaw.

"I guess... Because I know what happened to me... I didn't ask for it. It was wrong. And I'm still scared to reclaim it, because... Because being angry only ever led to more things happening to me. And I want to be able to feel it, without feeling like everything is just going to come crashing down around me. And it's... It's strange. When I left, and took my son out of there... I was able to be angry. I'm able to be angry for other people but not for me... Because, I guess, I feel like I'm not allowed to be. That's probably really stupid, um..." Sam trails off, scratching the back of his neck. Nervous habit.

Mia nods, and says, "It's not stupid, Sam. It's your head, and no one can dictate how you should feel. That includes me," She jests, and gives a small smile, broadcasting every small movement to keep Sam from getting jumpy. She's seen people like him in here before, only able to relax when they know an escape route is readily available.

Sam tries to smile back. He still can't look her in the eye for too long.


	115. Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Rag n' Bone Man

"Look, Sam." Dean sighs, shifting in the chair, one hand cradled over his forearm like it does when he's feeling under attack, a nervous habit ever since Dean took on the Mark of Cain. "I know what I did was wrong. Stuffing another angel inside you, lying, a lot of all the other crap I'll pulled... But what else was I supposed to do?"

"You weren't supposed to say you'd do it again!" Sam starts in and leaps to his feet, finally unable to keep the lid on all of his emotions. Then Sam lets out some air and collapses in on himself, looking down at his hands as he sits down again. He tilts his head up, glancing at Dean square in the face. "You weren't supposed to keep doing it after apologizing and then doing the same things over again!"

"Okay, fine!" Dean yells back, throwing up his arms. "Fine! But why is all this other stuff so important now? I had a monster kid. You killed it. I don't see us making a fuss out of that!"

"Yeah, because your kid was trying to kill you and aware of what it was doing! I was stopping it while it held a knife to your head, and you gave me the go-ahead!"

"Because it was the right thing to do! You see a monster, you kill it!" Dean shouts back. He always digs his heels in when he's thrown off balance, and while he's trying, he doesn't know how to break his knee-jerk reaction to not examine the things he can't accept. He already hates himself enough. Already knows he ruined Sam's life. Throwing in the towel for all the things he felt he had to do to protect him...

 ** _Except it wasn't protection,_** a small voice in the back of his head reminds him, **_It was just you wanting him back, and not knowing how to keep him safe, and not listening to Sam, because if you listened, then you'd have to admit everything else. And you're still afraid, because you don't know who you are without this, and everything's being pulled out from underneath you, and you just keep losing people. How can you stay in the life when you know, deep down, that's what got you here in the first place? But you don't know anything else. Because this is all you're good for._**

Sam's voice cuts through, forcing Dean to focus.

"Yeah, Dean. Just like telling Jack he'll go bad and that he's destined to be evil and that you'll kill him isn't the same fucking thing at all! Just because of how he was conceived, who his father is, what happened to Cas... Jack has done nothing, Dean! You don't get to threaten my son when he hasn't done anything wrong except manifest powers he doesn't even understand! He's a baby in a child's body. How does that not register with you?"

"Okay. Okay. Fine. Let's say we're on the same page." Dean replies, motioning between them. "All the rest of it, the stuff between me and you... Where is all this coming from now? You've been in the game with me for a long time, just us, and now, all of a sudden, you just... Lost it, out of nowhere, and how I am not supposed to think this is trauma or deflection or whatever from what _he_ did and not something else-"

"Dean. Get this through your damn skull. Things haven't been okay, not for a while. And I noticed. But I didn't know where else to go, and every new crisis kept us falling apart, and every time you got worse, I convinced myself it was just temporary. But I can't keep pretending. Not anymore. Not when it affects people other than me. You need to own up to everything you've done. Because, if you want to be part of my life, if you want to be brothers again, I need to be able to trust you!" Sam insists.

Dean looks dumbstruck, then clenches his fists, shouting, "That goes both ways, Sam! You think you haven't done things right back? What about everything you've pulled, with Purgatory, with the blo-"

"Oh, don't even go there!" Sam shouts, finally saying all the things he hasn't, that he's been too afraid to say, without having anywhere to go. But that's why he was in therapy. That's why he had Mia, and Jody, and Donna, all helping him assert himself and figure out who he is, after everyone else has tried to take what he knows is right for himself and his choices away from him. He has to be able to model healthy boundaries and emotional control for Jack, so he develops properly and doesn't get sucked into the cycle himself. Sam has to do this for him... For the both of them, and his own sake, after giving up on himself for so long. He's already used to being used and abused and broken. He's tired of feeling like that's all he'll ever be. "Are you saying it's the same? That I'm still not trustworthy? No, Dean. I've heard it enough, over and over. And I'm not letting my son put up with the same damn thing. So if you want to move forward and be a part of our lives, as a family... Maybe you should take a look at yourself and see how many times you said you've let these things go, only to throw them back in my face, because nothing is ever good enough!"

Dean looks dumbstruck, then straightens his spine, jaw clenching.

"Then why do you keep throwing this stuff back at me?" Dean argues, losing his cool in the quiet dangerous way Sam doesn't let make him feel backed into a corner. "If I'm not supposed to bring it up, why do you get to act like it's okay when it comes from you?"

"So... So what? Are you saying that I abused you back? For having a different opinion? For wanting to get out of the life? For thinking you were dead and trying to move on? For defending myself? That I lied to you about things about yourself? That I changed phone numbers in your phone or read your emails or that I punched you in the face over and over, with no warning? Because I haven't, Dean." Sam hisses. "That was all you."

Dean swallows, and won't meet his eyes, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"So before the Church, before you bust the last seal open-" Dean counters, and now Sam knows they're finally getting to the root of it all, to how it all comes back to Lucifer and the things they never figured out.

"I let you call me a monster. And yeah, I attacked you. That's the one time I ever attacked you first of my own free will- and you know why? Because you called me a monster. You told me you would hunt me and kill me and I couldn't deal with it. Not you. And after you told me I was some bloodsucking freak-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Sam. I have said and done a lot of things," Dean interrupts. "But that is not one of them."

"So you're gonna lie to me again? I have the damn voicemail!" Sam shouts, jumping to his feet.

Both of them stop, heaving.

Dean puts a hand to his head, then holds out a hand to take the phone. Sam gives it to him.

Dean listens, and Sam can tell from the way the blood drains from his face.

"When was this?" Dean asks.

"Before I left with Ruby, before we went to the church." Sam doesn't know why he held on to it. Except he does. To remind himself he can't let things get that bad, ever again, as evidence because he wouldn't let Dean lie to him. Not after all the times he's pulled something like this.

"Sam. It had to be the angels, or... Or something, one of those fucks trying to get you to pop Satan's box. But Sammy. I swear to... Well, not God, he's fucking useless, but I swear on you, on us being brothers, that I never did said this. I've done a lot of things. But I swear. I did not do that. That message was not me." This time around, Dean looks sincere. Sam usually can tell these things. Mostly because Dean looks like he's gonna hurl, and he's not good at faking that look. When he lies, his eyes go hard, and his mouth curls. Right now, all the fight looks like it's drained out of him. "I swear, Sammy. Please." Dean trails off.

Something inside Sam feels loose and unmoored. All this time... All this time-

And he's still being jerked around by things outside of his control, trying to tear his family apart.

Suddenly Sam wants to cry.

He doesn't.

He just sits back down, and once he starts talking, he can't stop. "Okay. So that's one thing we've solved... But Dean. I'm not done. All this time, Dean, every time I took the car, or did something you didn't want or like, or when you just wanted to call the shots... You've hurt me before. You don't even apologize half the time, you just give me an ice pack and pretend you didn't do it. And I can't let you threaten anyone else like that. Especially not Jack. He can't live like that, Dean. No one deserves to live like that. And I did, for so long. From you, from Lu..." Sam's voice dies in his throat, and then he whispers, voice rising in pitch as he goes on, "I took it, every time, and when you threw a swing at me, I threw back, because otherwise you'd just keep going, or you'd think it was okay, or it would be like I was just... Taking it. Accepting it, after everything else. And I can't..." Sam's voice breaks, a tight, strangled noise in his throat, "And when it came to the demon blood..." Sam's voice becomes more vehement. "You knew about it even longer than I did. You hid it for over a year, and you sold your soul and did the same shit Dad did to you without even seeing just how messed up that was. Dad told you to kill me, and you didn't say shit. You knew what Azazel and Lucifer did and you hid it from me and then acted like me not telling you was some crime. And yeah, Lucifer used that against me. He was good at that, using the truth and twisting it because I already doubted myself, which wasn't hard since you already lied to me. And back then... Lucifer kept isolating me and telling me everyone else wasn't looking out for my best interests, and he made me feel loved to reel me in. And it worked, because everything he's done... It doesn't change the truth. You know what the difference was, between you and me? The secrets I kept- they all had to do with me, and my life, my choices- not you, and they didn't need your blessing. All my life, you drove the car, you chose where we ended up, and I kept making myself smaller and quieter if it meant pretending everything was fine. But it wasn't. And it isn't. And I tried to tell you back then- things will never be what they once were. That's why I had to leave. Because I couldn't live that way then, and I can't live that way now. But you want to talk about the past. So fine. Let's do that. When you kept secrets, Dean, they weren't your secrets that only affected you! When you made the call to take on the Mark, that wasn't something that just affected you, that was you hiding from what you did to me and pretending you were going to fix something you never apologized for and you didn't look at the consequences! But I haven't said anything about it, because there's no point!" Sam's voice turns heated again, and he looks up at Dean from his head bowed, holding on to the couch with white knuckles and otherwise looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Dean holds his head, and throws one more fight into the ring. Just to get it all out. He knows he's fighting a losing battle. He's already lost it inside himself.

But he has to draw it all out.

Like poison in a well they've kept inside their breaking hearts, for too long.

"You're the one who was so desperate to take the Mark off and let the Darkness out." Dean reminds him, eyes darting around as he holds one arm, hands pulling uneasily at the fabric of the couch.

"And I wouldn't have had to, if you didn't make that call all on your own." Sam answers. "Back there, you were going to kill me, Dean. You didn't. But you came close. Remember that? And if I didn't get that Mark off of you... Lucifer would've found a way to get to you, Dean. I know him. And even if he didn't, you would've killed a ton of people, because you weren't yourself. Because you took on a curse you didn't understand. Dean. I've had people I love try to kill me before. I'm used to it. You get used to being beaten to a pulp and having nothing left, down in the pit. But I thought we'd gotten past that, and back there, I knew it wasn't you, because the Mark made you the worst version of yourself. And I never asked for an apology, because I knew that- I knew it wasn't you. But you have, and you did, all the times things happened to me, just like you made jokes about all the things you're too scared to actually talk to me about. You held me being soulless against me, when I didn't have a say in that. I didn't choose it. Just like I didn't choose Gadreel. And with Lucifer... All I was trying to do was stop him when we had nothing else. So stop holding stuff I've done against me when I didn't have any other choice. And if you want to go even farther back, to things I actually chose... When I fell off the wagon, with Ruby, with everything- I trusted her because I needed Lilith dead and I felt like everything I did was being controlled by you, that I didn't get a say of what happened in my life. And yeah. That went bad. But it doesn't change your role in all this, or mean that every time I keep a secret that I'm going behind your back and doing something that needs your input! And every time we have this conversation: you're apparently the only one allowed to keep secrets or make decisions, when this is my life, and when the only reason I do is always to keep myself safe! So no, Dean. It's not the same! It's not the same at all!" Sam yells. He heaves in a breath, one, then two.

And Dean stays silent. He looks down and deflates, stricken, all the feeling of righteousness gone out of him. He can't hide from the truth. Not if he wants to have a brother, and not the memory of one.

"Sam. I'm sorry. I am. I know I take a lot out on you, because I know I messed up. That I keep messing up, and don't know how to stop." Dean says, defeated, although he looks like he's going to try and deflect again. Sam can't deal with it anymore. There's too many things they haven't dealt with, and Sam needs them handled, needs to know he can trust his brother, before letting him near Jack or going after Mom or trying to keep Lucifer contained...

He needs someone to have his back. And Donna and Jody and even Rowena have been doing a great job. But he needs his brother- if not at his side, hunting, then he needs to know where they stand.

Sam's suffered too much at his hands, and John's, and too many other people's, to have Dean spiraling and all of what he's done, hanging over his head.

"Yeah, and every time, you do the same thing. You apologize, you act like this, and then you do it all over again! I can't live like that anymore, Dean. I can't be scared you're just going to say 'This is a dictatorship' or have you breaking lamps, or destroying things, just because you can't get a hold of yourself. Dean, just because you apologized doesn't change what happened! And unless you change... Things can't be like they were before." Sam explodes. "You need to get over yourself and realize what choices you can make, and own them. Otherwise, I'm leaving for good." Sam pauses, and then his face falls, and his voice turns soft. "I can't afford not to anymore, Dean. I've already basically lost everyone. And I don't want to lose you- but in some ways, I already have, if we keep going like this. And I can't lose my son, or let what happen to me happen to him. He deserves to be free. I can give that to him, even if I'll never get it back for myself. But I have to try, Dean. I need to be able to model it for him, to get back to myself, to be a parent to him. To get through everything Lucifer's done, although I don't know if I'll... Look, I... Dean, I can't be afraid to tell you when you're wrong, or to fall in line when I can't keep going forward. What we had, with everything that's happened- it's not working, us, right now, and it's been broken for a while, if I'm being honest with myself. But I need to try and get better. And I think you can, too. I think you can break free of all the things you don't want to talk about, or all the things you've lived through and sacrificed. We're both adults, Dean. Part of that is accepting help. And it's okay if we don't know how, but... We need to break this cycle for good. So work with me, here. Please. I know it's hard, but..."

Dean puts his head in his hands, then looks back up.

"Okay." He answers. "Okay."


	116. Jolene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by dolly parton
> 
> this was supposed to be where i figured out some rowena sam stuff but it's super incomplete and a bunch of things were out of order so I gave up

"Sam, there's something you need to know." Rowena starts in. Tentative, in all the ways she never is.

Sam tries to keep from feeling off-balance. There's usually give-and-take with Rowena, so seeing her unsure, seeing her doubt Sam might not be able to handle something... It means there's more weight to it, if she's unsure, considering she's never really held back or used kid gloves to handle Sam, and has always been fairly combative and direct.

"And... And I am not asking for you to forgive me, or to let me stay. It's just... I've been unable to tell you, and I completely understand if you don't want me anywhere near you or your son... after." She adds.

Still beating around the bush, which isn't a good sign.

"The spell. The one Lucifer used... I cast it." Rowena is barely audible when she says it. She doesn't look at him, can't stay still, and Sam finds himself glued in place and his lungs can't quite fill with air and it's too heavy, too constricting, all of it like a flood pinning him down-

"I didn't want to." Rowena whispers. "I swear, I didn't. But Lucifer-"

She doesn't say, Lucifer is too good at hurting people. Lucifer scares me. Lucifer hurt me.

Sam can fill in the blanks.

"And he said... He said if I didn't do it, he'd... He'd find another way to get to you. And I thought... I thought if I cast it I could, I don't know. Mitigate the damage. Find a loophole, somehow." She inhales, closes her eyes. "I know... I know you don't need excuses. But I couldn't not tell you. Not after what was done to me... And not after you suffered so, when I'd never wish my own life on anyone, nevermind what happened to you."

Sam, for once, is speechless.

It's too much, too much at once, between everything that's happened the past few months, and the raw betrayal, and how it's like Ruby and yet not like her at all, because there was no malicious intent from the state but it still completely managed to destroy him, and Rowena was supposed to understand, being the other person to see Lucifer, really see him, and how that fear took over everything-

Sam gets up and leaves the room. Leaves Jody's house, picks Jack up from the yard and carries him over his shoulder, buckles the seat on autopilot before he takes Jack far away, as far away as Sam can manage so at least he can feel safe, can adjust, can... Can do something.

Sam needs to process first, and decide what to do later.


	117. Soft Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by aurora

There is something about running that makes Sam feel safe. Sometimes, it's not even about running. It's sitting in place and letting his mind wander, gaining distance from the things dogging his footsteps, be it family, be it regret, be it dreams that couldn't quite make it, or good things Sam runs from anyway, because running is a habit when the only other option is freezing in place and hoping the storm blows over when it never quite does.

He's always been a little like that, he thinks. Maybe it comes with the territory, having people think they can decide who you are and ignore who you say you've always been, deep down, even if you never had the right words and only knew something wasn't matching up right. Or maybe it's not that at all- maybe it's just the need to take a breath, to take a step back and take everything in to process, everything moving too fast with so many clung-to solutions that worked but ultimately would not be the answer to a question Sam's been chasing, a life he's been making brick by brick with every day he sees the sun rise and set.

But there's something not just in the dusk or the dawn or the waking time in between when everything is online that matters.

There's something more than all those things, more powerful than the fear or the dark or the anger at what might lurk in it's shade...

The same places Sam hides and has always hidden, walking out from a closed door and hiding under covers or in closets or in the shadow of fanned out pine needles on a hunt when the bitter air almost tastes of metal and blood...

It's removed from all of that.

And it's the shadows- not a complete, total darkness- but cast shadows like the nights that sprawl across the world when you have no walls hemming you in, when the moonlight filters through treetop shadows and window screens or the slanted glass of the windshield or the way the clouds skirt the vision of the stars when perched on the Impala's hood.

It's space, and taking the time to make sure everything is accounted for, every tiny infinitesimal thing that makes Sam himself and keeping him going logged and not letting anything else try to take it away.


	118. When I Grow Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Fever Ray

Sam's not quite sure why taking Jack to the pool to teach him how to swim seems like such a big deal.

Okay, that's a lie. He does, but it's not really about the pool, or finally being able to feel like they can retreat from the target that otherwise was painted on their backs.

They've covered a lot of ground, lately, and Sam hasn't stopped looking into potential ways to break Mary out of the other dimension without having to cross paths with Lucifer.

The problem is, the stress has been getting to everyone, and no one has the juice to even break through the Veil and the other dimensions into anywhere else except for Gabriel (possibly, if they could find him), and Jack, although seeing as Jack's grace is a beacon lighting the way for Lucifer to get the jump on them the moment they try...

Sam' is still trying to find alternatives.

In the meantime, Mia's been helping him and Jack learn to relax, to acclimate to as normal a life as possible. She's even helping Dean get through a lot more than Sam anticipated.

Dean is off at an AA meeting for today, so they probably won't see him. Likewise, Jody, Donna, and Alex are at work, with Claire at school, although Sam suspects she's skived off to go hunting when they aren't looking. Not that they can do much to change that, seeing as they've officially moved out of Jody's house and into a motel room before they gradually take the trip back to the Bunker (which is still in the process of being re-warded against anything and everything, now that they can actually seal it off from what they need to).

But Sam, Cas, Rowena, and Jack are taking the day for themselves. Getting used to the new challenges in their lives before they have to take a deep breath and dive back into everything again. Which means training in all the skills that matter, especially in Jack's case. Rope tying, knife safety, firearm safety, marksmanship, escaping handcuffs and ropes, and Sam tentatively teaching Jack how to drive, although not with Baby (Sam thinks that might put Dean back over the edge), along with running drills for all kinds of supernatural creatures, magic, spellwork, warding, all of it, anything that can be useful, that Jack might need to keep himself safe if anything seeks him out...

It's not what Sam would have chosen for his kid, when thinking way back when. But Sam is a hunter, and Jack needs to be able to protect himself out of necessity. With everything out there... With everything that can go wrong...

Jack can choose his own path. Can choose who he wants to be, what he wants to become...

But that doesn't mean Sam isn't going to give him every available resource at his disposal, or hold off on teaching him what he knows.

If Sam isn't able to help Jack directly, because he's unable to reach him, Jack needs to be able to protect himself as best he can.

Sam and Mia both aren't sure what counts as paranoid hyperviligance or being adequately prepared, in this case.

There's too much craziness in Sam's life to consider it unnecessary.

So Mia had stressed making these activities as stress-free as possible. Which is why the pool was chosen, seeing as it's November, and they're still too far from the coast to get to the ocean, even if they did pass through Rhode Island once for a case in passing. The riptides by the ocean have been stronger than usual, and pools...

Pools can be pretty vacant at the right time. Especially outdoor ones by hotels, thanks to Rowena getting them decent rooms this time. She refused to deal with motels while road-tripping back with them, and while Sam would normally consider that frustrating, Rowena's paying for the room, so it's no skin off his back.

Sam wonders if she's latched on not just because of the crushing guilt of her forced compliance in Lucifer's overall plan, or her interests in helping cultivate Jack's innate power, or her fear of Lucifer, but because, true to form, she misses Crowley and wonders who she could have become, with time, only regretting it because Crowley was dead.

If he ever came back, Sam has no doubt she'd keep all that loss under raps. But it's still there. Which is why he doesn't exactly not trust her.

They've both suffered too much at the hands of the same person not to have some kind of understanding.

But he does know Rowena hasn't left because she still feels vulnerable. Like himself, really.

That, and she's sworn to be Jack's coolest aunt, and seeing as Cas and Sam are usually there to supervise and she has been bizarrely tame, Sam considers themselves in a sort of truce.

Rowena wants the safety of numbers, and raw power, and is staving off her own issues through hiding her own innate loneliness, not having many real friends to begin with.

Sam just wants to have people around to make sure Jack isn't left without anyone to turn to, particularly since he knows once Cas and Dean and himself all try to fetch Mary...

Everything is probably going to fall apart somehow. It usually does, when they initiate a plan, no matter how well thought-out.

But Sam forces himself to think of anything else as they step on to the tiles of the outdoor pool. It's chilly, and nighttime, and most of the lot is vacant, seeing as this isn't exactly an upscale, crowded hotel, and there's not much of a view.

It's late enough that most people aren't around either, which suits Sam purposes just fine.

Sam helps Jack step into the warm water. They had picked a heated pool, not just to stave off the cold weather, but also because Sam thinks, with all the grace floating around, that this is the only way he can do this.

Rowena helps teach Cas in the deep end, diving in and making fun of Cas while he stays in the three foot end before gradually walking over, the water rising to his neck. It's slow going, because Cas is still half-keeping an eye on Sam and Jack, but mostly Sam, seeing as water and grace tend to dredge things up for him...

Sam distracts himself by holding Jacks hand and teaching him arm movements for breaststroke, freestyle, and floating on your back, seeing as that's the best thing for Jack to learn first along with treading water.

Sam trusts Rowena to make this work. Witches had to be good at swimming, back in the day, and Cas doesn't even know how to swim, seeing as he's never really had the need as an angel, not until his grace was compromised or after the Leviathans and he was too weak to otherwise do anything, so it's high time he learned actual techniques so he didn't just sink to the bottom of ponds or lake or pools or what have you when thrown farther afield by supernatural enemies.

After they swim, Jack and Sam are going to learn more magic thanks to Rowena, albeit nothing dark: she's promised some useful spells for breathing underwater or lights for signalling and making distractions if no one has flares for hunts at night. Small time stuff, nothing major. Sam can't really feel uncomfortable with it: he needs any kind of safety net he can get, knowing how much attention Jack can draw, and because he's not exactly low profile anymore, himself. Rowena's been teaching Sam more, ways to using the residual grace inside himself. Sam knows witches become witches with practice and repetition, but he's not really becoming one. He's already had enough issues with his own psychic abilities, and even with all the things he's pulled off with Dean routinely, it's mostly small-level stuff, or angelic in nature, and that doesn't exactly connect to the same source of magic most witches tap into. High Enochian is a type of force that has a different life of it's own.


	119. Delilah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey it's another chapter i hated but needed to establish some Mary Lucifer dynamic, s1302
> 
> chapter title a song by florence and the machine

“Mary, not to be critical, but if we are ever gonna find a way out of here, uh, you gotta pick up the pace. We got a lot of ground to cover, okay?”

“Not sure I see the point, since… no matter how this plays out, you’re going to kill me-”

“Look. You don’t get to defy God and beat the Cage without having a modicum of intelligence, all right? A game plan, i.e., I don’t want you dead because I need you alive. And why would I kill you, when I’m the one that brought you back? Oh, that’s right.” Lucifer pushes Mary backwards, cornering her against a sharp spire reaching to the heavens. His wings flare out, the outlines shimmering in the eternal dust, the same dust first and last humans of this world were made from and then joined when they died.

“‘Cause you trapped me here.” Lucifer says airily, and leans back, hands in his pockets, and his expression twitches from violence to ease that would devolve into violence on a dime. He side-eyes Mary with the appraisal of an old car that needs a tune-up. “Seems that apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Sam must’ve inherited from you, even when you were six feet under his whole childhood, but hey. I get it. Genetics.” Lucifer waves a hand, letting bygones be bygones save for the glint of his teeth and the way he looms taller in the fog. “But, uh, you could still lose the attitude.”

Mary punches Lucifer in the face again, only to have her hand caught mid-swing.

“How dare you-” She snarls.

“Oh, you’re gonna play the martyr now?” Lucifer’s eyes narrow and he pulls Mary up in the air by her throat. “Don’t you dare play that game with me, Mary, don’t you dare act like you had the best interests of your children in mind when all you’ve ever done is offer them up-”

“You-“ Mary chokes out, gasping.

“Hell, you should be thanking me. After all, I’m trying to do is bring this family together-”

Mary heaves in a breath when Lucifer lets go, but she still stares him down, years and years of hate etched into her face to match the narrow, serpent-like glare Lucifer eyes her with.

“You tortured my sons-“

“Dean has always had it coming, and Sam…” Lucifer’s inhales, and his expression turns a bit too fond, a smile stretching too wide over his face as Mary tries to claw the angel blade from his hand and gouge his eyes out with, but it doesn’t do much at all.

Lucifer stands there, unmoved even as he reminisces, Mary reminded of just how much she’s failed everyone, Sam most of all, as she tries to pick up the blade that has clattered into the waste.

Lucifer’s arms shrug out in a gesture of unbothered ease even as energy ripples in the air, but the burning fires of Hell never quite leave the depths of Archangel’s eyes as he whispers, “Sam accepted every single thing I could ever do to him. He welcomed me in with open arms, the moment he locked us up. And he’ll will be fine. I always make sure. I may do as I please, but Sam was made to endure everything that I am. And he endures so beautifully-”

Mary screams out words that aren’t words, just anguish, just noise, anything, anything to voice her rage and the memory of a mother who knows just how much pain is out there waiting in the world for her children, the same pain she has never been able to save them from, anything to drown out the devil, even if it is useless.

But she help trap him here.

She may have failed everywhere else, but she did one thing half-right, and it had to have been enough, except now that she’s here she knows her children might come to the rescue and risk losing it all, and she can’t let that happen, she can’t let the Devil back into the world again, not when her children were finally safe, as safe as they’ll ever be-

And Mary finally finds the words, words that will never fix all the horrors she’s been forced to be accomplice to.

“You made me watch as my son was at your mercy, for months-”

Lucifer kicks Mary down again, catching her in the chest, as he rips the angel blade from her hand.

“Couldn’t have you crashing the party. Keep your friends close, and future in-laws closer, what can I say?”

Mary goes in for another punch to the jaw.

“You violated him, forced him-” She snarls.

Lucifer turns dead serious, slamming Mary back into the dirt. She claws and sputters and tries to get enough air again, but ice-cold pressure is leeching into her lungs, making it hard to breathe, black spots dancing over her eyes as Lucifer crouches above her.

“No, Mary. I gave Sam a gift. He might not have seen it as one, not at first… But no one asks for gifts. And that life we brought into the world. That’s a part of him. And our child is as much as a gift as he was when you bore him into the world.”

Cold hands leech through her shirt as Lucifer pats her abdomen. Mary flinches back.

Lucifer lets her, and he stands up, slow and unbothered, time not mattering at all as he adds, “And he’s going to be a wonderful father. I know him, better than you ever will, and once he gets used to things, Sammy is gonna take it all in stride. Just like me.” Lucifer hisses, and then the false smile is back, his blue eyes as cloudy as the earth frozen over, with nothing left to pick clean. “I mean, we’re not exactly poster-children for a well-adjusted childhoods- Sammy can thank you and your sweetheart for that- but I like to think we’ve moved forward, that we’re lucky to have this chance. And sure, John’s parenting might have fucked up his self-esteem and had us putting kids off the table back in the day, but Sammy’s all grown up now, and I know he’ll take to parenthood like a fish in water. Better, even. I saw the fish and the primordial soup your pathetic species evolved from. Point being, Sam is a masterpiece. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be mine. _Mine_ , in every way, and I’ve answered his prayers despite all the ways he’s tried to push me away. Way I see it, it’s only fair he pulls his weight. Relationships are reciprocal, after all. And let’s be honest: Sam would’ve been trapped in a body he didn’t want far longer, if not for my intervention, so he can suck up the difference for a few months to even the scales-”

Mary hisses without words as she lunges to attack again, a snarling animal, all hunter, all grieving mother that mourning the safety of her children she has never been able to protect or shield, not when it mattered, because there are some things, unforgivable things, that are ancient and unspeakable and without words even from the beginning of creation, some things that can never be fixed. And a feeling older than the Devil rears up inside of her: the same kind of parental feeling of careening out of control that God felt when it knew it had failed its own creation and wept.

“And as for what had to be done to get here, well…” Lucifer waves a hand, and in one movement is standing again, and Mary is on her knees and scrambling upright as the Devil’s wings churn up the dust of the dead, broken earth of this godforsaken land. “Take it up with Dad, if you’re that bent out of shape about it. Think about it. He let you be, well, you, to get the ball rollin’. And he had to have had made Sam like this for a reason. I mean, he’s irresistible one way or another. But if you want to get real technical,” Lucifer swirls a finger downwards towards Mary’s navel, “It’s your chromosomes that made the magic really happen. So, food for thought, you can’t run from your own culpability here, not when it’s your body that made Sammy everything he’s ever been…”

“If you think that I am ever going to let you get close enough to ruin his life, to torment either my sons, ever again-“

“Yeah, okay. You want to get dramatic? You want to blame me for you losing your shot at motherhood away thanks to Azazel’s shoddy handiwork, fine. But here’s the thing: you’re the one who offered Sam up from the very beginning. Even if we’re disregarding prophecy, or the fact that God made Sam for me before he was even a gift growing inside your fragile human womb: you traded his life away. You gave Sam up freely before I even came to collect. You traded his body and soul for John’s life without even asking about the fine print. You knew you were dealing with a demon, and you knew better, Mary. You were raised up to your ears in this, running from it, running from something that’s in your blood. In my books, you forfeited your right to motherhood right then and there, didn’t listen to dear ol’ mom and pops. But that’s over now. Sam can be safe, safe as you, can live whatever life he so chooses provided we all stick together. So here’s how this is gonna go. We’re getting home, you and me, back to the rest of the family, and it’s gonna happen sooner rather than later. And your gonna behave, and keep your mouth shut, and that means you don’t get to steal my thunder at being a father just because you lost your chance. And as for Sam: you aren’t going to say another word about him or what I’ve done. Hell, I’ve looked after him more than you ever would- I gave him freedom, and happiness, and unconditional love. I sacrificed for him. I let him throw us back into Hell. And while I understand your grievances, you don’t get to blame me here, even if you think this makes us square. So, let’s face the facts. Yeah, in a perfect world, I would probably kill you for trying to keep my son from me. I probably will, if you keep getting on my nerves. But there’s no need for it to stick, and life, I think we can agree, isn’t fair. So while I won’t exactly say I’m part of your fan club, the truth of the matter is, you’re still my son’s grandmother. And if you’re good, I might even let you get a chance to not ruin your chances the second time around. After all, Sammy’s gonna need all the support he can get, and while you’re not exactly mother Mary of the year-“

“I’m going to tear you into a billion pieces, you-” Mary snarls, and only then does Lucifer notice the sigils she’s almost finished drawing in her own blood, complicated, ancient sigils she memorized from watching Dagon trap her in a room with Rowena for months.

Lucifer snaps.

Mary erupts into piles of flesh, bone, and blood, splattering the dust in the quiet grey nothing.

Then Lucifer snaps again, and Mary reforms, good as new.

Lucifer strikes the back of her head with his heel, and grinds her into the dirt just to prove a point.

“Mary, whether we get out of here today, or tomorrow, or whatever… The fact of the matter is, we’re getting home, one way or another. So you might as well quit while you’re ahead. Not more kicking up a fuss. I mean, we gotta stick together, right? No dead man or woman gets left behind or voted off the island, not forever. That’s the good ol’ family business, courtesy of your two tiny tots now that they’re all big and grown. And I promise you, while you won’t stay dead…” Lucifer leans down, and keeps his fingers pressed together inches from her nose, “I can make you wish you were. The question is, do you want to be there for your children once they break through or we get out of this cesspit with all your precious faculties intact? Or do you want to be only granted visitation rights when you can prove you’re good enough for parole? Up to you, virginal mother of mine.”


	120. Youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by daughter

Today, Jack is slumping in his seat and not meeting Mia's eyes. He looks younger than usual, instead of five or six or eight he's shrunk down to four or three.

It's not like him. Not a good sign.

He's got bags under his eyes, too, and a washed out face. If Sam had been the one looking after him the past day days, he'd have seen it, done something, but Sam was still out cold with Dean looking after him after he'd nearly gone comatose again. In the meantime, Donna and Jody didn't know how well Jack could hide his feelings, even this young. Rowena suspected, but Jack had hidden it well.

He'd had false cheer on earlier. He was good at playing happy when he's worried half to death.

He doesn't know what's wrong with Sam. He knows it'll pass.

But he's worried.

"What do you want to talk about today, Jack?" Mia asks gently, leaning forward. Patient. Supportive.

Jack glances up at her and back down again. Scratches the back of his neck like Sam sometimes does. Hunches his shoulders and wings like Castiel, and crosses his legs like Dean when he leans back to try and hide the fact he's uncomfortable. Taps his fingers nervously like Donna.

When he finally meets Mia's eyes, they glow gold, and his mouth is pursed in this serious look he's seen on Rowena's face when he'd asked about Lucifer, the serious, drawn look only Sam's seen, otherwise.

"I lied to Sam." He admits, then kicks his feet, looking back down at his knuckles.

Mia regards the admission with patience. Except Jack can't quite find his voice, and it shows.

"Why?" Mia finally prompts, giving him an encouraging look as she reads what he needs from his.

"I was scared." Jack admits, picking at the couch, still not looking back at her again. "And I... I can feel it." Jack pauses, biting his lips, adding, "Dad... He keeps a lot of things inside. But he doesn't realize... I remember. I remember being inside him. Like I remember Kelly. Not well, but... Some things. I was... I was there, with him. But he has so many secrets, so many things he doesn't say, and he's so... tired." Jack trails off and rubs his face. "I didn't want to hurt him. To push. He's just so... Human. Fragile, even though he's strong and kind and powerful. Does that make sense?"

Mia nods.

"Jack, you know Sam would want you to talk to him when he wakes up." She answers. "You don't have to. But you have to know, as a child, it's not your responsibility to protect him, to anticipate his emotions while neglecting yours-"

Jack interrupts, looking up at her with a swift look, sharper. More defined. His wings pulse out.

"But I want to. I know he's my Dad. But I want to." Jack answers, and then his voice gets soft again. "He's... There's something that hurt him. I don't know what. But I can see it. I felt it."

Mia nods again.

"What did you lie about?" Mia asks.

"Lucifer." Jack answers, like he's not sure of the name. "I told him I didn't want to know anything about him. But I do."

Mia waits, knowing there will be an explanation.

"It's just... I've heard people whisper things, sometimes. Nothing I understand. But Sam. He just... Shuts down, whenever it comes up. And I just... I want to know why things are this way. What he isn't saying. Why he had me. Why he's so protective. Why Lucifer isn't here. Why Kelly chose to have me. Why Sam had me and then Kelly and... I don't know how I'm me." Jack adds, thoughtful. "I don't remember well. It's all so... Blurry. But I remember him. Lucifer. Sometimes. I felt him when I was inside Sam. And Sam was... Sam felt a lot of things I don't understand." Jack finishes. Then he looks back up at Mia. "I just want to know why he can't talk about it. Why he... Hides from me, sometimes. He doesn't mean to. But he does. He hurt and he was afraid but he loved, so deeply, and he was... It was like there was something missing. And I... And I can't ask him. I don't know how, and he just... He already pushes himself to his limits. I know he tries not to. But he does. But more than that... I can't ask... Before I was born... I don't understand why he was afraid of me. Or why he was in so much pain. Or what happened. Sam was happy, sometimes. He remembered things. I saw them. Parts of the past. Nothing concrete, just flashes... Just feelings. And I don't know much about my parents. Kelly. Lucifer. Sam, even. But I'm scared to ask because Dad... I don't want to hurt him. Something hurt him. And Cas and Rowena and Donna and Jody and even... Even Dean. They all can't answer my questions. They just go... cold." Jack heaves in a small, hiccuping breath. "What am I supposed to do?"

Jack stops talking. Mia closes her eyes and inhales and tries to figure out the best way to tackle this to support Jack without messing with Sam's own therapy.

Because Sam would feel guilty when he shouldn't have to. Would want to give Jack answers. He'd said that, over and over.

He just can't. Doesn't know how.

Much like Jack can't bring himself to ask Sam about any of this.


	121. To Be Loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by aurora

What scares Sam most about Lucifer isn't the violence, isn't the threats, isn't the obsession or the fact that the body count always is a price to pay, that no one is spared his outbursts and has no way to escape their radius. They are terrifying and something Sam cannot allow, something Sam needs to prevent and mourns every time, physical pain like a hand arm-deep in his soul- but they aren't what hurts most, what burrows deepest and makes Sam struggle to breathe at night.

It's the whisper in the back of his head that says, _I love you, more than anything, more than anyone. And deep down, no one else really loves you. Not really. You know I'm right, Sam. I always have been. Hell, even if Dean thinks he loves you, even if he'd go and tear you from my arms right before our curtain call, he doesn't love ALL of you. He would drop you in a second the moment you became something he didn't like. He would remake you in his image in an instant, provided he could keep you the way he needs you to be. But not me. I love all of you. Every single piece. Even the parts are afraid of. They're a piece of you, too. And you deserve to be loved- all of you. Even if I ask for too much._

What scares Sam most is all he has ever wanted is to be loved, unconditionally. And sometimes he even believes Lucifer is right.

How somehow, Sam can think of the sliver of the good times, the good times that once never went bad, and missing them hurts like a phantom limb- how it can make him wish they never yielded to something worse. How part of him still wants to forgive if it means can get it back, if he could control it instead of being powerless, instead of accepting there is nothing he can do to change how other people choose to be.

What scares Sam most is that he still doesn't know how to love himself enough to believe otherwise, because somewhere in his soul, it has known being alone. It has known that abandonment. And Lucifer has never allowed that- he has always been there, in some form, looking over his shoulder, even in the ways Dean could not.

What scares Sam most is that in his worst moments, he has actually believed him, has actually been sucked in even while saying every No he could ever muster the courage to speak. Even when the No feels false, feels like a betrayal.

And while he wishes to give Lucifer no ground, Sam doesn't know how to love himself enough to make Lucifer's love pale in comparison.

It remains a work in progress. And when Sam finally flushes that selfish love from his skin, he doesn't know how he's going to build it back again.

But he will.

One day, he will.

And it will be enough.

And he will make it through, all by himself, and it will belong to him in a way that will only be his.


	122. Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by first aid kit

"Sam, are you positive this is what you want?" Mia asks. She doesn't doubt. But she doesn't want him pushing himself beyond his limits, all things considered.

**Turn into the one I will face. The one I will defeat.**

Sam would sing his affirmations through the whole universe, would make Lucifer's script break upon every atom of the cosmos.

Sam was done playing this game.

Done being broken apart by someone who had no right to him.

**I am not yours and I never was.**

Sam takes a deep breath.

"It's time." He answers.

Mia hesitates, then stands up, straightening as she heads for the door.

Sam waits.

He would fight for himself, like he always had.

And maybe one day, it wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would scab over, like an old, scarred wound, so that Sam couldn't feel it any more.

He'd weathered so many of Lucifer's torments he'd been able to go numb to some, to persevere...

But some linger, not yet given enough time and space to heal.

There's movement on the other side of the room.

Sam stares into Lucifer's red eyes, swallows, and stares the Archangel's stolen likeness down. Mia changes, from Nick, to Jess...

To Sam.

"This is my body." Sam says, lost voice growing stronger as he walks closer. "Mine. Not yours. I made it for myself, I struggled for it, and it's always been mine. This is who I am. And no matter how much I loved you, or hated you, or how much you used me, or how much power you had over me, or how much you twisted me into what you wanted, into what was convenient for you, into what would hurt the most... My heart, my mind, my body, my SOUL. It's all mine. It is only mine. You can rip me apart, you can try to mold me, you can lie to me and tell me the truth and try to make me feel all alone and used like no one else will ever fill up the places you once were. But where it counts... Where it counts..."

Sam lifts his chin and straightens his back, dry mouth unheeded as he inhales, and when he continues, his voice doesn't shake, not once.

"You have no power over me. Not where it matters. And you never will again." Sam finishes.

There's a long, long pause.

"And no matter what the words come out as, my answer is no. It will always be no. And you will never take that away."

Then Sam looks back at Mia, collecting himself.

And Mia changes back, and he hugs her, crying, shaking, weak kneed but still standing, every phantom pain he's ever known, every whispered word right there-

But every heartbeat, every breath, Sam felt reclaimed, like nothing Lucifer would ever do, would touch him.

Mia hugs him back when he says she can.

They stand there like that, for a long, long time.

Then, Sam steps back, not wanting to reach out anymore. Content that he can decide when and how contact gets made.

Because Sam is himself, and he belongs to himself, alone.

And nothing, nothing at all, would ever change that fact.

And one day, Sam would be free again, and he'd be able to believe it, and not feel like it was something temporary to be taken away.

For right now, he feels free.

It may not last, because that is the nature of pain, and wounds, and healing. Things resurface.

But for this time, in this white room, with the faded green couch and empty fireplace and sunlight streaming through the window, lighting up dust particles on the window frame, where all Sam smells is soot and aloe and the wood paneling of the floors...

Sam is grounded.

Sam is unbreakable.

Sam is himself, standing on his own two feet, and nothing could topple him, because he's always been willing to weather every storm.

He will bend, but not break.

And if he breaks, he will survive, and reforge himself in the ashes of everything he used to be.

Sam may be done sacrificing himself, breaking himself for the sake of others, but that does not mean he will not stand up and protect everything he's sworn to uphold. He will be as brave as he can be in the face of all his suffering, his fear, his pain, and he will be brave anyway. He will not make himself smaller for the sake of others who need him to keep quiet and be meek and quiet and permissive of all the ways they want Sam pliable, breakable, usable for their own comfort and consumption.

Anything anyone tries to turn to ash inside Sam, anything they've tried to atomize- they will not be erased. Every ash is harder than diamond, hidden, hyper-compressed coals that keep burning and never going out, a light against the emptiness all Sam's enemies have tried to fill him with, every ember transmutable but not something to be ground down and burnt away, because the core of who Sam is- all his kindness, his mercy, his compassion, his ability to hope and believe and keep going, to try and make something new and wonderful for himself even when the universe demands to rend himself from limb from limb-

All his anger, all his trust, all his faith in himself-

All his love, unselfishly given-

It makes Sam, well, just Sam.

And Sam survives.

Sam remains.


	123. Blackout Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S13E11. chapter title a song by phantogram
> 
> somewhere in between this lucifer found a way to hop back over (not like canon, a lot of angels died), and Jack got yeeted
> 
> there was also supposed to be a section where Sam went back to georgia to try and get angel grace b/c lucifer isn't back and then had flashbacks and didn't get what he needed but that never happened
> 
> also originally i had the monsters chatting in the chatroom but it was too long and killed pacing

"Ah, add a zero. Actually, add two." Clegg corrects, holding up two fingers. "See those freaks that you and your brother chase, those are just the ones that can't pass, either because they are too mean, or they're too stupid. But most monsters... Hell, they could be your next door neighbor. They work a regular job, mow the lawns on a Saturday..."

Sam's chest heaves against the leather nonstop. He's familiar with monsters who blend in. He's lived with one, the worst of them all.

"And they need to eat, which is where I come in." Clegg adds, voice lowering.

"So you sell them people." Sam answers, giving a smile that is not a smile, more a promise he's going to rip Clegg's throat out with his teeth.

Clegg leans down closer, arm next to Sam's head. "I see them people other people won't miss." He clarifies. "And because I do that, I save lives."

Sam scoffs and turns his head away, then examines the restraints again.

"If my customers didn't have me," Clegg adds as Sam's nostrils flair and his nose scrunches as Sam keeps straining, "Then all those hungry, hungry hippos would be out there hunting and killing."

Sam cricks his neck, out for blood.

"And you couldn't stop 'em. No one could." Clegg warns.

It's the biggest crock of bullshit Sam's heard in a while.

Sam's gaze darts from Clegg down to the restraints and back. His lips purse in concentration, but no abilities arise. He only has those when he's chock full of Lucifer's blood or demon blood, and neither is on the menu. Because Lucifer is gone in the other dimension, where they left him...

Only Jack might be there with him now and Sam has to get out of here, he has to-

Clegg frowns at Sam, not realizing he's completely tuned him out.

"You should be thanking me."

"Huh," Sam scoffs, brought back out of his thoughts. He gives another snarling smile. "Yeah. All right." Sam murmurs, then adds with all the force he can muster, "Go to Hell."

Clegg is one human Sam would be inclined to hand over to Lucifer, if that didn't involve Lucifer being free or near Sam in any capacity.

Clegg chuckles and pats Sam's shoulder. "I'll see you there," He answers.

 **No, you won't.** Because Sam is bound to the Cage now, no matter what he does, without some extreme divine intervention.

Clegg's voice grows louder. "Now, I know you've been stalling because you think Dean's gonna show up, but... Sorry, kid. It's showtime." Clegg says as he points to the camera and dons his mask. The camera goes live.

Sam tries to saw his arms and legs out of the restraints through pure force of will.

Clegg modulates his voice, hands splayed out in dramatic welcome. "Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you something truly special: a new auction. Introducing, Mr. Sam Winchester!" Clegg bellows and points at Sam like he isn't already the main focal point in the room.

Sam prays. He needs to protect his son, he needs to live. And he prays to Dean, to Cas, and then to someone he knows he shouldn't. But the last one is the only being who ever listened to and answered his prayers, even if he was the cause of them, even if he's ingrained Sam's behavior so he doesn't know if this is habit or just a result of almost a thousand lifetimes being trapped... But it's not like Lucifer can hear him. And Sam, for all his long suffering pain, for all his fury, for the life of him, for all his heart, still loves that fucking son of a bitch who deserves to rot in Hell for all eternity and deserves nothing from Sam, nothing at all, after everything he did to him.

But this is Sam's choice, to pray. It is almost a goodbye. Not forgiveness, no, exactly the opposite, just Sam praying in spite of everything, in rebellion, and Sam holding on to what he chooses to hold on to, everything else be damned. Because Lucifer can't save or torment or love or hurt Sam anymore. He's gone. Sam got away.

(Or so he thinks.)

But he still needs to protect Jack, and that's exactly what he is going to do.

Clegg starts listing out prices and organs, rapid fire.

Normally, Lucifer would fly in immediately, but this time, Lucifer doesn't zoom in and mete out divine retribution right off the bat, however much he wants to. Right now, Lucifer knows it pays to be cautious, and he isn't sure he wants to reveal himself to Sam, Dean, and Castiel yet. Sam can suffer through some existential crises for a few minutes, after everything he did. Once Sam dies, Lucifer will just reassemble him and scoop him up to Heaven with all the others being none the wiser, and then Sam won't have any way to get away from Lucifer again.

But then Clegg gets to one particular item said being can't ignore. "Now, let's begin the auction for Sam Winchester's heart!"

"That's taken."

Sam freezes. Ice slips down his spinal cord at that voice he knows so well.

"As is the rest of his body. And even if you were thinking of hacking him up, well... Sammy's experienced so much worse than that." Lucifer's tone remains mild and conversational. "I should know. I was there. And you know what? I don't let others do the honors, because, uh, oh yeah, he's mine." Lucifer purrs as he continues, head levels with Sam's. He leans down from behind him, his hands flat against the gurney on either the side of Sam's head just inside the range of Sam's peripheral vision. Ice radiates outwards from his fingertips.

Lucifer's voice remains a familiar fixture by Sam's ear as he adds, "Miss me, kiddo?" 

_I know you did. You sang out those prayers so loud and clear, Sammy. They almost made me forgive you for everything you did._

Sam can't breathe. He swallows, constantly shivering despite himself.

A shot rings out as Clegg's wavering hand shoots the Devil in the head. It hits, but heals immediately.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and saunters out from behind the gurney, unharmed.

"Who are you?" Clegg asks, legs quaking. There's an existential, instinctual fear there, an implied, _what are you?_ left hanging.

Lucifer snaps. Clegg is thrown to the ground and frozen in place. His gun melts over his hand, bubbling like hot tar.

Without pause, Lucifer strolls over and drives his hand through the retreating camera operator so he is split almost in half, blood and guts splattering the walls and floor as Lucifer nabs one of the sharper knives from the table. His aura of grace seeps in closer, soaking the entire room in a mixture of ice and prickling tension as the doors slam shut and Lucifer circles back next to Sam, awarding Clegg a sharp kick to the groin as he passes.

"You get to die slowly." Lucifer elucidates, then turns his attentions back to Sam.

Sam's thoughts are screaming in Enochian the entire time.

**How are you here? We sent you away! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-**

_Did you really think that would stick, Sam? C'mon. Give me some credit. You should be used to this by now. And you were calling for me five second ago. You can be so hot and cold sometimes, Bunk Buddy._

In the meantime, the chat window keeps lighting up in a crazed, nonstop fervor. Sam watches, eyes glued, as he tries to ignore the all-too-closeness of the Devil, heart in his mouth.

It keeps pinging until it's the window moves too fast to follow. Sam watches it as he struggles to get out of the gurney to no avail, brain in a frenzy while he keeps mouthing curses in Enochian.

**Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-**

_Someone's enthusiastic today. You take a double shot of expresso or something?_

Lucifer snaps again, conjuring a chair so he can sit, legs crossed, next to the gurney. Sam leans to the side as far away as he can, still squirming as if his life depends on it.

"First things first. Sam, I know being a single parent is hard, but really? You lost our son? Do I have to plaster his face to a milk carton? Tack up a missing persons poster?" Lucifer shakes his head and adds with laugh, "Kidding. I know it wasn't your fault. There's so much decay of family values these days, I swear, and no one has any respect for cohabitating couples, not even family. No worries, though. The clusterfuck happened on the other end. Instead of trying to kill me, the Michael on the other side accidentally swung me back here, and if my theory holds true, he brought our son over in my place. But I know he didn't get to him in the interim, Mary broke herself out around then, so they are safe for now. But, Sammy, this means we have a common enemy, and we both want the same thing: to rescue junior. So, don't you worry that shaggy little head of yours. I'm going to get us out of here. But first... Let's catch up. That is, after I deal with this insect here, for even daring to touch you, and all his little friends, for daring to watch." Lucifer ruffles through Sam's hair with his bloody hand and as he continues. "See, these mooks still don't get it, even after all these years. They think they can just slice and dice you however they please. But uh, that's my job. And you know the drill, Sam. I always put you back together again. After all, that gorgeous body of yours is so much more useful in one piece.” Lucifer’s hand slides down past Sam’s forehead, leaving a trail of blood on the left side of his face. “But you know this, you know all my rules. It's everyone else who still hasn't gotten the memo yet, despite my best efforts. You'd think they would by now, but no. And I so hate having to repeat myself." Lucifer turns his face to address the camera as he gestures, his voice a deep growl that shakes the building. "So get with the program, you putrid piles of nothing. I don't share. Sam is mine. And anyone who challenges that, anyone who so much as touches him without my permission," Lucifer's smile drops, "I promise I will be attending to you personally. Today, I'll even give you all a live demonstration." Lucifer finishes with a flourish, "And if we're lucky, we'll even have some volunteers. So don’t go anywhere."

Lucifer snaps.

Clegg explodes into meat and blood and flesh and viscera.

Sam catches the chat window in his peripheral vision, perhaps in his subconscious’ attempts to be as far away as possible or look anywhere else.

\--

Sam tries his best to breathe in and out.

"Which reminds me. Hi, Dean. I know you are watching this broadcast with dusty angelic c-span over there. And I know we’ve got some family feuds to work out. But first things first, I have some domestic issues to handle. So, uh, none of you folks go anywhere, or else! Winchester clan included. We’ll be back with you right after this quick commercial break!" Lucifer announces with another wave. “Who knows? If you cooperate, I might even let you live!”

The camera goes dead. Lucifer hops up on the gurney and sits crisscrossed over Sam’s torso. His right hand slams Sam back down on the metal.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. You’ve really hurt my feelings, man. Running away? Tossing me in another dimension? Making me miss the birth of our kid? I mean, really? Have you no shame?” Lucifer asks, hovering over the edges of Sam’s lips with the ridge of the knife.

**I’m sorry.**

_Not really hearing conviction or sincerity there._

Sam swallows and closes his eyes.

_Ah, ah, ah. Eyes on me, Bunk Buddy._

Sam opens them again.

“Still waiting for an answer, Sammy.” Lucifer uncurls his legs as he shifts and leans forward, straddling him. Sam flinches at the moment, jerking enough that the knife nicks skin. Lucifer traces the line of blood dripping down Sam’s cheek, then moves the knife away and off to the side in his clenched fist. The blade dangles off the gurney.

“I… I…” Sam gasps. “I guess not.”

“Mm, you never do.” Lucifer grumbles. “You just put yourself out there, flaunting yourself on display like the shameless, stimulating bitch you are. You keep fighting all your endless uphill battles without any direction and keep pushing me away, Sam. It makes me feel so… underappreciated. What do you think we should do about that, hmm?”

Then Sam collects himself. He buries the fear and the familiarity of the gurney and this and everything as he thinks of Jack, and something inside Sam’s chest burns bright again.

**You want the truth, Lucifer? Your funeral.**

“I don’t know, and I don’t care, and I would do it all over again.” Sam answers, voice too calm and even despite the tremors he can’t control. He stares into Lucifer’s eyes.

They narrow considerably. Lucifer pops his tongue over the ridge of his lips, calculating.

“Have it your way, Sam. Never an easy or dull moment with you, I’ll give you that much. Must be one more reason I love you.” Lucifer sighs and gives a close-lipped smile.

Then he bends his head close, so much that Sam can feel the air puffing out chill against his lips.

Lucifer licks the blood off Sam’s cheek before he kisses him, tongue rough and wet and invasive.

The knife tenses in Lucifer’s left hand, white-knuckled, before he draws his arm back and rams the blade into Sam’s shoulder, wrist twisting all the while. It punctures and shatters bone.

Sam screams, but Lucifer’s mouth muffles the sound, as does his other hand now wrapped around Sam’s throat. Then the pressure around Sam’s neck withdraws, and the tongue retreats. Sam gasps, tears dripping down his cheeks from the pain.

Lucifer tugs the knife out slowly at first, then pulls back quick as a whip. Sam screams again, this time a more ragged, wet sound.

Lucifer stands up again, heals him, and then slides two fingers over the knife, sucking the collected blood off, deep in thought.

_Guess I’ll have to do the legwork of brainstorming today’s activities for the both of us._

Sam doesn’t like the way that sounds, and the intonations of Lucifer’s grace remain off-kilter even as he silently vanishes the rest of Sam’s blood away.

Then Lucifer snaps, and Sam inhales, wincing, as the camera starts broadcasting again.

“And we’re back. Sorry about the wait." Lucifer winks, then his expression turns thoughtful. He waves a hand and drags Clegg back to life as his body is put back together again. Clegg breathes shallowly on the floor, the whites of his eyes rolling and visible.

“So here’s what’s on the itinerary today. We’re all going to learn how to turn a pathetic human cockroach into a proper demon! And afterwards, there will be prizes divvied out to all our faithful viewers! So don't go away.”

The chat pings constantly in response.

Lucifer silences the sound with a wave and walks back to Sam.

"Sam, where's your phone at? Why am I asking, you always keep it..." Lucifer starts in, tilting closer. Sam flinches as his hand rummages around in Sam's back jean pocket, "Aha! Mind if I borrow it? What am I saying, of course you don't."

And then Lucifer is hitting speed-dial on a number Sam knows well. Lucifer flicks the phone on speaker.

"Dean Winchester. Been a while. Anything to say before we start?" Lucifer smiles and licks his lips, one hand akimbo on his waist, the other holding the phone up for all to see. "Shoutout to the crowd?"

"Let Sam go-"

"Mm. Pass. How 'bout I raise you another offer. You have two options. Have your shrimp of a fuckbuddy drop you off to help with our demonstration-"

**No-**

_Sam, you really want to finish that sentence?_

"Dean, don't-" Sam yells in English, but then Lucifer snaps! And has him choking on his own blood again.

 _"Sam, unless you are going to join in enthusiastically, you just keep sitting pretty and only speak when I tell you to."_ Lucifer hisses in Enochian, smile wiped from his face. Lucifer continues on in English. "Or I'll have Sam help me do the honors. Your call." 

The line is silent except for some breathing.

"This is a limited time offer, Dean. Going once, going twice-"

"I'll do it." Dean's voice is a defeated rumble.

"SOLD!" Lucifer hollers as he hangs up, Sam's phone flipping closed with a flourish as he smiles. "I love it when you two make this easy for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they got out of this via cas or jody or donna or something i don't remember what I had planned


	124. Blood // Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goes before No Children at some point, part of s13 canon with the hotel but also different because i could not make it work with me
> 
> chapter title a song by grandson
> 
> originally i was gonna rehaul s13 so that while Lucifer was in the other world, Sam was going to try and harvest grace from the spot he was kept in captivity and then up the ante with that going wrong, but as of now it never materialized

Sam cuts off Lucifer's hand (mid-snap) with the Archangel blade. It's not a fix for any of his problems, as Lucifer heals easily- but it buys time. Precious seconds to get a sigil to flare, to throw holy oil and light it up, and to keep Lucifer doubled-over, and to get Dean the fuck out of here.

Sam hurries across the room to unlock the chains, the force of his thoughts breaking them in two.

He might not have control of his powers, but they work enough for this-

And none of these stopgaps will halt Lucifer for long, but they will allow Sam to not split his focus, in case Lucifer tries to use Dean as further leverage.

Dean stumbles forwards and attempts to drag Sam towards the still-open door by the arm. 

He doesn't know Cas has been taken. Lucifer had made him disappear while Dean was out, and Sam will do what he can to fix that, but until then-

Sam puts something in Dean's hands, crumpled paper dripping red with Enochian written all over it.

"Dean, go find Cas, go get him out. And just run, as far as you can go."

Dean needs to take Sam with him, and tries to pull him along-

But Sam doesn't budge.

Lucifer's hand heals, and his fingers flex as he straightens, not fully recovered but not harmless, either. But he sees the look in Sam's eyes, in the set of his feet, in the way his mouth hangs open ever so slightly and his eyes blink open and shut, and keeps his hands at his sides, head tilted, like he can draw all the answers out of Sam's skull all too easily-

"Dean. Go!" Sam shouts, shoving him towards the door. 

Dean's face is white, and he clutches Sam's arm again, only to get shaken off.

"Sammy, I'm not leaving you-" He breathes.

**_Not here, not with him, not alone, not again-_ **

But Sam knows when running won't do anything. Not when he has to get Dean out, not when he was prepared for this, and not when the thing that's hunted him will keep hunting the both of them down like animals if Sam doesn't make a play that won't send Dean right back into his hands.

Sam can face him. He might not want to.

But unless he does the unexpected... Neither of them were getting out of there unscathed, not after Sam fought and bled, not after he promised this was going to be the finish of a story that deep down he knows should have ended down in the pit forever years and years ago.

Lucifer sees the expression on Sam's face, anticipating every minute expression, and decides to withhold the punishment he'd otherwise dish out in their the attempts to escape, because Sam isn't going by the script, and he can sees it all so clearly, just as Dean does.

And while Sam wasn't going to make a deal, wasn't going to lower himself to accepting Lucifer's plan... He wasn't going to run. Not this time. And that... That was enough, just to see Sam turned towards his brother and finally say no.

"You have to." Sam answers, eyes glancing over to Lucifer and back to his brother. "Dean. I've got him."

And with the echo of words spoken so long ago, like a nail in the coffin, Lucifer laughs as Sam shoves Dean out the door with his mind and locks it behind him.

Dean's hands slam against the wood as he calls Sam's name over and over, but everything's warded from the inside.

Sam turns to face the Devil, knowing this was a risky play, knowing that flipping the script is still too awful, for all the things that have been done to him.

Locking the door, again, all Sam can think of is hands on his stomach and caressing his face, and all the false whispers of, _It will be different, this time, you'll see_ -

Whispers that Sam can't shut up, for all the lies he knows them to be.

\--

"You ready to play ball, Sammy?" Lucifer asks.

Sam shakes his head, following the half-circle Lucifer paces round him.

"I'm not letting you get to Jack, you son of a bitch."

"Then I'll just have to convince you otherwise."

\--

Lucifer rams Sam into the wall, one hand around his throat.

After some more struggling, Sam is dragged to the bathroom.

Lucifer loops the extendable chord of the shower-head around Sam's neck, Sam's feet dangling as they kick, his toes barely reaching the floor.

\--

Sam find an opening and takes his chance.

\--

Lucifer falls to the floor, collapsing, a syringe sticking out of the tendons of his neck.

Sam emerges from behind him, clothed and limping, and withdraws the metal, discarding the empty container and the reworked angel blade of the needle used to tranquilize the Devil.

When Sam stumbles out from the doorway, he hauls Lucifer behind him, dragging him across the floor.

They might not have had enough grace to get to Jack on their own, not with Lucifer leeching it off any surviving angels and being the only Archangel around, but Sam would bleed him fucking dry if it meant getting his son back and ending Lucifer once and for all.


	125. No Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're skipping ahead to S13e21.
> 
> aka what kicked this fic off
> 
> chapter title a song by the mountain goats
> 
> i think this was originally chapter 3 or 5 when I first started posting this out of order idk

As Lucifer and Sam leave the mouth of the tunnel, Lucifer steers Sam by the shoulders to sit him down on a nearby rock. Sam is too tired to fight him, has barely any strength to stand. One of his leg muscles is still twitching, all twisted and splayed off to the side.

Lucifer hands him a canteen full of water, which Sam eyes with suspicion before he turns his head away. He might not have the strength to run or fight, but he can still avoid blind obedience.

Not wasting any time, the Devil full-body tackles him, and stars light across Sam’s vision as his head slams against a tree-trunk. Sam feels a sharp jab! As the Devil’s knees pin him to the ground, a pressure against his pelvis that isn’t easily thrown off.

Sam purses his lips shut, but Lucifer pinches his nostrils together. When Sam can’t hold his breath any longer, he forces all the liquid down.

“Can’t have you being dehydrated, Sammy. Lack of water can kill, and I really am not in the mood to have to resurrect you again. We've done that enough for one day. Besides, no telling when we’ll find decent amounts along the way, and your human body needs to be kept spick-and-span.” Lucifer says, all matter-of-fact, as Sam struggles and wheezes.

Lucifer licks his lips, wets a finger with spit, then wipes off some of the caked, dried blood off of the side of Sam’s mouth. Sam squirms, starts hyperventilating. Lucifer, ever the opportunist and still angry about Sam’s earlier show of defiance, doesn’t waste time. Uses the opening of Sam’s gasping, wide-open mouth to kiss him until Sam’s dizzy and half-suffocating all over again. A usual ritual, one Sam knows too well.

_You’re so ungrateful, Sam. Let me welcome you back into the land of the living. Help you appreciate life to its fullest._

Finally, Lucifer pulls back, blue pupils dilated as if he’s had the hit of the century. Sam can feel his too-wide eyes and the radiating ache in his chest.

“You going to behave now?” Lucifer asks, although it’s more of a directive. “Or do I have to resort to more extreme measures?” Grinds and shifts his own weight over the fabric of Sam’s jeans for good measure. And Sam can feel a hardness pressing into him, can feel one hand dip below his boxers as cold fingers slide up and down.

Sam can’t stop hyperventilating, his chest heaving as he twitches. Tastes tears as they fall all over again and wetness pools between his thighs.

Sam nods his head.

**I’ll listen I promise please no more, no, no more**

Gives up.

Lucifer smiles, all teeth. Doesn’t stop until he’s gotten them both off, and then one roaming hand finally recedes.

_I know we’re on a schedule, but if you can waste time, so can I. Best to make the most of our alone time before we’ve got company. Am I right, Sammy? Can’t be seen putting on a show in the middle of a war-zone. Especially with all the snooping relatives who might try to steal your attention away._

The other hand hauls Sam upright as the Devil rises to his feet. Sam almost spits up his guts, but doesn’t have anything to heave.

“Good. Didn’t want you fighting me off every five minutes. You really don’t know take a hint, although I can give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe dying messed up some circuits in your brainstem, has been keeping you on a loop ‘til all your bodily functions kick back in? That’s why I thought I’d give you a little test drive, make sure everything is functioning optimally before we join you back up with the A-team.”

And suddenly Sam can’t see, a fuzziness like the backs of his eyelids swimming over his vision, blinding him even though he’s wide awake. Feels himself careening, although it’s all muted and far away, and starts pitching over until the Devil throws out an arm to catch him. His neck is stuck, and he’s in a fetal position, and the blood is pounding inside his brain. He can’t seem to move his arms and legs, all locked up and contorted as they are, and whatever else the Devil’s saying sounds like static, garbled underwater noise.

_Shh. Shh. Easy, Sammy. Easy. I got you. It’s all going to be okay. Shh._

Then there’s the ice shoved inside his chest cavity, jolting him alive and functional again, pouring down his throat and sides and ringing against his teeth. And Sam can see again and squints, the sky too blue and sun too bright. Sees Lucifer leaning up against a tree trunk, casual as can be.

And Sam knew: nothing was okay. Even if someone shanked Lucifer with an angel blade to the heart, even if he stabbed him a thousand times and then a thousand more, nothing was ever going to be okay ever, ever again.

Lucifer slips in, “You know, normally, Sam, I’d just drag you behind me the whole trip. But we’re on a schedule, and you’re still not all there yet, so you get VIP treatment.”

And then the Devil is on top of him, arms placed uncomfortably around areas Sam does not want touched.

Sam thrashes like a cornered, rabid animal as he tries to wrestles Lucifer off.

**Let me go let me go let me go LET GO**

_Stop squirming or I will fuck you into submission until you black out. Right here. Right now._

Sam goes limp.

Lucifer scoops him up in his arms like he weighs nothing, because for an archangel, he basically does. Sam, still half-shell-shocked from his Lazarus treatment and the forced intimacy that came after, doesn’t move a muscle as Lucifer starts carrying him bridal-style through the woods.

_There, see. Was that so hard?_

Sam doesn’t have the ability to think or speak. He’s just gone for the moment, flat-lined, dissociated so hard he might as well be dead again.

_You know, road trips and hikes are never really complete without songs. Any requests? Because otherwise it’s Stairway to Heaven. Or maybe Hotel California, just to change things up. What do you think?_

Sam still doesn’t respond. Lucifer sighs.

_I know I trained you well, but sometimes your human fear responses are a bit over-the-top, even for me. You’d think arousal would cancel it out, but no. Makes me miss being inside you, could keep you going for days._

Nothing.

_Oh, fine. Be that way. Guess Stairway to Heaven it is._

The Devil starts humming softly. Sam tries his best to tune it out.

Sam doesn’t really know how long Lucifer was carrying him around or how long they’d be on their hike from Hell.

He blanks out, goes in and out of awareness. Notes idly: One tree. One rock. One mountain-side. A cloud. Sunlight from that way. Sunlight the other way. A stick at a weird broken angle. Like a wrist. Or a spine. Or a neck.

Lucifer’s hands around his shoulders, his waist, and then trailing farther along his back. Lucifer, shifting his grip, taking a chance to feel up under his shirt.

Lucifer’s true form outside of his vessel superimposed over Sam’s soul, before its many grins widen and it opens all its mouths and it slips under the edges of Sam and dives down, deep, deep down. Kissing his eyes and neck and abdomen, claws and fingertips and tongues caressing him both the inside and out.

Lucifer, keeping him cradled against his chest with one arm as the vessel’s opposite fingers keep fondling the zipper of Sam's bloodstained jeans.

Sam is submerged. Grace billowing in and out and around him like he’s trapped in its gravitational pull. So close to the Devil in every aspect.

And Sam is drowning 90 feet underwater beneath the ice floes of the Artic Sea. Frozen appendages made of seaweed dragging him. The water rises and crushes his lungs and yet he’s still not allowed to drown.

Sometimes a pack of angels descends or crosses their path by accident, in which case Lucifer balances Sam on one knee, then hefts him up on his shoulders like a limp sack of potatoes to free up two fingers.

He snaps! And Sam flinches, shuts his eyes, head pressing into Lucifer’s shoulder as if there was an imitation of human comfort to be found there, and the angels would all dissipate, their grace sucked into Lucifer’s gaping maw, the whorls of grace gravitating towards him like a black hole. Sam could feel it swell and conjoin with the Archangel, could feel the cold creeping down his throat and lungs, could feel as the tiny different sparks and electricity of other angelic consciousness was eaten by the virus that was Lucifer, consumed, assimilated, and recreated like new strands of DNA. Could feel as they became more tendrils and coils and hands and tongues feeling him up and down.

Sam is mute for most of it. Although, he keens, just a little, a tiny throaty noise that’s too rasping and dry when it all gets to be too much, and his mind starts to bend. And Sam starts to float in between the spaces, the boundary between Lucifer’s presence and his.

_There, there Sammy. I’ve got you. You’re right here with me, right where you belong._

And at some later point, Lucifer dumps him unceremoniously to the ground at what Sam thinks must be the end of the road. Tells him their roughly 30 feet from the camp, but still keeps them out of sight with the help of his grace. Sam can feel the shield whirring, a net keeping him separate from the rest of the living world.

Lucifer cleans him up, but keeps the bloodstains so Sam doesn’t look too attended to. Then decides they made better time than expected, after all "it was only a few hours," because Lucifer doesn’t need rest, and that they have a few minutes to kill before walking in. Says he wants to make sure Sam’s fine motor skills are all in working order.

Sam lets Lucifer administer his handsy appraisal, completely mute.

And then he’s pulling Sam’s jacket down, then pressing a tongue down Sam’s throat again, before he’s pressing Sam against another tree-trunk, grace keeping him pinned, wrapped around his throat so Sam can’t make noise even if he tried.

And then Lucifer’s giving Sam head like the world is really about to end, before he turns him around, preps him, and fucks him until Sam crumples and can’t stand.

When Lucifer is finished, has received everything he wants from Sam for the moment, Lucifer pretties him up and shoots Sam up with some extra grace so he can walk, same as before.

As if nothing ever happened.

Drags him along by the wrist for the last stretches of the way, before they’re 30 feet from the entrance and Lucifer pushes Sam out in front of him.

A few minutes later, they’re walking on into the camp. Sam’s jacket feels too thin and slippery, his skin too sensitive and tight, ice still frozen to his eyelashes. And the Devil is only a few feet behind him, always a cold chill tracing his footsteps.

_Here we go, Sammy. Don’t let me down._

\---

When Sam stumbles into camp, Jack is the first to run over. He catches him, hugs him close.

"Dad, you're alive! I thought you were gone I couldn't bring you back I-"

"I'm alive, Jack. I'm here. Right here," Sam whispers furiously, and doesn't mind that Jack is too close, ignores his too-raw wounds, and hugs him with all of the love inside his being.

"How? How are you alive Cas said-"

“Sam?” Dean’s voice is soft, disbelieving, and then he’s hugging him, too. Mary and Castiel are almost there, on his heels.

No shame, no exhaustion, no torture, not even the cold pall of the Devil can take this from Sam. All he can think is, **I won’t let him ruin this. I won’t.**

_Oh, Sam, look how much they missed you. Makes my job real easy._

And the moment the Devil stepped out, only a few steps behind, Dean and Castiel and Mary all knew this was a trap, a setup, an elaborate hostage situation.

And Sam was the bait.

“You get the hell away from Sam, you hear me?” Dean yells, archangel blade already drawn and in his hand. Castiel and Mary follow suit, although they are farther back and don't have implements that can even nick the Devil.

Lucifer doesn’t stop Dean with grace, no, he just pulls Sam out directly in front of him, a literal human shield.

Dean stops short.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Steady there. No need to be waving those around, you might break something. Besides, Sam doesn’t really want to go anywhere yet, do you, Sammy?”

 _Dean, I have to ask, did you really think I was going to actually listen to a single word out of your mouth? Because… that’s a new low bar, even for you._ Lucifer sends on over, the message only to Dean, but Sam can always hear him, can feel the grace sizzle with frost inside his veins.

Sam is so submerged with cold he’s surprised his teeth aren’t chattering. He can’t feel his arms and legs. All he can feel all the icy fingertips grazing his ribcage, sliding over his sternum before settling at his naval. No, Lucifer isn't letting Sam out of arms reach.

“You let him go right now, or...” Dean snarls, but Lucifer just clutches Sam closer to his chest.

“Sam, please explain to Dean that while his concern is noted and appreciated, you’re fine. I made sure.”

Sam looks up at him, slightly dazed. Looks back at Dean. Makes sure his hoarse voice carries anyway. Sells it because if he doesn’t, Lucifer is going to jump to Plan B, which is kill or maim everyone and then steal Sam and Jack away.

“I’m fine, Dean. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. He’s here to help us.”

The words feel like barbed wire in his throat.

_That’s right, Sammy. You keep playing peacemaker, just like we discussed._

He looks out at Mary and Cas and Dean and finally, Jack, says the words, "Lucifer brought me back."

Jack looks at Lucifer, wary. No real expression forthcoming.

"I promised I would take care of you, Sam. Leaving you dead would be an affront to all of creation." Lucifer says, stares at Sam, smile is too bright, too blinding. Then he turns his attentions to Jack, just as pleased.

"Hello, my son. It's so nice to finally meet you."

And if Sam could have the earth swallow him and the Devil right now, if Sam had the choice to say Yes and throw them both in the Cage all over again, in that moment, he wouldn't have even flinched.

Jack looks caught off guard, although that might be an understatement. Before he can say anything, an alarm starts going off. A warning that angels were about to invade.

They fly in with immediacy, only about two feet away. But before the small flock of angels can do anything, Lucifer snaps, then inhales as they dissipate into grace, siphons it into his very being, like he’d been doing all day.

The people in the camp and the entire Winchester clan just stop and stare. Sam can see the wheels turning in Dean's and Mary's and Cas's head even without looking at them, How did the Devil eat them? How is he holding in so much Grace, that should be impossible...

Sam only ducks his head down, wincing. No eye contact with anyone.

“You’re welcome!” Lucifer hollers, shoots everyone a grin. “I mean, this is why I’m here. Destroying Michael’s resistance. Helping.”

Turns to Sam, who has recovered. “Just like I promised. Can’t have them stealing you away, you know? Like a princess in a tower. Although, you did play the white knight for me, so it might be nice to return the favor.”

Then he turns to Jack, cups his hands to his face conspiratorially. “Michael likes to take things important to me, it’s not a stretch he would try again. Gotta keep you two safe. You’re my family, after all. Besides, I’m a team player.” Lucifer adds, and turns back to Cas and the other Winchesters. “Don’t thank me all at once.”

“What exactly should we be thanking you for, huh?” Dean growls, stalking closer. Lucifer holds up a hand, spine straightening.

“For saving your hide. Or at least, helping all the other less capable humans and saving you time since you probably can handle yourself. If you want, I won’t bother next time. Which reminds me,” Lucifer adds, too calm, and snaps! Again.

Sam flinches. Again. Rote memory seems to be working just fine. But he lurches for the blade anyway, only to stop and stumble, not on target, and half-falls, splayed in Lucifer’s open arms. Lucifer looks at him, body language open and at ease. His eyes are flat and dead.

_Not a smart move, Bunk Buddy. Not a smart move at all._

“Sam, if you wanted a hug all you needed to do was ask.” Lucifer jests. The Archangel blade is in Lucifer hand, and then it winks out of existence where only Lucifer can retrieve it. “Just keeping this safe, since you’re not doing so hot, and Dean’s, well, Dean.” Lucifer explains easily. “Besides, Michael has nothing on me. Obviously."

No one really moves. Sam’s too scared to react.

**I..**

_Sam, absolutely nothing you can say right now is going to help you, so just shut your whore mouth and keep on looking pretty._

Instead of following Lucifer's orders, Sam drops into unconsciousness like a rock.

\--  
Sam comes to a moment later, everything still doused in a persistent fog.

“Dad-” Jack’s quiet intensity. A smaller hand clutching his.

“Sam?” Mary’s voice now, and a hand to his forehead. It withdraws, and Sam’s starts to see light again, can fill air filling his lungs.

“Sam, Sam, are you okay-” Dean’s frantic voice. And he was a constant warmth near his side, a closer human shape than the rest.

“Dean, you’re going to smother him. Give him some air-” Lucifer’s voice, too gentle. Icy vessel’s palms still gripping one shoulder.

“Don’t you touch him! What did you do to him? What DID YOU DO-”

“Look, Sam was dead for a really long time. In another dimension, if may I remind you. He’s not fully online yet, his body’s still going haywire-”

“Like I believe that, you son-of-bitch-”

“He’s waking up, Dean. Sam is going to recover.” Castiel’s husky voice cuts in. _Relatively._ Remains unsaid. And Sam can feel Castiel’s presence just beyond Lucifer’s icy clutches, a bright burning heat like a bonfire calling him home.

Castiel’s grace reaches out, isn’t rebuffed by Lucifer like usual. _Sam, what do you need?_ Implications clear. What do we do?

 _He needs you to get your sticky fingers off him and to grant him a moment of peace._ Lucifer growls back, only to Cas and Sam. Concedes, _Or maybe find him a chair._ As if he only just realized what shape he’s left Sam actually in, then he promptly kicks Castiel out.

**No, I can’t sit, I-**

_You really want to argue when you just tried to go and stab me, Sam? I get it, you have a fucking martyr complex, but for once in your sorry, difficult life, give yourself a break and just let me take the wheel._

**It hurts-**

_Too bad. Shouldn’t have wasted so much of my time becoming vampire chow, then. If it hurts too much to sit, you always have my lap. Now, up and at ‘em, atom man. Don’t make me wait._

“What-” Sam gasps and lurches to consciousness with another hit of pure cold.

“Mary, get Sam some food, he’s been running on empty. Castiel, find a place for him to sit. Dean… help me get him up, if you aren’t going to ease off.” Lucifer commands. “Son… do whatever you think is best. Maybe find him a blanket?”

And Sam feels himself being lifted up, two arms draped over two sets of shoulders, and then he’s being helped, half-limping over the crunching leaves to a picnic table.

Lucifer sits him down on his lap as promised, and Sam’s reprieve of less pain is drowned out by Lucifer’s own presence.

“There, you can rest now.” Lucifer settles him in. Sam isn’t going to be able to rest at all.

Jack flies back with a sense of mission from wherever he rummaged around, one maroon blanket in tow. Drapes it around Sam carefully. The Devil tucks his arms under it, as extra insurance just as much to keep up the benign image.

“Thank you, Jack. That should keep the shock from settling in for now.”

Mary has found a can of broth that Castiel has warmed up, both of them walking it over Sam with a look of pure concern. Dean and Jack are already there, sitting on the sides of the table. The others in the camp hang back, still wary, although Sam can see Bobby directing someone farther away.

_Don’t get your hopes you, Sam. I’ve already read the folks the riot act while you were out. They don’t play along, and poof, you and Jack are coming with me. And don’t think Jack can feel our bond either. He can’t. I’ve been keeping him cut off, for his sake as well as ours. Don’t want to overwhelm the human parts of him with the amount of power I’m radiating._

**Thought you wanted to win Jack over.** Sam’s surprised at his own daring, but still too exhausted to care. Doesn’t say, you just didn’t want him to wise up to your games.

_Oh, I will. But knowing the track record of all you Winchesters, well… it never hurts to be prepared. Fantastically suicidal and short-sighted, the lot of you._

“Jack, are you alright?” Sam asks, turns to his son whose eyes haven’t left him this whole time. Doesn’t want to bring attention to him, but it’s just been so long.

“I’m fine, Dad. We’ve been fighting the good fight here. Enough to make you proud.” Jack answers, one hand on Sam’s shoulder where the blanket meets his neck.

“Already proud.” Sam murmurs before he starts to slip and pass out again. Lucifer catches him, and instead of an icy hit of grace this time, asks him to make a choice. Verbally for once, maybe to keep the Winchesters trigger fingers from reacting on instinct. Don’t want Sammy to be shot by accident, close as they are, after all. Or maybe to look good and considerate to win Jack over.

“Sam, you don’t have the juice to stay conscious on your own right now. You going to sleep it off or you want to stay awake?” Lucifer asks, very gently.

“Awake.” Sam slurs. He has to, he has to, he can’t leave everyone alone to fight him, and Jack-

Sam’s head starts to sway. The whole camp is a grey blur.

Without further ado, Lucifer opens up a vein and forces a hit of his blood down. The grace sings like a bell in Sam’s head, clears it, but it’s so bright and so cold Sam can’t help but feel sluggish. Sam idly notes how Dean stiffens, confused, starts to protest before he isn’t anymore, Castiel holding him back. Mary is just watching, because she knows this, has kept Sammy’s dirty little secret. Has seen Lucifer do it all before.

The Enochian sigils marking Sam as Lucifer’s own, long since carved into his ribs since he’d first escaped the Cage, something Sam could never erase no matter how hard he tried, start to sting under his skin. The sigils burn and burn and burn with the cold fire until world is suddenly so clear and so in focus it almost hurts Sam’s eyes.

There’s a pause, and Sam loses more time.

When he comes to, it’s can only have been a few seconds. Dean hasn’t moved too much, Mary has sat down. Castiel is still standing offset to the side. Jack has left for a moment to get more supplies, _will be back in a jiffy,_ Lucifer so-kindly explains.

“What’s the plan?” Sam rasps, looking around at anyone else. One of Lucifer’s arms is still folded over his chest, keeps him nestled too close.

“Eat first, Sam. They can fill us in as we go.” Lucifer orders. Starts force-feeding him small sips of soup like Sam’s his own personal patient. Sam doesn’t fight him, let’s his weary head lean against Lucifer’s other hand as it props him upright, icy fingers folding stray strands of hair behind his ear and out of the way.

_I may treat you rough, Sammy, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get proper aftercare._

**Not safe, sane, consensual.** Sam can feel the hysteria bubbling up, but the Devil allows it, knows Sam’s hit his limit, is completely complacent and along for the ride. For now.

“I don’t remember saying you were part of this team.” Dean challenges, the best he muster at the moment. And maybe Sam was out longer than a few seconds, if Lucifer and Dean had time to exchange words.

Lucifer grants him a very pointed, flat stare. _Are you trying to make Sam’s life more difficult, or have you suffered more extensive brain damage since five minutes ago?_ Sam hears. Sees the set of Dean’s jaw as he clenches his fists.

Lucifer turns his attentions to Mary and Castiel. “Where’s Gabriel?”

Castiel shoots a meaningful look towards Dean and Mary, who up until this point didn’t know Lucifer knew about Gabriel being alive at all. Not good.

 _Yes, I’m not going to be blindsided by my pathetic little liar of a brother, particularly when he pops up from death like a recalcitrant daisy on the regular. No luck getting him to stab me, either, if that’s what you we’re all hoping for. Honestly, it’s like you take me for an amateur. How many times have we done this dance routine by now?_ Lucifer sends over to them.

Sam shudders.

**At least five.**

And Dean and Mary and Castiel start, turn towards him, actually hear Sam’s thoughts this time. That… wasn’t a good sign at all.

Sam sucks in a breath. Lucifer is still, too still, but the kind that is wrapped in joy and smug celebration. Lucifer, as an aside, assures him he only has a direct line to the people he’s sending out grace to, and Sam believes him, because he would not allow any line of communication to be that easy.

_Enough blood and I might not need a Yes to possess you, what do you think, Sammy?_

Sam doesn’t answer, because they both know it’s an empty bluff only meant to throw Sam’s closeness in his face. Can feel how tightly bound his soul and Lucifer’s are overlapping, tangled in knots, all the raw love and joy and whispers of Glory singing away in his marrow. An agony that was so light and airy it was like choking on a peak of a mountain summit.

Sam’s body aches, so heavy and drained in comparison.

“Gabriel is out.” Castiel supplies, unhelpful. Let’s that strange revelation of Sam’s incidental, atypical telepathy slide by, because he already knows the cause. True Vessels can take in so much of their host angel, and the host provides some decent kickbacks. When the relationship is equalized and not abused, that is. And Sam’s not working off the buzz intentionally, his body is just too exhausted to keep it packed in all at once for now.

“Out where?” Lucifer demands as he wipes the beads of sweat off Sam’s forehead.

“Scouting. We’re trying to get a lead on where Michael is at, then find a way to isolate or neutralize him and scatter his troops.” Castiel clarifies, noting how Lucifer’s grace had shifted dangerously around Sam again. Notes how Sam doesn’t have the will right now to cope, a half-drowned man at the mercy of the ocean at night, a diver whose air tanks have been cut, pitted against the vast, cavernous waves of Lucifer’s dazzling, congealed form.

“Sam and I can help with that.” Lucifer tilts his head thoughtfully.

_Looks like all my lessons will come in handy, after all._

Sam chokes on the soup, and Lucifer ditches the spoon, holds him upright, helps him breath. Gives him a pat like he’s a well-trained dog.

_Remember to breath, Bunk Buddy._

Sam is too scared to pray anything back.

\--

The next ten minutes, Sam and Lucifer are briefed on the plan to help liberate the people of this dimension.

In the meantime, Gabriel has flown back, having gained more intelligence on the angel troop movements in the area.

“Little Bro.” Lucifer says, gives a short wave.

Gabriel stops, sees how the rest of the Winchester clan is cagey as hell. Sees just how strung out Sam’s become in Lucifer’s lap. Doesn’t really need eyes to see how much Sam isn’t dealing.

“Any need to worry about demons?” Sam manages to ask, only looks at Gabriel a second before turning back to Dean.

Dean shakes his head. “Not too many survived. Apparently some Croats are around, but they aren’t supposed to be nearby.”

“So let me get this straight. Your master plan was, what, gank Michael with an angel blade, take out as many angels as you can, and then what? Take Jack and Mary and skip along home?” Lucifer critiques.

“Our mission was to find them. We found them. Now that we know how the people of this world need assistance and Jack and Mary’s involvement, we’re trying to help them as best we can. Particularly when we have experience in this same situation, more or less.” Castiel clarifies. Draws himself upright as if that would intimidate the Devil at all. _All thanks to you._ Cas snipes on over to Lucifer, who doesn’t reply, and only looks distinctly unimpressed.

_Uh, remember, Castiel, who broke all those seals and tried to engineer the Apocalypse before I even entered the picture? Because a certain someone else was involved, Mr. Righteous Rambo here included._

Lucifer, bored of this subject, turns to his next favorite Winchester after Sam and Jack.

“And Mary? What do you think of this?”

She looks ready to stab him in the face, but keeps her tone a forced calm. “Jack and I want to help these people. Now that we have enough resources and we know what we’re up against, we can. It might not win the war, but anything we can do to fight Michael and weaken his position while we're here is worth it.”

“Have you considered killing him?” Lucifer asks, deadpan. Sam ends up caving and closes his eyes, too tired to hold his head up, head propped up against Lucifer’s collarbone. It’s not an ideal way to rest while they plan, but it’s all that Sam’s going to get.

“Hmm, I wonder, Skeletor. Why else would I be packing the Archangel blade?” Dean fumes.

Sam can feel the glaring stare-down even though Lucifer’s head is now higher than his.

“Good thing you have an even better archangel killer right here.” Lucifer suggests, voice cool. “Especially since I don’t think you’d make it very far, considering he could make you disappear like that.” Lucifer snaps, and Sam’s awake again, having flinched for what probably was the billionth time today.

“Look, I don’t know what you think are playing at, Satan, but if you think we’re going to ask for your help, you’re wrong.” Dean argues, resisting the urge to deck him and tackle him to the ground. Lucifer still won’t let him near Sam, a joint punishment for the both of them.

“Oh, I’m not volunteering help. I’m getting rid of this world’s Michael, one way or another. Whether it meshes with your plans is all up to you and the consensus of this shabby human outpost.”

And then Dean is right in Lucifer’s face, knuckles white and gleaming on the top of the picnic table.

“I will kill you.” He snarls, fingertips digging into wood. Sam can feel him, inches away, gets an impression from behind the Devil's eyelids from the swirling grace, but doesn’t look over, because Lucifer is so, so freezing and the temperature is rapidly dropping. And anything he does might end up contributing to Dean getting hurt. “I promise.”

“Brave words from a human who can’t even keep his little brother safe.” Lucifer answers.

_I can do anything I want to him, Dean. Anything at all._

Silence. Sam keeps his eyes closed because the Devil orders him to.

Dean can’t hold in the helplessness, the rage, keeps fighting the good fight Sam wants to fight but can’t.

“Jack is going to see right through you.” Dean hisses.

There’s a flurry of wings, and Jack appears as if summoned. The tension buzzes and settles into a stalemate, for the moment. Lucifer appears to relax his body language, and Dean withdraws, albeit extremely reluctantly.

“Speak of the not-Devil,” Lucifer murmurs, and as Jack steps forward, turns and adds, “Son.”

“It’s Jack,” Jack corrects him. And Lucifer doesn’t look at Sam even as his grace laughs, _Oh, Sam, the name you picked out couldn’t more be on-the-nose, could it?_

**I swear if you try anything-**

_He’s our son, Sam. He’s safe. Kick back and take a chill pill, will ya?_

And then Sam feels a warmth near him, different from Castiel’s. And Jack retrieved more water, sets a cup of it down beside him.

“Thirsty?” Jack asks, hands Sam a cup of water.

Sam drinks.

No one speaks.

The water, Sam finds, helps. Or maybe it’s just the gesture.

Still, his heart keeps beating too fast.

And Castiel takes his chance to say, “Jack, talking with Lucifer is not a good idea.”

And Lucifer sends another message on a frequency that is just him and the other angel, a private telephone line his son can’t quite breach, _I don’t think anyone asked you, short stuff._

“I’m not going to talk, I’m going to listen,” Jack states, still half-bitter Castiel told him there was nothing to be done to save Sam. And Lucifer has found his opening and couldn’t be more proud.

_Oh, Castiel, did you think it would be so easy to turn him against me, like Dean did with Sam? Did you think I would even let you try?_

“He’s gonna listen.” Lucifer rubs in and winks. Then he turns his attentions to his son.

“Jack,” Cas starts, but Lucifer’s grace starts kneading into Sam, a sharp warning, and Cas stops short. Sam knows Jack can’t feel it, although he doesn’t know how or why not, if it’s a limitation of being a Nephilim or if it’s something Lucifer’s done.

“Jack, wow. I have been waiting for this moment for so long I almost don’t know what to say.” Lucifer actually looks down, as if blinded, as if humbled.

_It’s been so long, Sammy. Look how much he’s grown up without me._

Sam can’t move, doesn’t speak. Watches, waiting, because he knows a misstep would lead to something new and horrific and he has to play his cards close to his chest.

He had faith in Jack, yes, but he knew all too well how persuasive Lucifer could be.

“This Dad thing is sort of new to me.” Lucifer says, and adds, “Do you have any questions that you wanna ask? Don’t let my status as a legend hold you back, just fire away.”

“Why does everyone hate you?” Jack immediately asks, and Dean has never felt more proud of him than in this moment. Sam only sucks in air, knows that’s one loaded question full of things that weren’t going to go anywhere good, but keeps watching and waiting, because, _Oh, Sam, he really does take after you. Cuts right to the chase._

Lucifer puts his hand in his pockets and smiles easily. It’s not the smile Sam knows, the one where he’s trying to seduce and force you into compliance, but a lighter one, similar to how Jess looked when they first met, all uncomplicated and bright. And Sam’s stomach did flips, because he knows all the disassembly and secrets hiding just below its surface, like an iceberg ready to send everyone tumbling into the sea.

“Such a good question. So, you’ve probably heard the stories, anything ugly happens, any evil befalls the world, it’s my fault.” He nods sagely. “That’s because God needed a Fall Guy. A lot of bad press. Fake news.”

Castiel grounds out, “That’s not… entirely true.” Doesn’t keep going when Lucifer shoots him a pointed stare.

_You really want to go there, Castiel? Because I don’t think you do. After all, think of all the skeletons in your closet, Angel of the Lord._

And Lucifer is still so close to Sam, close enough for him to touch. Cas relents, although his eyes are burning with the promise of the benevolent justice of Heaven (which was not quite benevolent, no, not much at all).

“True or false, Castiel, for almost like, ever, I have been locked away in a Cage.”

“Yes.” Cas grits out.

“True! It’s true.” Lucifer says, giddy, “So how did I do all this evil for all these centuries, I wonder.”

“Who locked you up?” Jack asks. His brow furrows.

_Wow, he even has Castiel’s mannerisms down. You really did a number on him, didn’t you._

“My dad. Because I told the truth. See he loved humans so much he couldn’t see their flaws. And I told him about it. And he got mad. He felt I was murdering his masterpiece. And so, he kicked me out. Threw me to the curb. No time out, no ‘go in the corner,’ nothing like that, just gone. Banished. And yes, as Cas says, I have done some bad things. I have my reasons. But I just want the opportunity to get better. Doesn’t everybody? Don’t you?”

Jack doesn’t look satisfied with the answer, although he’s still open, and Lucifer keeps going, arms waving about, palms open and placating.

“I mean, yes. It’s true. I have done things that I am not entirely proud of. I have led the occasional soul to ruin, this is true. But Jack, it’s because humans are so messed up. They’re so willing to be led astray.”

“Sam is human.” Jack says flatly, expression closed off. Glances at Sam and then back to Lucifer, who is eyeing Sam with undisguised fondness and an edge of that possessive, endless need. Sam stills, a deer in headlights.

“Sammy is special,” Lucifer gushes with reverence, eyes shining bright. “Sam’s my favorite. He’s better than all the rest of them, the best of the best. Kind. Thoughtful. Resilient. A survivor, a warrior. Not an unsacrificial bone in his body. Gorgeous, if I may be so bold to add.”

**You absolute son of a fuck, don't you dare use me to-**

_I tell no lies, Sammy, and you know I mean every word. There’s a reason we’re stuck together. And I chose you, after all. Because you’re made for me. All **mine.**_

Lucifer keeps going, “Great kisser, too. Gave up his virginity when we were both young and in love.”

Sam becomes a statue, every breath shallow and sharp. Hears, _I miss those days, don’t you? Good thing we have another chance._

Attention returning to Jack, Lucifer starts stumbling, half a ruse to distract from Sam’s shifting body language. “Although… I don’t know if that’s something you should know about yet, maybe not. And I mean, yes, Sam and I have had our share of differences and arguments and domestic spats, that’s true. But we’re working those out, one day at a time.”

Jack doesn’t seem to be buying all of it, although he seemed a little won over by the glowing praise of Sam Winchester.

Sam feels like he’s going to be sick.

**You can’t do this, you can’t-**

_Just watch me, sweetheart._

“And Kelly?” Jack probes.

Lucifer deflects easily, “She was an awesome lady. Devout. Incorruptible. Willing to die for a noble and holy and worthy cause. See, she loved you, Jack. They both love you and want to keep you safe, like me. Most humans aren’t like that. Most humans are just scared, hapless animals, willing to turn on you on a dime, polluting everything they touch because they just can’t help it. They don’t know any better. The point is, most humans are not perfect. They are hardwired to fall, and when they do, they need an excuse.”

Lucifer points to himself.

Jack stands pensive, brow furrowing as he waits for more of an answer.

“Why don’t Dean and Castiel and Mary and Gabriel like you?”

Lucifer chuckles, smiles again. “I’m sensing a theme here. Well, Jack, no one gets along all the time. Dean… well, he’s never liked me, and I’ve never much liked him. We just don’t have compatible personalities, they mix like oil and water. Plus, he’s a bit too much like my big brother Michael, and he’s very overprotective of Sammy here, so he’s always been a bit chilly with me, even before we really got to know each other.”

Dean looks ready to yell something and commit murder with his bare hands, but Lucifer doesn’t pause.

“Plus, way back when he tried to kill me, and I tried to kill him. Didn’t work. All water under the bridge. You know how hotheaded Dean gets by now, how focused he is on his mission. Almost a bit too dedicated, if you ask me.”

And Lucifer shoots him a pointed look, tilts his head enough towards Sam. And Dean quiets. Mary sees it, too, knows that she can’t do much, either.

 _Look, I know you’d rather all call in the cavalry, guns blazing. But I own the show here. And if you so much as look at Jack wrong, say one thing out of line, well… Let’s just say it won’t be pretty and leave it at that. Understood?_ Lucifer addresses every member of Team Free Will save Jack. _Besides, you could all take a leaf out of Sammy’s book here. He’s such a trooper. Knows how this is going to go. Knows every single consequence. Am I right, Sammy?_

And the Winchester clan looks at Sam, sees how close Lucifer is, the flash of teeth as he smiles. The hand on Sam's thigh. And they quiet, force the need to destroy Lucifer down, for the youngest Winchester’s sake. Sam is not holding up well, not at all.

Jack starts to look uncertain, but keeps listening. Sam’s fists clench at his side.

“Gabe, well, Gabe’s my brother, and if you had siblings you know you get in tiffs all the time. It’s just a normal sibling rivalry thing, no biggie. Although, he did play a very mean prank on me once that went real bad, and I defended myself, got him back. Just a mistake, all fixed now. Besides, he’s the favorite of all my brothers. Michael and Raphael could be such self-righteous, pompous bores. You don’t want to meet them, in this world or ours. Although, I’m pretty such Dean killed Raphael… or was that Cas? Anyway-”

Gabriel is farther away but glares at him from the other side of camp. Lucifer sends a web of grace over, taunting. _You aren’t a hero, bro. Keep your skin out of the game, like you always used to._ And Gabriel’s still afraid, doesn’t engage or defend himself. Now’s not the time.

“Mary, well, she made some… questionable decisions and blames me for them, although honestly they are completely her fault, if she really thinks about it. You should ask her about it some time.”

“That is a gross oversimplification-” Castiel hisses, because he dares. Lucifer waves him off. Keeps one hand on Sam’s shoulder, a reminder. Sam’s too scared to shake him off.

“And Castiel… well, he’s very loyal to Dean and loves him, so he usually sides with him anyway, but he also got in the middle of something between me and Sam a few years back. A whole big misunderstanding where everyone got burned. He wasn’t too happy I convinced Kelly to give birth to you, only because he didn’t want her to die, mind you. He’s always been a big fan of yours. Wasn’t really on board with Sam being your parent, either, but he came around eventually. So, you know. Family drama. Happens to the best of us.”

Jack considers the information. Looks over at Sam, sees how drawn and wary he’s become.

“Why is Sam afraid of you?”

Lucifer stop in his tracks. Considers, shoots Sam a calculatingly look.

“Well, what’s he told you, Jack? I don’t want to go into too many details if Sammy didn’t think it necessary.”

**No, no, no, please, no. Don’t.**

_Oh, but Sam. You just made this so easy. Almost as easy as it is to open up those bodacious long legs of yours. Such a treat._

And Sam almost starts shaking, but Lucifer’s grace holds him fast. Has been surrounding him like a shock blanket even since his resurrection.

Jack continues on, oblivious. Still so young and innocent with not a single thing to protect him from Lucifer’s steady, venomous manipulations.

“That you hurt people and shouldn’t be trusted and that you’ve hurt him before.” Jack volunteers, although he isn’t sure. He looks over at Sam, but Sam isn’t giving him any feedback, isn’t stopping him. It’s like he’s on autopilot, not there right now.

“Nothing else?” Lucifer presses.

“Well… no.”

_Well, I’ll be damned, Sammy. You didn’t tell him anything, did you? Didn’t want to traumatize our kid. Make him feel guilty for existing, just like you always have. I gotta say, you’ve done so well. I always knew you’d make a good parent, but this definitely takes the cake. Way to rise above and beyond for the occasion._

Sam goes numb. Feels the echo of teeth and wings and fire and the constant, constant cold. Feels the fingers reach inside of him. Feels the chill of the Devil’s forked tongue.

“Well, I can say that I have hurt Sam before. I broke his heart, and he broke mine, and we both regret it and have been trying to make up for it ever since. So he's right. That's why he's so nervous- he's worried things are going to go wrong again, is all. And now that you are older, maybe Sam can give you more detailed answers. I think you should ask him, get his perspective. Right, Sammy?”

And Sam is frozen, mouth dry.

“I… I…”

And Jack is looking at him, entreating.

Lucifer tried to start the Apocalypse and almost succeeded in killing off all of humanity. He tried to wear me like a Sunday Suit and he succeeded. He made me ask for it. Lucifer broke my heart. He ruins everything he touches. Lucifer made me love him. He made me fear him. He made me love him again. He drowned me in everything he is so I could never escape. He owned every inch of me in the Cage, tortured me every single day for thousands and thousands and lifetimes, for over 7,000 years, just because I didn’t let him win. He raped me over and over and over and then stalked me all the way out of Hell. He possessed my friends to hurt me and destroyed every piece of me again and again. He fucked my soul raw. Sometimes he made me like it. He taught me about the secrets of Creation just so I could participate in his torture and mind-games, all so he could get his kicks. He would force me to hide so he could hunt me down. And when I escaped the Cage, Lucifer infected every part of my life and made me doubt what was real and sent me hallucinations. He sent me back to him when I was desperate to try and claim me again. He pretended to be God. He’s threatened and tortured and killed my family and my friends. He took Michael apart, slashed and shredded him into pieces just because he tried to interact with me, and I’ll never forget the sight. Said he was saving my skin. I can feel his true form stroking and gliding and clawing into me all the time and his grace never leaves my bloodstream. I can hear his laughter in my sleep in every single nightmare. I get panic attacks in the shower because I can almost feel him behind me. I can’t take a bath at all. I can’t stand the sight of hooks or chains or meat. Because of him I know what it’s like to have all your throat torn out, or your eyes gouged out, how it feels to drown in your own blood. Or to have your skin burned off, or your eyelids peeled off, your fingernails ripped out, or how to have your heart eaten while you’re still being kept alive. I have no privacy in my own mind. Lucifer played with my emotions and my body until I completely broke apart. He changed me "back" into a woman just to make me bear his child when he was the one who helped me transition when I was young and he knew how much it would destroy me. He drugged me and touched me and made me his bitch. He got me addicted to his soul and his blood to make me pliable. He says he loves me and he does and it is eating me alive. He wants to kill all of humanity just because he can. He resurrects who he wants just to kill them again. He sent God away. He took over Jess’s body and gave me some of the best years of my life to make me trust him and love him. He wants to rule over everything, Heaven and Hell and Earth. He brought me back to life and won’t ever let me rest. He isolated me. He threatens me. He coerces me. Lucifer once gave me everything I wanted and then took it all away because what he wants, what he thinks I need, what he forces me into and thinks is best matters more. And he still wants to rule me, own me, keep me, and he won’t give me up. He made me pray and beg and kneel for him. He made me burn. He has torn me apart over and over. He made me want him. He made me feel like I was the only important thing in the universe and hasn’t let me forget ever since. He compliments me just to remind me of all the things he’ll keep doing to me, forever and ever. He toys with my body and my mind, and if he doesn’t resurrect me, he will tow me back down with him to Hell every single time I die just to do all of this all over again. Lucifer has eaten my soul over and over, has entwined it in his. Has branded me as all his own. He never takes no for an answer. His very existence is a threat to you and everyone else. And that is just the worst of it. A highlight reel.

Lucifer is the worst evil you will ever know, Jack, and you don’t deserve to have anything to do with him.

Sam wants to say.

But Sam doesn’t say any of that. He can’t find the words even though he wants to tell Jack everything, wants to scream, “Don’t trust this snake, don’t!” But he can’t talk about the details of the Cage (Jack’s so young, too young), and Lucifer won’t let him say anything incriminating, an icy chill settled on his shoulder, always breathing down his neck.

And Sam knows Lucifer heard every single thing running through his brain. Knows nothing he’s told is enough to keep Jack from being blindsided. Can feel the grace suffocating him as it closes in.

_Quite a running tally you’ve got there. Impressive. Although, I gotta say, all that melodrama and reminiscing of the good old times sure got me going. Maybe we can have another kid? What do you think? Too soon?_

Sam can’t breathe. Feels and sees his time in Georgia, in captivity, flashing beneath his eyelids. Feels every ache and violation inflicted upon him today.

“I…” Sam chokes.

“Sam, are you ok?” Jack asks. Sees the strain racking through Sam’s body as clear as day.

Lucifer puts an arm around him, rubs one shoulder, and Sam still can’t move, can’t do anything, because _he_ was right there and there was no running from this, not ever. No words are enough. And Lucifer won’t let a single harsh word pass Sam’s lips.

“Sam’ll be fine, Jack. He’s overwhelmed. And who wouldn’t be? Sam’s just had a very long day, with dying and coming back from the dead and all. C’mon Sam, let’s find you some place to rest. You've stayed awake long enough.”

Lucifer moves Sam slightly aside as he rises to his feet. There’s a gentle tug on his sleeve, and Sam shuffles along like a catatonic automaton herded in the Devil’s arms.

“I can take him,” Dean says and starts to go after them, thinks: Oh, no. No way in Hell are you getting him all alone! Not again.

But Lucifer just looks at him, eyebrows raised in challenge, and Dean gets the memo and stops, his heart breaking.

_You can’t stop me, Dean. None of you can stop me. Besides, I raised Sam from Hell. I can drag him back just as easily. And there’s so many people here who are just so… flammable. Expendable. I’ll play nice as long as you do, so just keep toing that line._

And Dean can’t do anything. Sees Sam’s half-dead, glazed-over eyes and wishes he could shoot the Devil until he dies and then bring him back only to shoot him again until forever. Or that he could have him on the rack Alastair granted him so long ago.

Lucifer says, louder, “No, you and Cas and Mary stay. I’ve just extra firepower here after all, I’m not the brains of the operation. You’re the ones with the plan and the tactics and the strategies, and everyone needs you here. So I’ll just take Sam here so he can rest, and you can fill us in when we all reconvene.”

Gabriel cuts in, “You or I could heal Sam and lessen the exhaustion.” Eyes steely, his grace sends over the singular private com of angel radio, _You’re not the only archangel here, Luci. You shouldn’t sling threats around so easily._

Lucifer’s grace sends the equivalent of a snort at Gabriel and counters, _Bro, you don’t have the juice, and even if you did, you know you can’t take me. So. Back off of my merchandise. I already called dibs._

Lucifer shakes his head and keeps going, “You can’t help with emotions and memories, though, little bro. Nor can I. Sam just needs some time. Besides, he’s had enough hits of grace today. Wouldn’t want to overwhelm him. Right, Sammy?”

Glassy green eyes slowly meet Lucifer’s own blue. Defeated. And slowly, Sam shakes his head at the others like he’s supposed to.

“No.” He manages to rasp, but his eyes are far away. “No more.”

_That’s right, Sammy. Way to sell it. You’re doing so good!_

All Lucifer gets from Sam is a small, muffled wail echoing from the depths of his soul.


	126. Seamstress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by dessa

Sam lets himself be towed along by Lucifer. Stops in sync as Lucifer’s vessel pauses to talk to someone, his words and the response a barren abscess of noise that doesn’t fully compute in Sam’s brain. The Devil’s hand is cold, clutches his wrist too tightly. The sun has long since slanted down past the tree-line, a faded orange smear soon giving way to night.

But Sam can’t quite find the energy to care about any of it. Knows there it is a question voiced, because Lucifer’s tone peals higher at the end. Then Sam lets himself be hurried along again, still staggered and limping from the tortures before.

His hamstrings throb. His throat burns. His chest constricts. And Sam’s mind is stuck on loop, in its nascent, inconstant in-between place, all haze and fear and love backed up by far too many bitter, painful reminders all revisited at once.

Somewhere, beneath all the memories and cruel beat-downs and slashing pain and sharp words and too-soft, unasked-for touches from the Archangel that should not feel kind or good even if Lucifer somehow makes them, carefully constructs them so the worst torture is the farthest feeling from pain, Sam keeps himself contained, curled into a corner of his own mind. As if that small gesture of resistance would keep him safe.

But Sam knows there’s no keeping the Devil out, not now.

It doesn’t make the uncoiling taste of ozone and metal leave Sam’s tongue, doesn’t make the gratuitous flinching stop, doesn’t make the Devil’s flesh-suit feel any less human, doesn’t banish the sharp pang of betrayal away even though _he should be used to this by now, why isn’t he used to this by now, he’s been dealing with Lucifer’s game longer than he’s lived on Earth_. Yet it never gets any easier. He’s always drawn back in.

Lucifer, ever the epitome of a one-trick pony, takes the opportunity of Sam’s exhausted lack of resistance as permission, per usual. No surprises there. Sam’s seen it all before, over and over, a mini-highlight reel of his life he can’t seem to change the track on.

 _Sam, you’re doing so well. Almost ruined all our progress by trying to stab me earlier, but still. That wasn’t really a conscious decision on your part, so I’ll allow it. And if you keep the rest of this up, I might even reward you for such good behavior._ Lucifer is still touching him, his true form still slinking around, constricting his soul like a spider spooling and carding over its dinner, one pale claw massaging Sam’s shoulder-blade as Lucifer’s mouth presses a kiss to the back of Sam’s neck.

Sam stays huddled in his corner, his frostbitten soul’s hands cupped tightly over its ears. Ignores the humming sound and chiming as the reverb of Lucifer’s praise and love echoes in his bones. Doesn’t flinch away from the frozen chill whooshing on the back of his neck, or the too-tight fingertips massaging his thighs, or recoil from the many faces still nuzzling around his jawline.

**Go away.**

_Sammy, that’s no way to talk to someone who is only looking out for you._

A stab of anger zooms by. Blink-and-you-miss-it, the spectacle of the century.

 **No. You’ve only ever looked after yourself**. The wild, snarling part of Sam the Devil can never tame bleeds through, all inconsolable sound a singular, screeching howl, but the rest of Sam forces such emotions into lockdown. Fighting back would not save him, not today. Nothing would, but playing along would only fuel the fire and he can’t let that happen, can’t bear to make this worse.

_Doesn’t change the fact I’m still looking after you, Sammy. Looking out for numero uno means you’re included by default. Mine, remember? And I’ll take such good care of you, I promise. Make up for all the nastiness we had to drain and get all out of the way. I love you, Sam. That will never change._

**Not listening. I’m not.** He repeats. Doesn’t sidle away from wingtips softly soothing and rustling against every piece of him that still aches. Ignores the soft bite of teeth as Lucifer’s soul starts pooling and slides inside his mouth, all hungry and alive for another mere taste of him.

 _Suit yourself_. Lucifer laughs, and Sam peeks outward to the outside world for a second, suspends his imposed isolation because knows that specific kind of laughter too well. Can guess just what he’s in for.

_Let’s get you cleaned up._

Sam is ushered inside now, where walls can hide him from the eyes of the outside world. Tall, grey walls, with small grim candles lighting up their shuttered window-frames, a pack of matches and a lantern of kerosene left unlit by the side table. One door, hastily entered, then effortlessly shunted closed.

Blank walls that let Lucifer’s shadow grow, the impression of his wings a constant, looming shade.

The room is isolated. Quiet. Easy for Lucifer to maneuver.

And this was the kind of unsafe Sam had wanted to avoid, but he knows there was no stopping this, ( _there’s never any stopping it_ ), although he’s kicked and screamed and bit and scratched and tried it all before. Part of him just wants to get the inevitable over with, because the Devil hadn’t gorged himself on his whole host of fun times yet for today, and the faster this went, the faster he could crash, could obliterate his tenuous hold on existence and steal some kind of break.

The Devil is ravenous, always wanting for more. That was always a constant, whether out free or bound in the Cage.

And Lucifer does what he wants no matter what game he plays.

Those were the two rules Sam always had to work with. (The third rule was implied: there were always consequences for saying no, but that was the only one Sam dared challenge on the regular.)

Without any more whispered assurances or veiled threats, Lucifer strips Sam down to his basic components, both inside and out. Shrugs off Jack's carefully-picked maroon blanket that Lucifer had been using to keep Sam's arms pinned, then moves on to the jacket. Unbuttons one flannel shirt, crumples and drapes it over the bed.

Slides Sam's white t-shirt over his head, long hair frizzing up with static. Sam cooperates, doesn’t move or argue. Barely has energy left to flinch.

Lucifer kisses Sam directly on the lips, chastely, then less so, as if breathing and taking all of Sam in. Sam holds himself extra still as Lucifer’s arms slide down his torso, then as they keep sliding lower, undoing and tugging at Sam’s jeans until they’ve fallen down below his knees.

Lucifer stares at him. Sam looks away, until Lucifer forces Sam to meet his gaze before he stops, one hand tangling through his hair in consideration. And then the Devil is delicately pushing Sam backwards, leaning right up against him until Sam is cast sprawling, limbs splayed and motionless, across the bed.

Sam doesn’t dare to breathe.

Lucifer kneels. Yanks off one browbeaten boot, then two, before peeling away Sam’s too-damp, grime-encrusted socks. Then Lucifer straightens, follows Sam’s trajectory down. Balances, having carefully settled on top of him.

Carefully presses a kiss to Sam’s jawline, then his eyelids. Then his lips.

Sam stares up at the ceiling. Still cannot meet Lucifer’s eyes. Is only grateful for the thin shield of fabric he’s been allowed to keep and the added padding of Lucifer’s not-yet-discarded full set of clothes. The warmth of the wool is almost jarring compared to the icy hold of Lucifer’s grace, always seeping through and descending deeper as if Lucifer could possess and invade Sam through sheer proximity.

Sam tries his best to ignore the Devil as his tongue slips inside his mouth again and how, down lower, nail-bitten fingertips invade, lingering and fidgeting beneath his boxers, more playful and less demanding than earlier that day.

Sam shifts, still in pain from the unhealed violence leftover from that morning. It all seemed so very, very far away, now…

And Sam starts drifting again. But after a moment, Lucifer stops. Once again eyes Sam speculatively.

One hand gently cups Sam’s face.

“You choose, Samuel. I wash you up, get all this grime off you, and then you call it a night. Or you rest first, then I clean you up. You decide.”

Only it isn’t a choice, Sam’s compliance. (Even after thought Lucifer was finally gone.)

It hasn’t been a damn choice for over 7,000 years.

Sam decides anyway. Pretends that this isn’t a bad thing. That this can only be a good thing, because Lucifer has said so, has made him agree to long before. Pretends, because if he doesn’t, Sam’s going to shatter into a billion pieces, and Jack and Dean still need him. Hell, Sam needs himself, and if he doesn’t keep it together, the Devil will be the one putting the mosaic of his patchwork soul back together.

That had already happened one time too many.

“Wash first.” Sam rasps, then swallows, his voice barely a wisp.

 _Look, we’ve even managed to compromise._ Lucifer cheers, his wings and mouths pressing into Sam’s every heartbeat, keening with pleasure. _The future is now._

And as Sam is lifted back to his feet, is permitted to step out of his boxers without any extraneous help, then is escorted into a shower that had absolutely no right to work, especially considering this world’s conditions (he suspects Lucifer had something to do with the plumbing still working, but Sam can never be sure. That’s what he could have been asking the person outside, when Sam was drifting).

Lucifer strips and follows Sam close behind. Sam lets him, only ducks down a little when two arms curl around his waist, thumbs still digging too-tight into his ribcage. Lucifer eases off when he realizes how hard he’s gripped him, readjusts. Settles back over, deceptively light, as if he didn’t do it on purpose.

Sam doesn’t question the lack of anger, the lack of pain. Doesn’t question the Devil as he hums old Enochian songs he would use to sing him to sleep in the Cage. Doesn’t question the absence of all-too-omnipresent rage.

Doesn’t question the Devil as he washes out the blood from Sam's hair and Sam watches the red trails spiraling down the drain, or wonder why he doesn't flinch too much as Lucifer scrubs the dirt from his midriff and face. Doesn't ask why Lucifer keeps the water warm enough so that it steams when it makes contact with the Devil’s ice-cold-chill as the snowflakes finally melt off of Sam’s eyelashes and the glacial cold leaves the small bones of Sam’s face. (The frost would return when the Devil dried him off and tucked him to sleep, but for now, Sam was just grateful they were all gone and sloughed away).

Doesn’t question how Lucifer forgoes fucking him properly this time, just overlays and entwines his fingers with Sam’s, a swathe of stubble only slightly digging into the small of Sam's back as the water cascades over their heads and down their necks.

Doesn't question the shock-blanket of grace as it whispers it's multitude of glories. It leeches into Sam, burrowing deeper and deeper until all his fear and pain have gone numb, easily mellowed and replaced by raw love and pure want, joint custody artifacts from a time before Sam had locked them both away.

Doesn’t question why Lucifer kisses him over and over while whispering reassurances and promises he fully intends to keep. 

And Sam doesn't ask questions as Lucifer strokes every inch of him, so soft and gentle, his fingertips imbued with careful, well-worn experience until Sam whines, staggers, and bucks back into his grip, then reciprocates his affections out of pure, unfiltered need.

Sam knows why.

And Lucifer rejoices. Knows he’s teased out Sam’s breaking point all over again. Isn’t in a hurry to have him rubber-banding back into the recesses of his mind, all stone-cold and unresponsive.

Sam allows the forced kindness, allows Lucifer to heal his aching wounds and meted out punishments from before. Let’s his promises and apologies and rationalizations ebb and flow like the tide. Let’s his body thaw into the feeling the Devil’s been trying to instill, the forced calm, even as his soul tempers like newly forged steel, more unbending and unbreakable than ever.

And eventually Lucifer leads him out, dries him off, wings patting him dry before they wrap around Sam like bandages.

Sam gives in for now, gives himself time to recover his strength.

Tomorrow would be another battleground where Sam would be ground into the dirt face-first for his daring all over again, would suffer yet another type of punishment to fit the crime and rebellion of the day.

So Sam lets himself sleep, even as Lucifer cuddles around him, wingtips preening and caressing every stray atom of Sam's soul. Doesn’t hide himself away when Lucifer sneaks his way into his dreams, radiant and cajoling as the day he first escaped.

Yes, Sam bides his time, because he knows just how the Devil wants him to make him break.

\--

Jack may only be a year old, but he wasn’t born yesterday. He knows something is very obviously wrong with Sam, and that’s putting it lightly. His Dad had come back from the dead, which also probably didn’t help, but he wasn’t acting… well, like the Sam Jack knew. Not all the way. It was like a sheet of glass is separating him from the rest of the outside world, muting him. Jack is too young to know if that was a side-effect of dying or not.

And Jack has so many other questions. What exactly is going on? And what can he even do about it? And how did it all relate back to the arrival of his Father?

Sam had never really talked about him back home. Always avoided the subject, said that Jack could know more about Lucifer when he was older. That it was too painful a subject. Jack hadn’t pushed, although now he wished he had. Had they had a fight, and that’s why everyone seemed nervous? That’s what Lucifer seemed to imply, anyway. Or had something tragic happened and they had been kept apart? That also could be something, based on what his Father said. But why would that make everyone so jumpy and tense? And why did Dean seem to want to kill Lucifer on sight?

And then there is Lucifer himself. His father, Lucifer, who’s Grace is like a Void, unlike the other angels who Jack can sense and interact with immediately. No, Lucifer is all raw power, Jack can tell, but all of it is walled off. Like a filled up dam that he didn’t want to accidentally burst. But Jack can feel a connection there, and can see how intent his father looks at him. How proud. How interested. Almost like how he looks at Sam, too. And he seems to care. Jack wasn’t sure exactly how to describe it, because it was different from how Dean and Cas and Mary interact, how they look at each other. But it certainly wasn’t an attention that makes Jack feel unsafe. Just… off-guard. Nervous. Everyone else’s nerves are getting to him.

And as far as Lucifer’s interactions with Sam, well… Jack can feel something tying Sam and Lucifer together, but it is slippery and every-time he thinks he’s gotten through, he gets light-headed and then come up with nothing.

Jack isn’t sure how all this was connected. Wasn’t sure why it mattered.

But no one tells him anything.

So, the real question is why no one answers his questions, and why everyone seems to be so much more on edge. Castiel keeps running interference for Dean, who otherwise was easiest to eavesdrop on. Lucifer never leaves Sam alone, practically has them conjoined at the hip. Gabriel just keeps giving him non-answers and weird looks. Mary… Mary is very withdrawn and quiet when she otherwise wouldn’t be, and Jack knows that well from how long they’d spent together. She won’t tell him anything about whatever history Lucifer had hinted at between them, and it frustrates Jack to no end that no one was taking him seriously.

And Jack wasn’t sure he believed everyone’s excuses, anyway.

Jack wants to do something, anything. Keeps listening in at doorways. But every time he gets close, people catch him, stare, their hushed conversations trailing off. Or he would hear nothing, because there was just a vacuum of space between him and Lucifer and Sam.

What does everyone know, and why don’t they want him to know whatever they knew?

And why, why on earth, is Sam not answering his questions? Sam always answered his questions, always.

Jack’s will get to the bottom of this. He will.

And he finds his chance sooner than anticipated. Jack ducks and crouches down by the open windowpane, cradles his wings around himself as Dean and Cas’ voice carry off from the side of the next wall over. The wall itself is full of chipped paint and graffiti, but Jack doesn’t mind the cramped space. Not if it means he finally gets some answers.

\---

"What are we going to do?" Dean whispers furiously to Castiel, both of them huddled around the corner and out of sight. Night had already started to darken, clouds starting to blot out the sky, since Sam and Lucifer had strode into camp right at sundown. Night would give them better cover if they needed to catch Satan unawares.

“I don’t know, Dean.” Castiel admits, shoulders slumping, his gruff voice giving way to uncertainty and distress.

“We can’t tell Jack anything, Lucifer will know. And he’s going to hurt Sam one way or another. Cas, tell me we have something.” Dean pleads. Can’t stop pacing around the room.

“Gabriel’s the only one with an archangel blade. And he doesn’t the power to take on Lucifer, not with whatever he’s augmented his powers with.” Castiel answers, shakes his head.

“Shouldn’t he lose that power? I mean, when you used souls that went south real quick.”

“But he’s not using souls, Dean, we would be able to tell.” Castiel replies, then adds, “No, that power is all his. And eating that many angels? I have never seen anything on that scale before in the history of Creation.”

“Well, that’s just great. Cas, we have to do something, we can’t let him have Sam again, we have to-” And Dean is standing directly front of Castiel again, eyes pleading, but Castiel interrupts, anticipating where this is going.

Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder where he raised him out of Hell. “We need to wait Lucifer out. If we act too quickly, we’re only hurting Sam more.”

“Cas-” Dean starts to grow louder, but Cas cuts him off.

“Dean, I saw all of Sam’s Hell memories. I know how Lucifer works. And if we push too hard, all we’ll do is make him angrier. And the first person to suffer that wrath will be Sam. That is not something we can allow.”

And then there’s a pause settling between them, a two-for-one stab of guilt and some left-over accusations, now a few years worn. The unsaid: if you hadn’t let him out the first time we wouldn’t have this problem now.

But it passes, the past in the past. Sam had preferred it that way, and Dean would respect that, since they couldn’t afford to be fighting amongst themselves. Didn’t want to make Lucifer’s job any easier.

Dean glances around.

“Where’s Mom gone off to, anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel answers, looks off to the side. “Maybe she is planning something with Gabriel.”

“I’ll check. You go find Jack, make sure Lucifer isn’t poisoning the poor kid’s mind when we aren’t looking.” And Dean goes off, knows that trying to rescue Sammy alone is a fool’s errand.

And Castiel starts to look for Jack, then stops. Feels his warm, compact presence huddled outside the window.  
\--

Mary follows Lucifer to the room Sam’s been given to sleep. She isn’t going to let him destroy her son’s life.

Not again. Not after last time.

She may have sold Sam to the highest bidder unknowingly when she made her deal with Azazel.

She may have housed the Devil for a time after he resurrected her.

But she would not stand by as Lucifer abused and ate away everything her youngest was, one day at a time. She’d seen the fallout. Been complicit.

And she was not going to take it all lying down.

Mary walks in with her head held high, ready to wreak havoc on the Devil any way she can.

Lucifer doesn’t even look at her as she walks in, curled up next to Sam, who’s out under some white sheets. He holds a finger to his lips.

“Shh, Mary. Sam’s sleeping.” He whispers conspiratorially, one hand to his mouth. Talking with grace was more likely to wake him up, so Lucifer plays it safe. Can’t have Sammy being too out of it. Needed a balance of exhaustion and fear, but not too much. “He needs his beauty rest.”

“Get. Up.” Mary hisses, grabbing the Devil by the shirt. She knows she can’t haul him upright herself, but Lucifer is amused enough that he indulges her. Slides off the bed, movement all elastic and fluid, not disturbing Sam an inch.

Mary swings the Devil around, then releases her hold on him. Lucifer eyes her speculatively. She takes in a deep breath, holds it.

The decks him as hard as she can, point blank.

Lucifer blinks owlishly at her, unsmiling. Stance unchanged. Mary's hand looks partially broken, the knuckles a bit bloodied and mangled from the contact.

“Don’t you dare lay another hand on my son,” Mary Winchester, nee Campbell, hisses through gritted teeth.

“You know, Mary, it’s a good thing I’m in a generous mood. Otherwise Sam might suffer for your useless attempts at protection.” Lucifer says lightly, but then his eyes narrow, and the light smile vanishes from his face. "Still, it's cute how you think this is going to actually change anything."

Lucifer grabs Mary by the throat and pins her to the wall. Then lets go, instead opting to lean with both his hands leaning on the wall around her head.

"Let's settle this right here and now, Mama Winchester. Little reminder- I raised you from the grave. Me. Same as poor, sweet Sammy here, only Sammy wasn't resurrected just out of convenience. The Campbell bloodline is mine by right, a marionette dancing on a string however I command, and you still owe me for that debt two-fold, remember? Otherwise, I'll tell your eldest son just how much you were involved, not only in bringing Sam back to me, but finding and neutralizing their weapon caches and helping Jack join the world. You following?"

"Do it." Mary challenges. "It won't change anything. You'll still lose."

Lucifer rolls his eyes and steps back. Let's his grace finally do the talking despite himself, actually nonplussed from Mary's similarities to her youngest son at his most rebellious.

 _Now that I seriously doubt. You have nothing that can touch me. Hell, Sammy was your best bet for taking me down, really- he has the best track record out of the lot of you, hands down. And I don't know if you've noticed, but he's now back to being my bitch full-time, so that options not looking too swell._ At that, Sam stirs in his sleep, and the Devil sends a wave of grace to still his shuddering body, pulls him back under into nightmares and dreams under his control.

_And how exactly did you think this was going to go? What do you think Dean or Castiel would do to you if either of them knew you served as my obedient little vessel on the side, kept on standby as I fucked your son senseless every single day, all the while providing me innocent little victims to keep him from running off? Or what about if I told them all the awful things you did to Kelly Kline? Never mind all the activities I could engage with Sammy right now, if you decide to keep pissing me off. How's that sound? Put things in perspective? Or do I need to spell it out more for you?_

"You won't go through with it. You can't afford to, not with Jack around. Besides, I'm not afraid of you." Mary whispers furiously. "You can't do anything to hurt me. I'm not afraid to die again. I'm not afraid to lose my family. I've already lost them once, and I am not ashamed. You use people. You used me. You will not use my son."

_That's where you're wrong, Mary. You're not thinking far enough into the future. No imagination._

And Lucifer steps back, sits back down on the bed, places a hand on Sam's head. Entwines his legs around him, eyes not leaving hers the entire time.

_Sam's already mine. Been mine and been used up for a long while already. So your little spiel is comes a few thousand years too late. All because you sold him off to the highest bidder, traded John's life for his future, helped make him perfect for me. So, you see, Mary Winchester. It's not yourself you should be afraid for. And if you don't follow through on our little arrangement when the time comes, if you don't follow our deal to the letter exactly, then I'll make sure Sam's life is even more of a living hell than usual. And I promise, before I drag you back down to Hell and twist you up into something new, Sam and Dean will know who to blame for their new set of problems. You can count on it._

"Now, get out." And Lucifer points her to the door in dismissal. Mary listens, but only because she can see Sam start to toss and turn in his sleep, and knows a real threat when she sees one.

As Mary passes the doorframe and feels the Devil's gaze leave her, she exhales, and thanks her lucky stars that the Devil was too intent on threatening her, too focused on Sam himself, that he didn't notice what she stole from him in the meantime.

\--

And in the quiet darkness of night, under the covering blanket shadow hiding the Winchesters and two angels from the Devil's bright, burning gaze, Team Free Will started coming up with a plan of their own.


	127. Bad Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by bastille

Something combs through Sam’s hair. Awareness steals Sam back from oblivion like a spring thaw, soft and unassuming as the frozen breaths rustling over Sam’s neck, the feeling completely at odds with the viciousness that lends itself to the Devil like a waterfall adheres to gravity.

“Wakey, wakey eggs-and-bakey.” Lucifer’s too-cheerful tone is the last thing Sam wants to wake up to, detestable in its familiarity. Sam opens his eyes to find Lucifer’s blue staring right into his, on hand still stroking through his half-tangled hair.

Lucifer presses a kiss to his forehead.

_Morning, Bunk Buddy. Feeling refreshed? More like yourself?_

Sam squirms under the Devil’s weight, half-twisted under the sheets, but otherwise remains right where Lucifer wants him, Sam trapped in his embrace.

Sam, still not fully awake and still half-paralyzed by fear, take a bit too long to respond. Blue eyes narrow, and Sam feels an uncomfortable pinch from fingers laced behind.

_I asked you a question, Sam._

**Yes, much better. Thanks.** As Sam stumbles over his own exhaustion and rusty attempts at obedience, the Devil is somewhat mollified. Lucifer massages the spot he pinched and eases away the pain, just to prove his point.

“Sammy, I’ve got a gift for you. So, the faster you rise and shine, the faster we can have our little pep talk. And then we can walk out that door to chat with the rest of your folks. Sound good?” Lucifer’s voice crowds to close to Sam’s ear, still a too-amiable hiss.

_Unless you’d rather have some more time, you and I, and we’ll have ourselves some more fun._

Sam doesn’t jolt himself out of bed at that, no matter how tempted he is to punch Satan and cower and barricade himself away on the other side of the room. Fear only encourages Lucifer more.

At Sam’s increased pulse, Lucifer’s gaze flicks down under the covers where Sam would rather not be observed, and one hand trails too close to the unwanted morning wood even as blue eyes meet Sam’s own once more. (Sam blames Lucifer, knows this is entirely his fault considering the content of his uneasy, manipulated dreams.)

Lucifer waits, always expectant. Doesn’t stop smiling until Sam makes his move.

Sam kisses him long and hard because he doesn’t have a choice, even though it’s the last thing Sam wants, but since when has that ever mattered?

Let’s himself pretend it is 7548 years earlier, before Lucifer ruined everything they had and before Sam knew of his plans for the apocalypse and before Sam sealed them both in the Pit.

Ignores the roaming hands and Lucifer’s lewd, self-congratulatory remarks, _Remember when we got that witch to help with your surgery during Halloween? Or how many weeks it took for us to save up and get you the way your body was meant to be, no thanks to dear old Dad? How time flies. You owe me for so much, Sam. Least you can do is to allow me to enjoy you properly._

But Lucifer doesn’t make good on the worst of his threats. Only feels Sam up, almost-tender, as the Devil quietly adores Sam’s constant shiver of fear, hatred (of self and otherwise), and thrice-damned arousal. Deliberate, but not as exactingly brutal, unlike his violent actions the morning before.

 **Could be worse** , Sam doesn’t let himself think, because implying otherwise would make Lucifer only try harder. Sam lets the Devil play his games, forces himself to be as enthusiastic as he can, because the more Sam plays along, the more likely Lucifer would let something slip.

Lucifer, appeased by Sam’s response and avoidance of shutting him out, lets them get the worst of it over with after two minutes, which is both a record and a relief.

_Alright, bitch. Let’s get you dressed and ready for the day._

**Whatever you say.**

Sam picks his battles carefully. Is allowed to rise from the bed and dress himself without much unwanted or prolonged contact. Sam suppresses his winces as much as possible whenever Lucifer wheels too close and manages to get every article of clothing on before Lucifer can change his mind.

And then Lucifer hugs him from behind and topples them over the bed again. Lucifer re-orientates, settles, and sits cross-legged with Sam folded messily in his tangle of limbs. His arms are crossed, wrist held like a vise in Lucifer’s too-tight grip.

A breath ghosts over Sam’s shoulder as Lucifer presses a weighty, too warm, too familiar shape into Sam’s open palm.

The Four Horsemen’s rings sit, combined and glittering, both with promise and history.

Sam goes rigid, stares, stock-still, and finds himself unable to breathe.

“What-” Sam can’t quite find his voice. Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind.

**How did you… Why would you give this to me?**

Lucifer grace only sings.

“I trust you.” The Devil whispers in Sam’s ear, and Sam knows this game too well, because every other game leading up to this moment was just a mockery, a pale warm-up for a test Sam is not truly prepared to handle. “Don’t go making the same mistakes, Sam. Prove to me that you love me.”

Sam knows the real message. _Prove to me that you’re mine, and admit that I’ve won, that I own you, finally._

And every piece of Sam wants to tear Lucifer apart with his teeth, rip out his throat like it would accomplish something. Like Sam’s heart hasn’t already been carved up out of his chest and eaten away by Lucifer, one day after day after day.

Lucifer pats Sam shoulder, then kisses him exactingly on the mouth, until Sam is dizzy and sees spots all over again.

Sam doesn’t close his eyes. He knows Lucifer wants him to _see_.

Red eyes, vacant. An endless abyss, older than old, still burning with that same relentless need as the day Sam set Lucifer free. Only this time, more demanding and less forgiving. Sam feels his chest constrict, can feel the coils of the Archangel digging in like he’s said 'yes' all over again.

It’s like dying, like free-falling into eternity. Like when the Devil fucks his soul raw until Sam can’t remember anything, only Lucifer, alight and immolated in his own subjugation with the same fury a drowning man chokes down oxygen. Sam plunges into awe, the same cocktail of terror-loathing-omnipresent pain-reverence-love-and complete-need as his heart stutters in his chest.

Only when Lucifer looks away and tows them both to their feet does Sam finally remember to breathe.

And Sam pockets the rings, the imprint still burned into his closed fist, nails digging imprints into the soft skin of his palm as if that would somehow make this ordeal easier.

Lucifer doesn’t say anything else, only drags them both to the door. It slams open, unheeded.

Then Sam and Lucifer, a unit unto themselves, head over towards the main table where Cas, Dean, Jack, Gabriel, Bobby, and Mary are all huddled, making plans, although they stop and change course when they see the Devil closing in, a detail not unnoticed by either the Devil or his hostage.

Nonetheless, Lucifer stops to talk to Jack, which gives Dean the opening he needs to slightly draw Sam apart and away. It’s only a few feet, because Lucifer won’t let Sam out of arm’s reach, but it is something.

**Better than nothing.**

Sam will take whatever he can get.

“Dean, I’m sorry-” Sam starts, his voice completely shot to hell, but Dean doesn’t let him get another word out.

“Are you good?” Dean asks, raspy and slightly overcome himself.

“I’m alive, yeah.” Sam manages to answer. Overwhelmed doesn’t even come close to the feelings he’s been drowning in the past two days.

“Then you have nothing to apologize for.” Dean assures, and then envelopes Sam in a gigantic hug.

Lucifer, still in a good mood, allows it. Decides to keep talking to Jack, who is being watched over by Castiel and Mary with a particular, dogged resilience.

“I’m not going to let him keep you, Sam. He’s not going to win.” Dean whispers, adding quietly, “I thought I lost you, man.”

“Thanks, Dean. Still here.” Sam says, almost like a prayer, although prayers have been cursed for a while.

**I hope I can stay.**

Sam doesn’t bet on it, because the moment those rings touched his palm is the moment he knew he would have to lock the Devil away, whatever it takes. And there was never any coming back from that, never was, not since the first time they tumbled down and sank.

With that, Dean gives Sam a plate of food and something warmed by the fire. Sam can’t really taste anything at the moment, everything is ash, but he appreciates the warmth in any way he can get.

The heat saps away far too soon as Lucifer settles down beside him.

“So, what do we know about Michael’s plan?” Sam asks, desperate for any distraction.

“We know he’s aware of this base. So far, the warding and Jack’s power is holding the physical structures up from airborne attacks, like smiting, but we can always use more reinforcements.” Castiel explains.

“But actual direct attacks from angels or other enemies is more likely?” Lucifer interrupts, for once cooperative.

“Yes. Based on Charlie’s intel, they’re going to try and raid us tonight.” Bobby supplies.

"We'll be ready for them." Dean promises.

The discussion turns into the particulars of strategy and logistics, but after awhile Sam can't devote the energy to it anymore. He does, however, manage to rope Gabriel into some last minute discussions of wards and sigils they can add around the camp to lessen smiting damage and counter angelic invasions.

Once plans are formed and solidified, the group disbands.

\--

Sam goes to find some space to clear his head and starts drawing wards around the camp with Dean and Jack wherever he's directed or where he sees an opening. Lucifer always follows, always within arms reach, always making sure Sam doesn't draw or scratch or paint something he shouldn't.

Sam still finds the exercise almost soothing and succumbs to a tempo and a fluidity as he keeps on painting.

That is, until Lucifer compliments Sam on some wards, ones he recognizes because he taught them to him once upon a time in the Cage, and Sam flinches, hand shaking, until he ends up having to start all over again.

\--

Sam finally gets alone time when Jack flies off somewhere to fight and Lucifer follows, while Cas and Gabriel follow suit to try to keep tabs on them the entire time. Sam would do something, but he needs this break and couldn't follow them quickly. Not unless he resorted to extreme and likely pointless measures that would only make things worse.

However, he does get time alone with Dean, even if its a stolen 5 minutes, even if it's just Dean telling him he's going to be okay, that they're going to figure this out, that they found a way to buy some time...

And then Lucifer and Jack and the others are back, and the moment ends, and Sam heads back over. Dean follows, silent, looking at Sam because he's grateful he's alive, he's really there, he's not dead-

“I’ll go check on Jack,” Sam says, and Dean looks at him, more than nervous. Tries not to let him see.

Dean instead answers gruffly, “Yeah, let’s go see what heltor-skeltor is plotting with the damn kid.” As if making fun of the Devil would help anything.

Sam looks back at him, and Dean clasps his shoulder.

“What, just because Satan’s the fox in the henhouse doesn’t mean I’m letting you face him alone. Any chance we get, we deal with this together. As a family.”

And Sam, filled with love for his brother, feels something warm settle inside of him, something to offset the constant chill in his bones.

_How sweet. Too bad it won’t stick. How long ‘til he convinces you to do something asinine and uncalled for and you have to save his sorry ass, do you think?_

Sam sends a stab of fire across the link. No more energy for trying to tread water and keeping quiet. He’s already borne the worst of it all. Can’t really care if he’s in for more, not right now.

**Look, I know you know there’s only so much of this I can take. After a while, constant threats start to go stale. You sure you want to keep pushing me? Because I know there’s only so far you can go right now. You’ve backed yourself into a corner, trying to win Jack over.**

_Is that a challenge? Besides, Sam, just ten minutes ago I had you begging at my feet. Give your poor masochism addiction a rest already, ‘cause I’m not granting you too many siestas. Enjoy your break-time while it lasts._

Sam mentally hurls over all the curses and insults and names he can think of in every language he knows, from hunting manuscripts to the dead languages the Devil drilled into his head, to the insults Lucifer used whenever he debased and mocked Sam when laid at his lowest.

_Such an eager beaver, all ready and rearing to go. Fine, you want to play? Break-time over. Don’t say I didn’t warn you._

And the warm fuzzy feeling is gone.

Sam enters the Devil’s radius, stops a two feet from his son. Feels the wings brush against his forearms and thighs.

_Heya, handsome. Welcome to the party. You sure do clean up nice._

**Don’t you ever get tired of talking?**

_Sam, you wound me. We’ve been shacked up for so long now, the foreplay practically writes itself. And uh, one suggestion, sarcasm shouldn’t be your go-to move. Keeps the whole vibe one-note. Kills the mood._

**You know what, forget I even asked.**

_But Sam, I thought we really had something!_ The Devil cackles inside his head.

There’s a buzzing starting to echo in Sam’s ears, and he forces himself to drown Lucifer out and disengage.

“I was just telling Father, now that he’s here, we have enough power to kill Michael.” Jack starts.

Lucifer doesn’t stop looking amused, pleased by the thought. _He shares my hobbies, Sam. A chip off the old block._

“Jack, that’s not really the plan.” Sam answers, steady and slow. Lucifer pointed stops looking at him, sends, _Oh, now you’ve gone and kicked the hornet’s nest. Good luck!_

“But this is our chance!” Jack exclaims. His eyes narrow and become steely, a little too much like Lucifer’s. It’s just for a second, sure, but a second too long.

“Jack, we-” Sam stutters, then grows bolder. Doesn’t let his shared time with Lucifer or his endless commentary keep him from saying what needs to be done. “We can seal Michael away in the Cage.”

_Such a bold a suggestion, Samuel. You sure you want to go there?_

**I’d throw us back there in a heartbeat if it would get you to shut up.**

Pain alights in his skull and jaw and joints at that. Sam doesn’t care he took it too far. He can play dirty, too, and the retribution was worth it. One point to him. However many points to the Devil, but still, one more point to him.

_You really don’t want to go down that road, kiddo. You really, really don’t._

**Watch me.**

“No!” Jack argues, “I’ve seen what he’s done. The people he’s killed!” Jack collects himself, adds quietly, “He deserves to be punished.”

And just like that Lucifer and Sam break off their mental standoff, both caught off guard by their own separate sensitivities to the subject.

Sam has never wanted to shake Jack before, but there is a first time for everything. He doesn’t let the need to lash out consume him, knows it’s just Lucifer’s words and constant proximity having worn him out.

 **The Cage is punishment** , Sam wants to scream, **and Lucifer is worse than Michael** , but he doesn’t. Can feel Lucifer’s claws and teeth gliding like frostbite down his spine in agreement, with some additional muted rage on the side. Nothing new there. A sensation as familiar as breathing.

 _Ah, the ignorance of youth. Do you think he gets the need to mete out divine justice from me or you, Sammy? Could go either way. Still,_ the grace lets out a low whistle, _our kid sure takes no prisoners. What a low blow._

Outside in the physical world, there’s a shift. Infinitesimally small, almost nothing, but Sam feels himself slipping like quicksand, feels the temperature start to drop as Lucifer starts to actually take this seriously. Sam can’t afford to lose this, wherever exactly this was going to go.

“Yeah, I got this.” Lucifer cuts in and pats Sam’s collar, then beams. Sam gulps but still shoots him a look, can’t quite disguise his annoyance buried underneath all the exhaustion and fear.

**Whatever you think you’re doing, whatever you’re playing at-**

_Oh, give it a rest, Sammy. That flexible tongue of yours is so much more useful when it’s doing other, more stimulating things._

**Fuck you.**

_You said it, not me._

Lucifer leans over and places a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder. A too familiar gesture that sends ice up Sam’s spine.

“See, I think what Sam’s trying to say in his own well-meaning, super-simplistic, and silly way,” Lucifer starts and shoots Sam a speculative, appraising glance, his hands gesturing to and fro.

Sam juts his chin out and glares until Lucifer’s grace claws down his sides, and then he winces, swallows, but for once he is not subdued. Raw anger is all that’s left now, the tired, burned out kind like a flickering candle’s smoke as it sputters but doesn’t fade. Jack needs him, and he isn’t going to let Lucifer gain any more influence. The terror will come back later when they are left alone, but for now had all been scooped out from the violations visited so closely before, and Sam knew Lucifer couldn’t try something too overt with their son watching. Didn’t want to show off his true colors just yet, until he’d won him over or warmed him up to some of his more radical ideas.

Lucifer keeps going, “Is maybe you should give this a re-think.”

Sam stops, surprised. **Thought you were all for killing Michael?**

_Patience is a virtue, Sam. Besides, you really think our kid’s the one who should do it? Please. Get on my level._

**What level would that be, the rocky bedrock of Hell?**

Yet Lucifer ignores the insult, because he feels the unwanted surprise and agreement hum in Sam’s bones, the relief that he wasn’t going to egg Jack to take on the elder Archangel, and sends a prodding tendril of grace out to curl around his navel, a pointed I-told-you-so.

_Finally, something we can agree on. It’s been such a long time coming, Sam. And honestly, I know we have our own issues, but what do you take me for? What kind of father would I be if I allowed that? Don’t get me wrong, I want the kid to spread his wings and take after his old pops, be the best of both of us, but now’s certainly not the time, and he’s not ready for a fight in the Big Leagues._

Sam isn’t happy that Lucifer is voicing the things he was also considering. Doesn’t respond because that would be one assent too many.

 _Besides, if anyone is going to kill Michael, it’s going to be you and me._ And there it was, the actual answer Sam had been expecting. He represses the urge to roll his eyes.

Lucifer stops, head tilted and considerate. Jack still looks unimpressed, but keeps listening.

“I’ve been encouraging you to take Michael on, but it ain’t easy. I’ve tried it before, Sam’s tried it, we’ve all seen this song and dance and it was not an easy fight. And if this world’s Michael catches you? Then not only are we going to have to waste a lot of time trying to rescue you, which puts pretty much everyone in danger, but then you have Sammy and I all worried and distracted. We’re your parents. It’s our obligation to keep you safe. Let us do the heavy lifting. It’s our job.”

Sam just stares at Lucifer like he grew two heads. Doesn’t let Lucifer’s old habits as Jess, her joking about what she’d do if she ever had children, supersede the actual monster set out before him. Still, the resemblance was uncanny, and he suspects Lucifer knows that and tried to imitate his old mask on purpose.

_So much doubt today, Sammy. You’re breaking my cold, dead heart._

**Good. Dead things are easy to kill.**

Sam, still knows, somewhere, he’s slipping.

In the grey light of the other world, Jack looks washed out and unhappy with this, although he does look a tad more hesitant.

“I’ve been fighting and protecting people here. I can do this! I’m not a helpless child.” Jack protests.

“And neither of us are saying that, Jack. What we are saying is that you are our kid, and no matter how competent and powerful you have proven yourself to be, you are still our responsibility. And it doesn’t help anyone for you to try and prove something when you’re talents and contributions are better suited to help elsewhere. Please, let us handle it.” Sam says when hit by Lucifer's prodding, still not-believing he actually is going along with this.

“But-”

Jack crosses his arms as his expression falls, hair falling in his eyes.

“Jack, you trust Sam. I know you do. And I know you know Sam knows what he’s talking about, even if our methods and strategies differ. But if Sam told you he knows this fight is biting off more than you can chew, would you listen?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then please have the same faith in me. I wouldn’t tell you can’t do something unless I knew the odds were stacked against you. I’m not treating you like you are incapable. I am simply stating the truth. I do the same for Sam all the time, especially when he doesn't want me to. Please, trust me.” Lucifer entreats, eyes wide and wholly focused on his son.

And with a sinking feeling, Sam knows the Devil’s strategy here. Divide and conquer all while appearing to be in agreement with the group. Sam feels like he’s suddenly stumbled on to a minefield. And Sam almost opens his mouth, almost says something, but Lucifer feels his rebellion and his grace clamps down, hard.

_Ah, ah, ah. Sammy, it’s not worth the infighting. Pick your battles. Let it go. This is working out, I’ve almost convinced him. Isn’t that what you wanted? What am I saying, I know you do. We want the same results here._

**Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you walk all over him. I know how this works. What you’re trying to do.**

_All this fussing and worrying, Sammy. Doesn’t it ever wear you down? I mean, not that I mind, but I thought I’d sucked all the fight out of you. Don’t tell me I have to get you off all alone again._

And Sam doesn’t have an answer that would undo the immense pain, the shackles tying him down to that statement. Still, isn’t that the story of his life. He says no, the Devil says yes, and does what he wants anyway.

**You do whatever you have to do. This isn’t over.**

_Is that a threat Sammy? Because two can play that game. But for right now, let’s agree to disagree, ok? We can’t co-parent Jack effectively if we’re constantly bickering on the side, and the poor kid really needs us, has stumbled on a coming of age moment already._

Yeah, Sam doesn’t have the energy and focus to unpack all the Devil’s bullshit, either.

Lucifer hadn’t stopped talking, has been animatedly engaging with Jack the entire aside. “Besides, Sam and I rarely agree on tactics. When we do, you know there isn’t an argument to be made. It’s just common sense.”

Jack looks conflicted and crest-fallen, eyes darting between Sam and Lucifer like they might reconsider.

Lucifer sighs. Puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Look, I know you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But sometimes, doing the right thing can go wrong. We just don’t want you to have to learn that lesson the hard way. Like I did, like Sam did. We’ve tread that water before.” Lucifer finishes.

_Isn’t that right, Sammy?_

Jack looks over to Sam, who shifts, Sam shifts, exhales, doesn’t argue. He already knows the implicit threat hiding there. Knows that the words are half-right even if he hates the mouth speaking them.

“My father makes a good point. However… What exactly do you mean by you’ve both learned that lesson before?” Jack asks, wary. Feels a shift settle over the crowd.

“Well, I mean, just look at Sam here. He tries to do the right thing and gets himself and others dragged into the fallout anyway.”

The other shoe drops.

“Excuse me?” Sam says, slow and flat and dangerous.

**If you think you are going where you are going, don’t.**

_What were the words you used, Sammy? Ah, yes, I believe the phrase was: Watch me._

"See, Sam here tries to do the right thing, even when it's not the best course of action. He's a good egg." Lucifer starts in, voice a bit too light. "But he overextends himself, makes too many self-sacrificing plays. Gives people too much leeway and lets them walk all over him. And then people get hurt, and people he loves die, and it just ends badly for everyone. Much easier to be pragmatic about this and waylay your enemies before they get the drop on you."

Sam doesn't have a way to fight this but he is ready to fight anyway.

"That's not-" Sam protests, getting in Lucifer's space despite his better judgement.

"I'm sorry, Sammy, but where exactly am I wrong about that? Hmm?" Lucifer trills, eyebrows raised. His eyes are vacant, body motionless.

"Sometimes you have to make sacrifices. Sometimes that's the only option you have." Sam answers, chin jutting out in challenge.

"Really, that's what you want our kid to take away from this?" Lucifer sighs, then adds, faux-exhausted, "Sam, if nothing else, I don't want him learning and adopting your too-developed martyr complex. One is already a handful." He pats Sam on the shoulder.

Sam doesn't flinch this time, although his throat still bobs involuntarily.

The conversation is interrupted by incoming angels flying towards the camp, and this time, it's not just regular angels Lucifer can eat up however he pleases. No, this time it is what looks like 230 angels flying in, accompanied by alternate universe Castiel, Gabriel, and Raphael all at the forefront of the camp entrance. 

**We'd like to talk.** Sam hears the grace echo from Alternate Universe Gabriel.

Their Gabriel looks distinctly annoyed and ready to throw down, and he steps forward towards the posse first, being closest to the entrance.

Funny way to talk, bringing this whole smorgasbord with you. Gabe counters back, standing protectively near alternate universe Bobby, wings almost visible and archangel blade in hand.

They stare at each other.

 ** _Just a security measure. I'm sure you understand_**. Raphael's grace answers, a bit too calm.

 _Not much of a security measure, all things considered,_ Lucifer audibly snorts as his fingers stroke the back of Sam's neck.

The other archangels go still and look a bit too alert at that.

Nonetheless, Sam heads closer to the entrance, Jack at his side and Lucifer looped around his shoulder, Dean, Cas, and Mary in a semi-circle meeting the enemy in whatever strange and temporary detente or parlay or whatever this is.

"Say what you have to say before we decide otherwise." Sam answers in Enochian, head held high.

All the enemy angels look distinctly nonplussed at the usage of their native tongue, and Jack and the others look thrown. Jack's never really heard Sam speak it before except at night in his sleep, and still doesn't know the language, since angel radio bypasses the actual words and skips straight to purely sung grace.

"You don't belong here. We just want you to leave our world as it is and return to your own." Raphael turns away from him as if he can ignore it, and begins addressing everyone in English, hands out and palms up in a gesture of peace no one accepts.

"See, if you wanted that, you wouldn't have threatened my son." Lucifer replies, all mild but there's an edge underneath it all, violence and promised bloodshed all coiled potential energy ready to spring. He still stands level with Sam's shoulder, still touching him, but his other arm lights on Jack's shoulder and Sam wants to tear him to pieces...

"A misunderstanding. We do not want you here, Lucifer. And it is true. Michael and I and the rest of our Host do not want to suffer your spawn to live. But after careful consideration, we can look the other way. Your world is not our priority. Leave, and we will not destroy you."

Lucifer chortles at that. He gasps out, "As if you could even come close. This world's me might have been less than stellar, but I assure you, I'm more than that poser ever could dream. That's not even counting the fact you have to deal with _this_ family, and let me tell you, they know how to counter an Apocalypse. Witnessed it firsthand."

Jack starts at that, caught off guard, but no one fills him in. Lucifer and Sam keeps their eyes forward along with everyone else.

"But I'm sure they have their own grievances, so I'll let them say their piece," Lucifer finishes as he sidesteps easily, then gestures to Dean and Cas and Mary.

"We're not letting you destroy these people." Cas starts in.

Alternate Universe Castiel glares at him. "These people are irrelevant and mean nothing to you."

"That's your opinion, off-brand leather jacket Cas. And it's a wrong opinion." Dean growls, stepping forward past Cas as if he's ready to throw down. He keeps his hand over the new and improved gun Bobby gave him full of bullets made from melted down angel blades.

 ** _You disgust me, with your cohabitation with a human_** , Sam hears the alternate Castiel send over to their Cas. **_I can feel his grace melded with his soul from here._**

 _You act as if your opinion matters, considering your disregard for human life_. Cas shoots back.

Sam prays over a grace-infused kick of his own support, and the other Cas starts with narrowed eyes up at him. Lucifer's grip tightens on Sam's shoulder as he sends over a private stab of grace.

_Don't want them getting any ideas about how special you are, Sammy. Nor do I want them targeting you right out the gate._

**Oh, I'm very much aware.**

_Watch the sass. Your ass is mine, remember?_

**Funnily enough, you never fail to remind** **me.**

Lucifer's fingernails dig in deeper.

"Even so. You have other priorities, yes? We can ensure you won't get home. Don't make us make good on that threat." Raphael warns, eyebrows raised.

 _I remain skeptical_. Lucifer can't help adding his own two cents at the entire posse.

Sam rolls his eyes and scans the sky. These angels are buying time for something, they all know it. The only question is what.

Jack finally finds his voice, and the sound is brimming with a righteous rage Sam both recognizes in himself and Lucifer. "You have already hurt so many people. I am going to stop you, and Michael, and you won't be able to hurt anyone again."

"I love the enthusiasm, Jack, but as your father, maybe let the rest of us do that for you? It would be very irresponsible of me to allow-"

"This is getting nowhere." Alternate Gabriel complains. And then he snaps! And alternate universe Charlie, Kevin, and their world's Rowena pop into existence. "Let's make this easy for you. We're going to kill all those humans from this world we caught in that raid... What was it, 100 people? You," And Alternate Gabriel stares down Bobby, "Would know best. And we'll kill your other friend from this world." He adds, turning to Dean and Mary.

"Sam, the rift-" Rowena starts in, but her voice is silenced by Raphael.

"You aren't going to touch them." Sam snarls in Enochian. "I will rip you apart before you do."

Then Sam switches to English and looks back at Rowena, pleading, desperate, "Did they hurt you?"

Rowena shakes her head in the negative. They hadn't had her for long enough. But she knows what he is really asking is if Lucifer made his mark, and Rowena was lucky enough that she escaped relatively unscathed. Physically, that is.

Sam gets the message, and exhales, relieved.

The other angels keep staring at Sam like they don't know what to make of him.

"Who are you?" Raphael asks. "A human, besmirching our tongue."

Sam ignores all of them, and instead looks back at Rowena, eyes wide, tone comforting, "Rowena, it's going to be okay. We're going to protect you." Then he switches back to Enochian. "You let her go right now."

"You'll have to make us." Alternate Gabriel drawls. "Whoever you are."

Dean goes to say something, but Lucifer beats him to it.

"You know, you really aren't good with this whole negotiation deal. At all. I mean, I thought my Gabe was bad at it. But you? Wow." Lucifer whistles, stopping anyone from giving it away.

 _And you are completely discounting the fact I don't really care about those people. Although, one of them I wouldn't mind killing a few myself, if we're being 100% honest here._ Lucifer sends over on a private angel comm to Alternate Raphael and Alternate Gabriel. Sam still hears him, though. He always hears him.

 ** _But you are with them, and they care, and if you wanted us dead and to not maintain whatever alliance you have with these people, you would have attacked us by now._** Raphael notes, a bit too smug.

_True. But you overestimate my patience. And I don't need to destroy you. I can watch them destroy you. In fact, I'm counting on it._

**_ Won't fight your own battles? You are more like our Lucifer than you like to believe. _ **

Lucifer's grace just laughs at them, very, very clearly.

_Not at all. I just have more gratifying things I could be doing. Isn't that right, Sam? Don't tell me you can't wait to rip them apart. I know you do. I can feel it singing in your veins._

"I want an answer." Raphael repeats, his wings unfurling. Cas covers Dean's eyes, and Gabriel shield's Bobby's the same time Jack protects Mary. Their wings can muffle the sound of angelic true voices so it doesn't cause permanent damage, although not completely.

Rowena and the other captives shut their eyes and cover their ears as they stagger.

Lucifer's wings settle around Sam's eyes and ears protectively as he answers, "This is Sam Winchester. Jack's other parent. I'm sure you see the resemblance?"

 ** _"Perhaps you are different from our Lucifer. He'd never lower himself to touch a human, much less fuck one._** Raphael taunts, voice rumbling as his true form begins to leak through.

"Hold your tongue. Sammy here is higher than all of you maggots. He's magnificent. He's glorious." Lucifer answers, true voice a deep throb, too real and too inhuman, "He's my true vessel. He's all mine. And I think it's high time he demonstrated that fact. What you say, Sam? Want to show them everything you are?"

_Everything I made you to be? C'mon, Sam. I know you're holding so much back._

Sam shakes from all the blood and grace having been forced down his throat so often the past two days, so cold it almost boils in his system, and Sam keeps trembling from all the rage he wishes he could unleash on Lucifer, on the other Archangels, but mostly Lucifer. And there's an old, uncontrolled want there, a need itching and worming under his skin as Lucifer's grace sings to life around him and reminds Sam of a time long past, of what it was like when he and Lucifer were one, when they were the only thing in the world, completely invincible-

"It doesn't matter what he is. He is useless unless you are inside him, which you aren't." Raphael sneers.

"Wanna bet?" Lucifer goads, eyes glittering. Then he leans closer towards Sam, tone too gentle. "Let's teach them their place. What do you say?" Lucifer hisses by his ear, the constant Devil on Sam's shoulder that he can never shake.

_I'll make you a deal, Sam. Race you to see who can kill another Archangel the long way first. If you win, I won't eat the Archangel in question. I'll leave them all for you. How's that sound?_

Sam doesn't bother to answer, the blood pounding in his ears.

"Incoming!" Someone screams farther behind them, and then Sam and Jack are flown away by Lucifer as a wave of divine fire and rock is thrown their way, courtesy of Michael. It would have smote the camp if not for Gabriel's and Castiel's and Sam's wards.

The Archangels make to attack.

Sam beats them too it, Lucifer never far behind.

 **Gabriel, I need you to sing. Keep the artillery from Michael off of us. Castiel, help him, make sure they can't send any shockwaves or earthquakes out to devastate the camp from the ground.** Sam directs. The wards and sigils in the camp glow and burn as the two of them sing in unison, grace chiming and humming and whirring into a holy wave of noise.

 _What about you-_ Cas asks as he covers Dean, who is shooting up stray advancing angels with a vengeance. 

**Leave them to me.**

_Oh, Sam, I love it when you let loose._ And then Lucifer is at his back, still keeping pace with Sam, neck to neck, circling grace and wings protecting Sam's fragile human parts. Rowena starts slinging spells, voice returned and helps to cover Mary, who has her blade, along with alternate Charlie, who is passed a weapon by Bobby who also enters the fray. Jack's grace covers them all as best he is able, and Lucifer, oddly enough, picks up the slack there, if only to keep Sam focused on the task at hand.

The other Gabriel engages theirs, who is still shielding Bobby, as does alternate Castiel with Cas.

Raphael goes after Rowena and Jack, who is still covering Mary.

Sam sees red. He lets out all the rage and pain and anguish he's been holding back for such a long, long time, fire and ice mingling underneath his skin until he can't help but wordlessly snarl as he leaps forward, ready to tear into the Archangel with his nails and teeth and voice.

He pushes Jack and Rowena and Mary away, and Lucifer waves them to safety back inside the camp whose painted protections still hold.

The pain doesn't scare Sam. He's been subject to Michael's burning glory (the one and only chance he got), and he's lived Lucifer tearing him apart, again and again and again. This is nothing. A slap on the wrist, if the grace even manages to make contact, which it doesn't, thanks to Lucifer suffusing every particle of space around him.

"Get away from them." Sam snarls at Raphael in Enochian.

**From my son, from my friend, from my mother, from humanity, you aren't worthy to even touch them-**

_That's it, Sammy. Oh, how I missed seeing you in all your glory._

And Sam sings out in Enochian, loud and vibrant and clear, the glories welling up around him almost a scream. All his other painted runes gleam red as he attempts to rip Raphael into fragments through the force of his soul alone.

Raphael sings back as he tries to do the same to Sam, both Gabriels and Castiels joining in. None of that matters, not really, because then Lucifer starts singing as well, a duet Sam knows more intimately than he knows Lucifer's own true form, beautiful and terrible...Always too bright and cold and invasive.

The ground quakes, and the sky burns, thunder and earth rumbling together as lightning flashes down-

An image of the Cage flickers and distorts the scenery, disorienting everyone for a second.

A second too long.

 ** _What is this?_** Raphael hisses. He parries Lucifer's too casual and not intense swipes, wings and teeth and claws of his true form playing with his food and going purposefully wide as he matches Sam's movements to intercept Raphael from making contact.

 _Oh, you didn't know? Sammy here spent some time downstairs with me and Michael after he derailed our plans on Judgement Day. Not my finest moment, I'll admit. But the payoff, let me tell you. I taught him so much after he threw me back underground, and oh..._ Lucifer inhales, _I think it was worth it. But you'll be receiving the brunt of it firsthand, so you'll know better than me._ Lucifer's grace keens, all danger, as self-assured and as royal as the day Sam first let him out.

Sam screams a war-cry in Enochian.

Lucifer presses the Archangel blade into his hand, drives them forward, his own calloused hands wrapped over Sam's-

There's impact of slicing, puncturing, of bloody, impacted flesh and burning light-

Raphael falls to the ground, dead.

Alternate Gabriel flees, as does Alternate Castiel. The other angels make an attempt, but Sam keeps on singing, a new song now, a different tune.

All the other angels are thrown out of their vessels, which fall to the floor (hosts unconscious or dead, depending on their former passengers), the angels themselves screaming off into the sky until Lucifer snaps and inhales them all.

Sam sags and is caught in Lucifer's arms the second his knees start to buckle.

The ground past the camp is completely broken apart, veins of magma and dust rising up from however deep the scuffle tore the earth apart. The trees are all ash, completely gone, for what looks like thirty miles out. Lucifer grace creeps over the area, dousing the area and the flames in ice and his constant, constant cold.

Sam's chest heaves as he keeps panting, sweat dripping down his brow. Lucifer waves the Archangel blade back into nonexistence, one hand stroking Sam's jaw as he shivers.

_Oh, Sam. Look at you go._

Then Lucifer laughs, a too bright, too chiming sound, eyes wild, red boring into Sam's own with that endless, teething intensity.

"I knew you missed us. You and me. Fighting the good fight. You didn't forget a single thing." He crows.

Lucifer kisses Sam, sharp and demanding, and Sam doesn't stop him, reciprocates out of ingrained habit, disoriented-

And Lucifer flies Sam back into camp, still keeping him upright even as Jack flies to make sure he's alright, Dean not far behind.

Rowena follows, and she whispers, "Sam, Sam, I tried to stop him-"

Sam slurs his words before he falls unconscious. "I know."

_\--_

When Sam wakes, he's surrounded by everyone and lying in the bed Lucifer decided was theirs.

Everyone starts talking at once, too loud and unintelligible, Jack with Dean and Rowena a few feet away, followed by Cas and Mary and Gabriel.

Lucifer is still glued to Sam's side and brushes his hair out of his face.

Sam closes his eyes and tries to respond. At the motion, everyone goes quiet, but Sam's worn voice announces that he just needs rest and if he could have some space, it would help.

Everyone, even Lucifer, complies, although Lucifer stays by the door, watchful.

**Lucifer, please. I'm not... I'm in no shape to go anywhere like this.**

_Oh, I know. You were something else. It was beautiful, Sam._

**Please. Lucifer, please.**

Lucifer's head tilts, considering. Mary somehow picks up on the opportunity from outside on the porch where everyone has crowded, even if she doesn't know exactly what the change in expression means, and somehow draws Lucifer away with the help of Cas and Gabriel. Sam can't hear the whole conversation, but it has to do him and then jumps to Jack and riles Lucifer up enough that he shakes them off and takes a walk to stare at the sky.

"You behave while I'm gone, Sam." Lucifer orders on his way out. "I mean it."

Then Lucifer stalks away.

Sam almost collapses against the headboard, but instead takes the opportunity for what it is, and slowly totters his way to the porch, one hand supported by the rocking chair and then the railing.

He waits and talks with Jack and Dean and Rowena, but Sam eventually convinces them to go do something somewhere else, because they don't know when the next wave will hit and they can all see this isn't over.

Sam only takes the moment for himself only because he knows he isn't going to get another chance to enact the one plan he has left.

\--

“Lucifer, do you really see a version here where he sticks by you?” Gabriel starts in, still staring up at the stars as if there were some answers to be found there.

“Do you really want to think about the answer to that question, Little Bro? You really want to go there?” Lucifer glances back from their view of the sky to face his younger sibling, a bit too terse and still.

“He’s a kid. He likes shiny objects and magic tricks. But he’s not like you. I can see it in his eyes. Kelly’s blood ties, Sam’s goodness, the other Winchester’s influence.” Gabriel needles, one leg swinging and bouncing from over the hood of the red truck he’s perched over.

“I can be an influence.” Lucifer growls, and his fists clench. “He just needs the right… encouragement.”

Gabriel is quiet, but unwavering. “He’ll see who, what you are.” He mutters under his breath, hands fiddling with the archangel blade as if he almost has the courage to use it.

“And what is that, Gabriel?” Lucifer’s voice deepens. The sound makes the hair on the back of Gabriel’s vessel’s neck rise, something only his older siblings were ever able to do, aside from God himself. Gabriel hops off the truck to his feet, bright blue Archangel eyes glaring into his elder sibling’s red.

“A virus. A cancer, metastasizing,” Gabriel replies, “until it eclipses everything and leaves it to rot.” Both Archangels circle each other for a moment, forms crouched, souls snarling, Gabriel unsmiling and Lucifer’s posture loosening into something that was an actual threat.

Lucifer doesn’t come closer, however, and his tone mellows to something too-light, too much a smokescreen to be real. “Who says I haven’t changed?”

Gabriel snorts.

“With the way you treat Sam Winchester? Lucifer, that’s all the evidence anyone needs. And dude, it’s me. I’ve known you since the stars were made. You’re incapable of empathy, love. You live to be worshipped, or feared. Or both.” Gabriel considers, then stops a few feet away, posture straightening.

“I love Sam. And I loved you like a brother. Never stopped, despite everything.” Lucifer answers, too quiet. His red eyes don’t stop burning. As if he almost was hurt. Almost felt pain.

Gabriel knows it is half a lie, because Lucifer has never been anything less than unrepentant and self-involved, has been ever since the dawn of Creation.

“It didn’t stop you from trying to kill me. And that’s one hell of a joke, Luci. Look at him. Look at what your love _did_ to him. Sam can barely look you in the eye.” Gabriel counters, choking up, “And Hell, look what it did to me, and I was barely a blip on your radar. You tried to kill me-”

“You attacked first, Gabriel. It was self-defense.” Lucifer defends, all mildness banished. Gabriel ignores him and keeps going.

“And I had to hide from you, and then when you found me? Everything that happened? That was not love. That was torture and punishment and retribution, the same brand dear old Pops used to hand out like candy.” Gabriel adds. His eyes don’t leave the Devil as he stands on the side of the porch, making sure he doesn’t come any closer.

Lucifer’s mouth twists into a severe approximation of a grin.

“You both betrayed me. I did what I had to do.” Lucifer snarls, and the Archangel’s true voice hemorrhages out, lethal as a sceptic wound slowly kills its host, all ice cold calculation abandoned for pure malice.

“Don’t you get it?” Gabriel’s voice grows louder, and he stalks closer to the Devil heedless of his own safety, overcome with all the festering resentment built up from years and years of solitude and hiding and in-fighting from his siblings and abandonment and fear. “Humans are innocent and beautiful, but you couldn’t stand that he loved them more than he loved you. So you tempted them and corrupted them, just to prove how flawed they were. And Dad saw your evil was the first few cells of cancer. That it would spread like a disease unless he cut it out. That is why he locked you up. To stop the cancer.” Gabriel starts in, and Lucifer almost interrupts, but Gabriel doesn’t let him. His voice grows a little higher, a little more off-note. “And then Sam Winchester happened, and you decided you loved Sam more than God and everything else to compensate, _ha_ , never mind what Sam wanted. And sure, maybe you made Sam love you, but it never really took, and you know why? You are incapable of love or change, Lucifer. You think you were a victim? You were never a victim. You are selfish. You destroy the things you love because that’s all you know how to do, all you care about doing. You pushed me and Sam and everyone else away. You turned you back on God. And in the end, you killed our Father. Your cancer can never be stopped, because it was too late then, and it’s too late now! You are responsible for it all!” Gabriel yells.

Lucifer gets right in his face, hands clenching the lapels of his jacket.

“Let’s say you’re right, Gabe. What are going to do about it?” Lucifer breathes. “That’s right. Nothing. Because you’re _nothing_ , Gabriel. You hide and try to wait things out and when you try, well, you fail. You ran from Heaven because you are a coward who has no sense of vision or responsibility. You turned your back on me, on your True Vessel, and on humanity long ago. No takebacks.” And Lucifer pulls Gabriel closer even as he tries to pull away. “You will always be one step behind, little brother. And I swear, if you do anything to try and ruin this for me, to try take Sam and Jack away from me? I will kill you as slowly as possible. And then I’ll bring you back, and do it again. However long it takes for the lesson to sink in.”

Lucifer true form towers, not quite choking out his brother’s own. His younger sibling spits in his face on a plane not many mortal eyes can see.

Gabriel doesn’t flinch as Lucifer’s grip tightens on his host, and he answers, “I rest my case,” Blue and red eyes both promising retribution a bit too close to home.

\--

Sam takes the stolen moments he has thanks to Gabriel and Mary's distraction and makes a quick bid to summon what he needs, even if it's useless.

He knows what he has to do to protect himself, even if the price to pay is too high.

Under the light of the stars next to an empty dilapidated wall with peeling grey paint, Sam summons a demon, rare as they are.

He drinks.

\--

Lucifer notices and flies to his side immediately.

Sam knew he would and doesn't have the energy to care.


	128. SAIL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by AWOLNATION

"You want to kill Michael, right?" Sam rasps, not giving Lucifer a chance to keep going.

Lucifer pauses, and props Sam against the nearest wall, hands on his shoulders, still firm but gentler than they otherwise would be.

_Yes._

Sam still feels the echo of his fist around his throat and swallows despite himself, voice failing him. Even that doesn't drown out the bond glowing between them, strands like a life-size spider-web, all heavy like it's laden with dew only its not dew but ice and fire and electricity and need pulling at them like a singularity. The grace whines between them, feels like perfection, like lust, like love, like completion, and Sam has to stop himself from getting towed under the waves all over again, like he does every single damn time he feels Lucifer almost settling in his skin. That's never gone away, despite everything else.

"I'm listening." Lucifer assures, voice softer. He waits, too patient.

The peeling grey paint itches against the nape of Sam's neck.

"Hypothetically," Sam asks, and licks his cracked, dry lips, "What if I said yes, and we flew off and killed him right now?"

**No fanfare, no games. Just us doing what has to be done.**

Sam doesn't surprise Lucifer often, but when he does, it feels like a win, even if it won't last.

Red eyes flash and widen, the grip on Sam growing tight, not from anger but barely contained need.

The bait is almost too much for Lucifer right off the bat, but he restrains himself. His pupils remain shot, wide and focused on Sam and only Sam.

"I told you I wouldn't possess you unless it's an emergency, Sammy. Remember?" He hisses as his gaze flicks over Sam's face for any signs of dissemination.

Sam keeps his expression steady and his voice doesn't waver.

"Isn't it? Michael wants to kill our son, Lucifer. And he's going to kill all these people the moment we're gone..." Sam trails off as his voice shakes and lets his prayers, his honesty, shine brighter to match Lucifer, to push back against him like a physical wave even if it's just his soul.

**Even if you don't give a damn, I do. Jack does. And I need to protect my family, all of it. If that's what it takes... I'm willing to let you have this. Temporarily, just this one time.**

"You want to start over?" Sam keeps going, unyielding, "This is the way we start."

"And how do I know this isn't some last bid to send us back downstairs, Sammy? I want to believe you, kiddo, you know I do, but," And Lucifer smacks his lips together, chewing on the words, "You have a track record to consider."

Sam inhales.

"I know."

**Believe me, I haven't forgotten.**

_Oh, I know, Sam. I made sure._

"Lucifer. You gave me the keys. If... If I was going to throw us down there..." Sam can't lie, it will ruin it all, "Let's not kid ourselves. I'd push you in like this."

Lucifer's eyes turn flinty, but Sam keeps going anyway, hopes his wordless prayers and honesty radiating from his soul stops Lucifer from tearing him apart for even daring to say so.

**I couldn't stop you once you're inside me anymore, we both know that. And I won't go back down there. Not for anything in the world. Not even you. Jack needs me.**

"Look, you... You were right, okay?" Sam begs. "I see that now."

Lucifer's grace goes from too much pressure to gentle unease, something Sam feels prickling around him like snow.

 **What's a few thousand years of strife among millions and trillions more?** Sam prays, echoing Lucifer's own words to him from long before, and it's almost true, if he thinks about it. Sam hasn't aged since Lucifer got out, not physically, and enough of this, long enough, and Sam would fall, because after thousands and thousands and thousands of years Lucifer would wear him down, had done so in the Cage and would do so again. Lucifer has precedent there, had planned on it, because, after all, what happens after 65 million years of payback? Sam doesn't know. Sam can't think that far ahead. But that's when Lucifer said his debt to him is to be paid, that he won't punish Sam (at least for the Cage, not counting all the transgressions after), proportionate to the time Lucifer was locked away to begin with.

Even after everything, after the worst of the worst things, Sam still fucking loves him and he _hates_ himself for it. Hates and fears and wants to run away as far as possible from Lucifer more, but still. It's there, all drudged up to the surface by everything now, too much to fight after holding back everything... And Sam knows he can only hold on for so long. He won't last forever if forever ends up being the be all end all at the end of the line, and he can't fight Lucifer forever. For all his victories, he's lost that war too many times. It's not just him he has to worry about, never was, but this time, he can't kid himself. There's no more failure left to take.

Sam's voice bleeds with everything he doesn't let himself acknowledge out of sheer existential necessity.

"We can move past this, you said so yourself. You want me to prove that I love you? This it the first step." Sam persists.

**Correcting what went wrong the first time.**

Lucifer studies Sam, drinks him up like he can see his soul, see if he's lying-

Sam isn't. He needs this to work, he needs to-

He isn't going to get another chance.

"Let me do this for us." Sam gasps, and he kisses Lucifer then, honest, vulnerable, not hiding or retreating into himself, because whatever it takes-

Lucifer kisses back, for once not hungry, just meeting Sam halfway with the same intensity as he gives. Measuring, gauging Sam's every tiny microscopic movement and shudder and flinch and reciprocate movement because he wasn't expecting this, not exactly as it plays out. Lucifer expected Sam to try and outsmart him, to reroute Lucifer's own power against him and finesse his way out, to try and get Lucifer isolated so he can deal with him the only way he knows how. Lucifer is not stupid and they've done that song and dance too often for his liking.

But he wasn't expecting Sam to skip lying and jump right off into the deep end, and that alone throws the Devil off more than he would like.

Lucifer considers.

Sam prays his last ditch effort.

**I haven't forgotten everything we are, Lucifer, everything we used to be. I never have. And we're not getting away from each other any time soon. I know that. And I know that you know I'm not... That I can't... Look, we don't need to pretend we don't know what this is. But I'm tired, Lucifer, so tired, and if this is what it takes to end this, to go forward, then I need it to end. Please. I know I'm not allowed to beg for mercy and I know you won't give it to me.**

Sam's soul and voice adds in unison as the kiss breaks off so he can breathe, "At the end of the day, I'm human. I'm just one fucking human, and I'm tired of fighting a fight I can't win. Just... Please. I need peace. You always promised to give it to me, even if I don't deserve it any more. Think of this as paying it all forward. We might never be what we were but we can move on. Hell, I'm the one who taught you that."

And then Sam is kissing Lucifer harder, pulling him in close, and Lucifer is all over him, and for once both their eyes are closed, and it's almost as if everything never happened if Sam prays hard enough, because he has to.

**I need you. I love you. I'm begging for anything you are willing to give. But please, please give me this.**

"Let me prove to you I love you." Sam's ragged voice whispers.

**Let me fix this.**

_What's the catch, Sam? What price are you asking for from me? I know you aren't telling me everything._

**If we kill Michael... Don't eat him. Same with the other angels. Just give them a clean death without taking them in. I'm already scared to death. I can't deal with much more, and you're already too much, I can feel you all the time, I can barely fucking think... So, if we're going to fix this... I don't want to be scared more than I already am. Deal?**

Lucifer tastes the honesty, and would take the deal right then and there, if fate didn't conspire to screw Sam so thoroughly.

Gabriel's grace practically yells, Michael's here! And he's brought company!

And the moment is gone. Sam can't take in Lucifer inside the camp, fighting Michael like that would kill everyone within a ten mile radius. They need to utilize other tactics.

Sam's scared he won't get another chance to fix things. He's running out of time.

Lucifer flies Sam to where Dean and Mary and Jack and Rowena and Gabriel are in, once again at the decimated entrance of the camp, where everyone is getting ready for a fight.

Michael's grace is reading out his ultimatum, although it breaks off when Lucifer's grace settles over him.

 ** _You should not have come back._** Sam hears directed at Lucifer, and the fire almost throws him off balance. It's not like their Michael, not really. Their Michael was always controlled, always held himself with a quiet dignity, and even when the Cage and Lucifer sent him spiraling, his grace unwinding with a drunken edge of off-kilter madness and denial and frantic desperation, it wasn't like this. Their Michael was like a slowly dying star sending out pulses of uneven light and radiation, slowly collapsing in on itself.

This Michael... This Michael was like a wild, rabid animal, unconstrained, a flash-fire continually doused in gasoline.

Sam wonders if Dean ever felt it, if he feels it now, if there's still true vessel ties there, because their Michael never really bothered to interact without distance, always held on with a remote propriety because anything more was too much like Lucifer's all-consuming and materialistic obsession, and Michael would never let himself fall to that, he was too self-possessed and too full of surety back then. But something tells Sam that this Michael doesn't have that same restraint holding him back.

Lucifer doesn't attack yet. He waits, opportunistic. Sam's given his terms, and he's more than inclined to relent and abide by them, because for once, he's winning. He's finally getting somewhere, getting what he wants.

And Sam's fucking giving it to him of his own free will, which is more than Lucifer even expected. He almost wouldn't buy it, if he couldn't read his true vessel for exactly what he is.

Sam meant every damn word, and Lucifer intends to reward him for it. Positive reinforcement works wonders, and he wants to encourage this, wants Sam back the way they are meant to be. So they'll go at his pace, on his cues.

Besides, Lucifer always liked to watch Sam put on a show for him. And Sam was going to tear Michael a new one, be it one way, or another.

"Give us one reason not to kill you right now." Dean bellows. Michael stares him down, too confident.

"Because we still have our hostages. They aren't dead. Not yet. But this is your last warning. Leave this world to us and our dominion. Or you will not like the consequences."

"Hard pass." Bobby answers. The survivors all talked about this eventual outcome, but they hadn't had hope or a chance in this fight for a long time. They were being hunted down like rats. And now that these people from this other world gave them a fighting chance, they were taking it, come Hell or Heaven or high waters of the flood.

Michael readies his lance.

**_Then you will die, and die slowly._ **

Everything erupts into chaos.

Lucifer doesn't really care about too much collateral damage. Everyone knows this, including Alternate Michael.

That's why he has to target Sam and Jack where they can't quite fight back as much.

Other-Michael tries to keep himself dancing away on the edges of the violence, not quite trying to level the camp so much as avoid the aftershocks of power and sharp, pointed wings trying to rip him to pieces.

Dealing with the angels is relatively mundane for Sam by now. With Lucifer there, and Dean, and Cas, and Gabriel, all fighting Michael and Alternate Gabriel, fighting everyday run of the mill angels all together...

There's power there, and violence, and the earth quakes and the sky rips apart and there's fire and dust and ice everywhere, but it's normal, to Sam.

He's had years of that downstairs.

However, it's the human component that throws him. The angels can tell from how he fights.

Sam isn't used to sheer numbers past a certain point. He focuses on single targets. Destroying the biggest bad in the room.

Lucifer is similar, because he's got his eyes on the prize: Michael's head on a stick.

Their enemies bank on that.

Lucifer and Sam and Dean try to corral Michael away from them. Only Michael is letting them force his retreat.

Both Lucifer and Sam see the distraction for what it is.

The only question is why.

A slavering, hissing, snarling noise erupts from the trees....

And their answer arrives, lumbering shadows rasping on their heels in the dark of night.

It's not the angels they should be worried about.

It's the tens of thousands of Croats and mutated monsters being funneled to the entrances of the camp.

And they're being drawn away from the camp, past the Croats heading straight for the human survivors. Thousands, tens of thousands of the infected.

Their wards will hold, sure.

For now.

Except Michael is drawing them right to every point of access, like a beacon.

Michael retreats. Alternate Gabriel holds the rear with three garrisons of angels, leaving the rest behind as bodies to fight through. Alternate Cas hasn't once joined the fray. Alternate Gabriel keeps fighting their version, aided by Rowena and Mary, until he makes a break for it.

If Lucifer and Sam leave now to fight the Archangels, the camp will be overrun by sheer numbers.

There's more than enough Croats swarming the entrance, trying to make their way inside.

Every entrance is covered, a siege, and Sam thinks he sees alternate Charlie bazooka a few before the tide becomes too much.

Lucifer takes out a lot of the bodies. Two hundred there, five hundred there, all with an inhale and a snap of his fingers. Jack does, too, although Sam keeps one hand on his son and paints in blood on his hoodie, because he has to keep him from radiating out too much, has to stop the boundless energy from incinerating their allies at close quarters. It's too specific, too many bodies breaching for access, because Croats don't respond to warding quite the same as others.

Demon wards don't work. Angel wards are useless.

Sam still dealing with shooting at at least thirty at a time, angel blade in the other hand, hacking off heads.

Dean and Alternate Bobby and Mary gun down fifty at a time, automatics with angel bullets in hand. They don't want to waste resources, but there isn't much time to switch ammunition, particularly if the angels come back for a second wave.

Gabriel and Rowena and Cas try to create a catch-all sigils to radiant outward, frying a few more thousands that breached the inside.

Sam would say yes just to end this quickly and fly off to end Michael once and for all, except with so many allies close by, there's no way a smiting wouldn't take everyone out.

\--

Five hours, thirty-thousand two hundred and four Croats, and twenty three aborted smitings-from-the-air later, they live.

They manage not to have too many causalities. There's enough, but low numbers for a fight of this size.

Except it turns out, the camp's complete annihilation wasn't the main plan, after all.

Lucifer tries to pinpoint Michael's exact location using Sam's soul.

They want this over with.

\--

Jack, Mary, Cas, alternate Bobby, and Dean go to reinforce one side of the camp and board it back up.

Gabriel, Rowena, alternate Charlie, Sam, and Lucifer take the other half, Lucifer's spell still doing it's work, Sam humming with the grace itching under his skin.

They can feel something coming. Something tightening around them like a net.

There's a flash, and a rumble in the distance, and the ground quakes, and lightning hits the camp on the other side-

And Cas flies in, frantic.

"Sam. Dean's gone." Cas speaks in rumbling Enochian. Unlike his low, controlled voice, his grace is a sobbing wail. **_Michael has him. He ripped him away from me._**

Sam's heart stops.

"He Jack and Mary, too." Gabriel adds as he flies in, Rowena stumbling against him.

Lucifer's grace sends Sam into a tailspin, both of them united in rage and fear and purpose. Lucifer flash-freezes the radius around them and flies them all where he can feel Michael burning.

Sam and Lucifer can hear Michael now, speaking his terms, **_I warned you not to challenge me. You underestimated me at your peril, and now you pay the price. If you want them to live, you will leave this camp and meet your family at the place of my choosing. Any attempt to deviate from these terms will result in their deaths. Choose wisely._**

No Archangel is playing with his food any more. Both are playing to win.


	129. Cat's In The Cradle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a lot planned for this chapter that didn't make it in, like michael and dean talking about how Lucifer is a menace and some gabriel and rowena fighting lucifer stuff, also part of the setup was michael possibly possessing sam or sam letting lucifer possess him and then trying to off all them together
> 
> chapter title a song by Harry Chapin

Living or dying? Freedom or death?

Sam doesn't want to leave Jack alone.

But he has to protect him. He has to.

Sam makes his choice.

\--

Lucifer pulls the lance from between his ribs, and Sam lets out a scream as the whole back of the Lance is pulled through his ribcage.

\--

Sam lays crumpled on the ground.

\--

He slams his hand on the angel binding sigil, keeping Lucifer from getting away.

And now he's dragging the Devil down again with another Michael, only Lucifer is holding on for dear life, stronger and more furious and beyond desperate than ever.

But Sam's looked down the barrel of eternity before.

He's afraid. He's so afraid.

He doesn't want to leave Jack.

But with Lucifer topside again, life inside or outside the Cage hasn't been that different, and Sam can't live in a world where Jack has to pay for Sam's weakness, for something Sam has never been able to defeat completely, for the Devil that everyone else keeps letting out...

For the Father Jack didn't choose or deserve or ask for, for the parent who would never let anything he decides is his, son or true vessel, ever be free.

Sam can't let Lucifer take away Jack's choices. Can't let Lucifer break his heart, like he did Sam's, so many times.

Hard choices are ones you have to make, when your child is on the line.

It's not that different from saving the world. Choosing one life above your own. Choosing every life Lucifer would take above Sam's, because Sam has never been free of him and probably never would be.

Sam can survive this. He might break but he can survive knowing he's saved his family.

He's survived that long because of his love for his family before.

"Take care of my son." Sam says to Cas as he starts the long fall back down.

It's not the same Cage, but it feels exactly the same. Only this time, Sam knows, he's only been holding off the inevitable, the mouth of Hell waiting to reclaim him ever since he was mistakenly rescued the first time.

Hell is hungry. Hungry for the Devil and Sam to come home to their prison Sam made their final destination.

Lucifer screams and screams and screams a sound so unholy and low and thumming it makes everyone's ears bleed. His eyes glow red from the energy he exerts to keep Sam from pitching down into the depths, and Lucifer is holding on to the broken earth for dear life...

"NO!" Lucifer screams.

"Yes." Sam answers.

_Sammy-_

**You say you love me. Well, I love you. And you never cared when you destroyed me. Why should I care if this destroys us again, too?**

_SAM-_

Sam might not be able to win, but he might just be able to not lose completely. A few years later than scheduled, but the old plan is back on track.

"SAMMY!" Dean is screaming, now, too.

Only Sam isn't falling anymore.

Lucifer holds him by the throat, so many clawed, real hands digging into the Earth deeper than anything, keeping him anchored from the gaping Charybdis opening into Hell as the wind howls past them.

\--

Rowena and Gabriel try their best to help.

But Lucifer is a corned creature, and he wants too many things.

\--

Jack is the one stuck making the choice, the only one left standing.

Push Sam and Lucifer in...

Or not.

\--

"Now, Jack. I didn't _want_ it to be this way, but as your father, you aren't giving me much choice." Lucifer grounds out, half-choking Sam in his grip, keeps him tight in headlock. "But you really do take after Sammy, which is almost adorable. Really."

Dean and Cas are frozen in place, weapons drawn and useless. Jack's eyes flash as he tries to stop him, tries to disrupt the ineffable wall between him and Sam, to fight the Devil off, but Lucifer isn't affected. The grace binding Lucifer to Sam is too impenetrable, too suffused, and Lucifer is brimming, overflowing with life at his core, chock full of ripe angel grace. The tart, sulfuric energy chimes, victorious and sweet.

Lucifer shrugs off the wave of power, easy, keeps talking without missing a beat. "This can go one of three ways. You and Sam can both decide between yourselves, take your pick. Either Sam says, yes, and I possess him,” _(I then, I win, Sam, I always win,)_ “And we maintain our relationship, and both keep custody of you. Or I kill him, right now, drag him straight back to Hell with me," _(Mine, mine, mine),_ "And you’ll never see him again, unless you decide to seek me out. Or, we can all make nice,” Lucifer suggests, then jerks his head towards Dean and Cas, to be extra inclusive, “Pretend this unfortunate misunderstanding never happened, and go on our merry ways- back home to that confining, tattered bunker almost all of you seem so fond of, as one big, _cooperative_ , and otherwise unmistakably happy family. You get me?”

Jack waits, shoots Sam a questioning, panicked glance, hoping he has the answers. Sam meets his eyes, telegraphs his perspective. Adds, **I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you, Jack.** And Jack's face slowly falls.

"C'mon, Son. I'm waiting. And Sam doesn't want to do this all day." _No sirree._ He grants Sam a few mocking words, shit eating grin lighting up the layers of archangelic monster underneath. Rubs the crushing reality in his face.

As if Sam hasn't failed enough already.

"What's it gonna be?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically the lead up was ppl get rescued, then Michael and Lucifer and Sam fighting, blah blah blah, eventually this would lead into Gabe and Rowena trying to pull something with Cas and Dean and Jack while Sam is doing his thing with the Cage but I could not get it to work with me so it is just this


	130. Black Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by in this moment

Everyone jumps through the portal back to the Bunker in silence, Sam and Lucifer in the lead, Jack and Cas and Dean sandwiched together, then Mary, Rowena and Gabriel last. The digital clock's bright red letters read 7:12 am.

Lucifer’s fist is still scrunched around the flannel collar hanging over the nape of Sam’s neck as he pushes Sam’s momentum forward, faster than Sam otherwise would walk. Gabriel helps Rowena stumble forward on unsteady feet at the end of the group, one wing draped over her just as the portal blinks and snaps closed.

They pass the main room and a few more until everyone gets to the kitchen. Then Lucifer sits Sam down at the table and finally lets his shirt go.

Sam sits, subdued, hunched like an abandoned sock puppet, hair falling in his bag-ridden eyes. Lucifer starts making a pot of coffee on the counter, then grabs a skillet in one hand, and hums as he begins rummaging through the fridge. His blonde hair still sticks up at a slight angle, an illusion of static, or maybe a side effect of the pulsing fury of the Cage after it opened.

The Devil motions for everyone else to sit with a sharp jerk of the skillet. Everyone still standing does, except for Cas, who stands by the table next to Dean and Jack. Dean bites his lip. Jack looks at Sam and then Lucifer, arms hugging himself close. Mary’s eyes don’t leave Lucifer, nor do Gabriel’s.

One jagged knife makes a ripping noise as it etches deeper into the wood every minute, Dean’s furious repetitive moments scratching lines all over his portion of the table.

“So,” Lucifer starts, back still to everyone, head half-wedged into the fridge as he pokes around. “Not much of a selection. Mostly beer. Oh, but you’ve got some American cheese, some greens, and plenty of eggs. Anyone like omelets? Jack, you want one? Mary? Rowena?” The skillet waves in the air as Lucifer keeps going and nicks a carton of eggs from their resting place. “Protein might help with the concussion, now that I think about it. Unless you want to try and heal her, Gabe, but considering how low on juice you are at the moment, it might be better if I handle it, instead.”

Rowena flinches. No one says anything, not after what happened after Michael… Or after the “discussion” following the opening of the Cage in the other dimension.

The thud! Of Dean’s knife keeps echoing over the wood and plastic coating of the kitchen table. Dean keeps slicing away, eyes slanted downward, even as the table starts looking distinctly mutilated. Sam’s elder brother finds he doesn’t quite care.

“Dean, you’ll eat anything, so I’m not too worried about you.” Lucifer trails off. And then he finally looks backwards, pointedly, says, with a small smile, too quietly, “...Sammy? How about you?”

Sam looks up. Eyes wide.

The glasses and everything else in the room begins to shake all on their own, until they stop.

“Gabriel.” Sam starts, too calm, and he doesn't even glance at the other Archangel, keeps his eyes on the one whose eyes still haven’t left his. Gabriel starts and looks over. “Can you take Jack and Rowena somewhere? Out for a walk or for ice cream or something?”

 **Anything**.

“Dad, wait-”

“Sam…” Rowena’s protest is barely a croak.

“Jack. Trust me, please.” Jack looks at Sam, quiets at his exhausted but determined expression, and nods. “You too, Rowena.”

 **You don’t want to be here for what happens next**. Sam thinks as he looks back at the three of them.

Gabriel nods, doesn’t need to be told twice. But before he leaves with his passengers-

“I’ll allow it.” Lucifer interjects.

**Oh, I’m sure you will.**

“Jack could use something to calm down after all the excitement. Busy, tiring day for everyone and all that. The fresh air will be good for him. Be back for dinner.” Lucifer continues, hand waving, if he hadn’t heard Sam’s fuming prayer, eyeing them all as he shrugs. Calculated. Intent.

Gabriel flies both Jack and Rowena away. Castiel looks between Lucifer and Sam, on edge, one hand white-knuckled on Dean’s shoulder.

Lucifer just watches Sam, Nick’s form half draped against the sink, legs crossed, lip curled. Still twirling the skillet in one hand.

The chair scrapes over the floor as Sam rises to his feet.

_Engaging all on your own, Sam. Finally. Thought I’d have to coax it out of you after hours of nothing. Can’t say I expected this, exactly, but still. You have my undivided attention._

**Go fuck yourself.**

_After I made a peace offering, and everything? Besides, why would I resort that that when I know I have you, right there, all ready and bedraggled and practically begging to be taken? C’mon, Sammy. Let it go. I have. Didn’t hurt you practically at all after the stunt you tried to pull, which is more than you deserve, after all the chances and favors I’ve granted you. You’re lucky I love you so much, Sam. I told you, we get a whole new fresh start now. We’re both going to grow and change from this experience. So. Live a little. Forgive and forget._

**Because that’s not hypocritical, coming from you.**

_Sam, quit taking this so personally. There’s no need for such overreactions._

**Bite me.**

_Kinky. I’ll take the suggestion under consideration._

“Sam, you need to eat. You haven’t had proper food in three days. You need something solid in your system. So, omelet, or eggs, or what?” Lucifer talks even as his grace washes over Sam, too bright and cold. Ecstatic and sour and hungry, always hungry.

A forked tongue flicks out as Lucifer licks his lips.

_And I know how you like your eggs, Sammy. Over-easy and scrambled. Always have to break a few, but still-_

**Stop talking.**

_Mmm, Sam, you’re a sight to see when you take initiative. I love it. Still won’t let you take the wheel, but you sure do cut a mean figure like this. It’s enough to make an angel swoon. But, uh, work with me here, buddy. How exactly do you think this will help? You trying to mellow me out after your attempted acrobatics earlier? Because let me tell you, so far, it’s working._

Lucifer winks. The skillet is ripped out of his hands by a force no one can see.

It clatters against the stove.

**I SAID STOP TALKING.**

The lightbulbs overhead begin to flicker and short out.

_Temper, temper. After all the generosity I’ve shown you. Sam, don’t push it. Don’t make me walk over there and fuck it out of you, kiddo. You’ve already broke my heart once too many times today._

Sam’s hands slam down on the table. Sam finally snaps like he’s been trying not to for days.

Cas and Dean and Mary all look back and forth between Sam and Lucifer now, not entirely sure what’s going to happen and not quite following since whatever conversation is being had isn’t being spoken mostly aloud, although Castiel’s grace at least whispers they’re definitely arguing under his breath.

Dean knows that look on Sam’s face. It’s the same look now that he wore when facing down Famine, or when he told that demon, _“Wait your turn.”_

The same expression when Sam said, _“No.”_ And, _“I’m not ready to be your bitch.”_ But Dean wasn’t there for that, and doesn’t know, although Lucifer does.

Lucifer knows that look too well.

“Dean, Mom, Cas. If you wouldn’t mind giving us some privacy.” Sam’s voice is too calm.

It’s not a question or a suggestion.

They stare at Sam as if he’s lost it, because Sam, never, never, ever wants to be alone with Lucifer, they all knows how much he avoids it…

“Sam-” Dean starts. Sam quiets him with a look.

“Let me phrase this differently. Leave. Or I will make you.” Sam grits out, his fists clenching. The lights flicker again.

Lucifer eyebrows raise as he stretches and keeps leaning against the counter, taking up as much space as casually as possible.

“Yeah, Dean. The adults are talking.” Lucifer adds with a chuckle, then he grows serious. “Look, Sam, there’s no need to be so dramatic. They can stay. We’re just chatting. And you never really answered my question about breakfast, omelet or-”

 **SHUT UP**.

_Oh, someone is asking for it-_

“Shut. Up.” Sam snarls in in Enochian.

The lightbulbs break into pieces above them, raining glass. Dean and Mary duck, but Lucifer, Castiel, and Sam don’t move an inch.

Lucifer sighs, snaps, and everything is restored back to their original conditions.

Sam barely flinches at the familiar habit and keeps staring the Devil down.

Dean still hasn’t moved, and everyone is on their feet now, too, Sam doesn’t know when that exactly happened, he’s too focused on the Archangel who is fixated on ruining Sam’s life.

“Dean, I’m going to handle this. But it isn’t going to end well. And I don’t want you to see it. So, please. Just go.” Sam’s voice is pure steel underneath the too-calm reassurance.

“Sam, we don’t want to leave you alone-” Cas argues, but Lucifer waves them into another room they can’t leave upstairs before he can finish.

“Okay, Sam. It’s just me and you. Like you wanted. Can’t say I mind much, truth be told.” Lucifer sighs, and keeps going in Enochian. His red eyes flash, bright and glittering, even as he shifts the skillet absently over the still-unlit stovetop. “Say what you need to say. Don’t hold back on my account.”

“Fuck you.” Sam continues on in the language of the angels, fluent and angry and done.

“That’s all?” Lucifer’s lip twitches again.

“No. You want to pretend that this is going to work out? Fine. But I’m not going to make this easy for you, I’m going to rip you apart-”

“Oooh, this speech again.” And Lucifer rolls his eyes even as his hands are reaching, grasping, and he stalks forwards, all tactile, all up in Sam's bubble of space.

“No. Lucifer. No.” And Sam’s voice rings out, and Lucifer stiffens, his impassive ease evaporating at the words he’s tried to stop Sam from saying ever since the first time, his nostrils flaring and eyes slits.

Sam doesn’t care.

“Fuck you. You want some parody of a family? Some recreation of what you ruined all by yourself? You want to pretend we’ve moved on? That you can just erase everything that happened?” Sam keeps going as he waves the kitchen table into the opposite wall with a crash! The lightbulbs keep flickering. The earth quakes a little as Sam lunges forward and tries to stab Lucifer with a knife he sent flying out of the drawer, again and again and again.

Lucifer reels Sam in close, rips the buttons off Sam’s outer layer of flannel as he rams him against the sink, but Sam still doesn’t stop talking, even though the knife doesn’t even break skin.

“You want to pretend I’m just going to fall back in line? That I’m going to take the scraps of what we used to have and not hate you for everything you’ve done? That I’m going to let you use me over and over without any consequences? You want to live in that delusional little bubble where I’m yours no matter what happens, my own feelings be damned? Fine. You do that, Lucifer. I won’t fucking stop you. But, Earth to Satan, you slimy, worthless, lying, fucking piece of shit,” Sam snarls, then slams his head into Lucifer’s nose before there’s a fist hitting Sam’s face and a snap as one of Sam’s kneecaps and then a wrist gets broken, but Sam keeps on yelling anyway, “I’m not playing this game. I won’t let you ruin Jack’s life. You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve me. And I’m going to beat you like I always do in the end, just you wait. I’m going to throw you back into that godforsaken pit, or another one, a worse one where you’re all alone, forever.” Sam is yelling louder than anything now, fighting Lucifer’s too close face and hands and everything with the frenzy of a man possessed. “And when I do you’re going to feel every single thing you’ve ever done to me and I’m going to laugh as you take it all and shove it up your pathetic angelic a-”

Lucifer grabs Sam by the throat and kisses him as he takes the skillet back in hand.

“Oh, Sammy. I promise, you really, really don’t want to keep going. Trust me.”

“Make me.” Sam spits.

The skillet makes contact and breaks off some teeth.

Lucifer isn’t fazed by his own casual violence, but he does let loose with more abandon than usual.

The skillet swings back and hits again, breaking Sam’s jawbone.

Then the blows start falling harder and faster until they’re fists and nails and teeth. And Sam feels more bones breaking, feels himself being kicked down to the floor.

Lucifer heals him, unsmiling, and then it starts all over again.

\--

“What’s Sam saying?” Dean asks with a growl, shredding a pillow.

“He’s cursing Lucifer out and listing all the things he’s going to regret.” Castiel supplies, then pauses as Lucifer yells louder. “…Lucifer isn’t happy about it.”

“What happening now?” Dean asks, looks at Castiel as he paces. Mary fidgets and flinches at the yelling and screaming and noise in a language only one of them knows. And the crashing. She tries to ignore it as she tries to find a way out of the room, but so far, no luck.

“You don’t want to know, Dean.” Castiel’s gravelly voice is tired and beaten and grave.

Dean doesn’t stop looking at him, gets in his face.

“Cas. You tell me what the Devil is doing to my baby brother, right now-”

Cas tilts his head, eyes closing in defeat.

“Right now he’s punching him out and throwing him into the fridge and… Oh, no.” Castiel goes too still.

“What.”

Castiel’s eyes don’t look at anything and his fists clench, the shadow of his wings slumping.

"Cas. What-"

“He’s holding Sam’s head against the stove.”

Dean roars and punches the invisible wall trapping them inside and keeps on trashing the room.

\--

Sam keeps laughing and screaming and crying because he can't control all his bodily responses, but he doesn’t stop yelling at Lucifer, not for anything.

“You’ve done worse.” Sam jibes, face and chest and everything bruised and bloody. One finger digs into the flesh of Sam’s left eye as Lucifer’s hand splays over Sam’s head, keeps the other side face-down. “I can take this. You’re a bit too creative sometimes, I got used to it, now it’s all coming back to bite y-” then he chokes off and screams as Lucifer turns the knob slowly, slowly, then all the way up for the gas.

Lucifer holds him there however long.

Sam smells burnt hair and flesh and sinew as he keeps screaming. Eventually he can’t smell anymore and half his jaw burns too much so Sam can’t make noise.

At some point, Lucifer turns the stove off and brings Sam back from unconsciousness.

“Keep going, Sam. I dare you.” He hisses in Sam’s still mangled ear as he heals part of him, not enough.

Sam laughs and spits blood in Lucifer’s face. “I can do this all day.”

 _Suit yourself_.

\--

By 3 pm, Gabriel sends out some grace to Castiel asking if they can come back yet.

Castiel answers very much so in the negative.

Dean and Mary keep glancing at the automatic clock and try to ignore how the noise hasn’t stopped, but Sam is quieter, much quieter.

\--

Eventually, Lucifer goes back to a tried and true favorite, slicing Sam up slowly and precisely as Sam tries to hold himself up from the floor. Switches from hooks and knives and sharp metal objects, his fourth favorite.

Sam gets louder again, starts screaming.

But he keeps laughing and laughing anyway, because now he knows how much he’s gotten under Lucifer’s skin if he’s being flayed alive.

\--

By 5 pm, Sam’s gone quiet again, and Castiel won’t tell Dean what Lucifer is up to now, not for the world, no matter how much Dean yells at him.

Dean thinks he knows what that means.

The upstairs room is trashed, pillows and blankets shredded.

Feathers are everywhere. Dean’s knife has long since become trapped in the wall.

The Enochian screaming resumes sometime around 7:50 pm.

\--

At 8:34 exactly, Dean breaks.

“This is your fault.” He growls as he stares at Castiel, eyes wild.

“Dean-”

“You let him back out!” Dean yells, and then he’s on top of Cas, fists flying. “Don’t say you’re sorry. If you never let him out, he’d still be down there, Sam would be safe-”

He’s flung into the wall as the Devil’s voice lilts, in English, “Ah, yes, safe as Sam can be, either dead and back in the Cage, or wiped into nonexistence, since the Darkness would have ended everything. Real smooth, Dean. So much expression of higher intellect.”

Sam’s being held up by the Devil, still bloody, with a split lip and a broken leg, but otherwise healed and unbroken.

Mary and Cas are thrown back against the wall and held there too, just because Lucifer feels like it.

“YOU DON’T TOUCH HIM-” Dean screams over the others, loudest of all. “YOU LET SAM GO-”

His voice is cut off with a wave.

“Look, I can’t really focus with you screaming and roughhousing with each other up here. Ruins the mood. Distracts Sam, too. So shut up or I’ll start getting angry. And then I’ll take it out on Sam, because he’s so willing to take whatever I dish out. No one wants that, right? Besides, you’re upsetting Sam. Right, Sam?”

“It’s not his fault, Dean. Don’t take it out on Cas.”

“There you go. Now, you done being difficult, Sammy? Have anything you want to share with the class?”

Sam glares at Lucifer, has a few fingers broken which he takes in silence for his rebellion.

But before Dean can answer, voice returned, Sam keeps going.

“I asked for this, so this is on me,” Sam laughs, voice raspy.

“Sam, no-” Dean yells.

And then Sam laughs harder, “Only it doesn’t matter, really, because let’s be honest, this is all Lucifer’s fault-”

Glass shatters as Sam is slammed into the TV. Mary and Dean and Cas start yelling and lose their voice privileges again.

“Sam, you are really, really, _really_ ,” And there’s a yanking sensation as Lucifer grabs Sam’s hair, “testing my patience today. After I extended the olive branch, and everything.” Lucifer growls, bending down over him.

Sam is winded and groggy, glass sticking to his hair from the matted blood.

“But maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree. Maybe, I should be hurting them, not you, Sam. What do you think? That tickle that martyr funny-bone of yours enough?”

“Don’t hurt them.” Sam rasps.

_Oh, now we’re back to begging. Explain why I should give a damn, Sam._

“It’s not worth it.”

“Oh, really?”

Sam nods. “Besides, you won’t want to.”

Lucifer heals Sam completely except for the bloodstains. Helps Sam up to his feet, dusts off his collarbone, gentle, as if he hadn’t been ripping Sam apart ten minutes prior or done anything he’s done for the past 12 hours.

“And why’s that?” Lucifer asks, all mild.

“Because I’ll make a deal with you.” Sam switches to Enochian again, tone too light and casual considering the circumstances.

_Are you finally seeing sense, Sammy? You ready to throw in the towel?_

**Get me out of this room and you’ll find out.**

Lucifer flies them back to Sam’s room, heedless of the former company. He sits them both down on Sam’s bed.

Lucifer presses a hand to Sam’s forehead. Not the angel way, the human one.

_Well, this is new. Usually you never make it past denial and anger and never really get to bargaining or acceptance, at least not for long, but looks like you're full of surprises today._

“You sure I didn’t break something permanently, Sammy? You know what you’re saying?” Lucifer asks.

Sam shakes his head, dead serious. “I mean it. Every word.”

Lucifer’s head tilts, but as much as he’s interested, he’s still more than suspicious. “I’m listening.”

Sam flexes his shoulders and neck to ease the tension, his throat still bobbing a little.

“I’ll give you whatever you need. That’s all you want, right?” Sam coaxes.

“I can already make you do that, Sam.” Lucifer answers flatly. Sam doesn’t buy the ploy and knows he’s still thrown off his game, because he can read him as easily as Lucifer usually reads Sam.

“Oh, sure. But not the way I’m talking. You really want my participation? Want what I can give you without forcing the issue? I can do that. I’ll willingly join in on whatever plans you have for me. Here,” Sam extends an arm and leans closer, “I’ll let you hurt me as much as you like. You like hurting me more than everyone else, anyway, I know you do.”

Then Sam draws his arms around the Devil, invades Lucifer’s space as his voice grows quieter. Sam’s eyes are all on him, as if Lucifer’s the only thing that exists.

“But that’s not what you’re after, not really. You like other things even more.”

Lucifer watches him, arrested, a furious icy moth bound to an undying flame.

Sam’s face is centimeters away, his body draped over Lucifer’s lap as much as Sam can manage.

“You know what you want,” Sam whispers, “You want your son to look up to you, you want your family to admit you’re right, you want power and to prove you can do better than God. I know. But you know what I also know? What you want more than anything else?”

Sam’s voice grows breathy and gains an honest edge Lucifer hasn’t heard for far too long.

“You want me.”

And Sam kisses the Devil, long and open and real as if the past 7,550 or so years hadn’t happened, as if the Cage and the Apocalypse and everything else were just a bad dream. As if Lucifer wasn’t repulsive and evil and Sam’s greatest source of fear and hatred and the very thing that ate him alive from the inside out day after day.

“And you really, really want me to want you again.” Sam says as he pulls away, then kisses him again. “To love you. No convincing or beatings necessary. Just me, accepting you as you are. Not fighting it.”

Lucifer takes the bait, not really in control anymore, because Sam knows him, can feel the grace and the Archangel curling round his body and soul as Sam winds himself closer, keeps kissing him like he wanted to back when he loved him, if he had a choice, back in the beginning.

Sam draws the moment out, until he know Lucifer has bought it, because Sam still feels something against his better judgement, stacked against all the pain and violations he’s ever endured.

But Sam knows feeling don’t matter much. Not where it counts.

Sam’s voice hisses in Lucifer’s ear.

“Only it’s _never_ going to happen, because you can’t really make me feel anything.”

Sam starts laughing again as Lucifer true form explodes out, bright and cold and terrible, because Sam doesn’t care about the consequences anymore.

This was happening whether he wanted it or not, and Sam was done acting as if he wasn’t broken, as if anything mattered, as if he hadn’t been pushed to his limits again and again.

The look on Lucifer’s face was worth it.

Sam had broken him, too.

And he didn’t care what happened now, no matter how much it hurt.

“You know what your problem is?” Sam gasps as Lucifer starts in again, “You just don’t take no for an answer.”

Lucifer backhands Sam across the face so hard Sam loses his balance. He careens off the bed to the floor.

**I meant what I said, though. The deal. You can pretend. But you’re not going to hurt them, because I promise, you’re gonna want to hurt me too much. Congratulations, you broke me too much for me to care. Great job.**

_Sam, you have no sense of self-preservation, do you?_

**You trained it out of me. That must really sting.**

Sam keeps laughing even as he’s pulled up by the roots of his hair, as another rib gets broken again.

“You sure are something else, Lucifer. You just keep doing the same things, over and over. You don’t change. You blame everyone else for your problems, problems you create. And you know what,” Sam inhales and bites back another scream as a joint pops out, then one ankle is broken, but he says what he needs to say even as Lucifer keeps going, as he heals Sam and changes tactics to things worse than other tortures, “You might blame me. For throwing us in the Cage, for stopping you and the Apocalypse. But we both know the truth. I loved you. I would have given you everything. And you fucked it up, Lucifer. You threw us away. Because you’re stupid. You made me hate you all by yourself. And you won’t ever get what we had back. Not properly. So good job. You fucking **screwed** yourself.”

Sam laughs and laughs even when Lucifer’s hands dig into his soul and laughs even as he screams.

And then it stops, and Sam collapses.

Sam doesn’t really register the pain much anymore. He’s rode the worst of it out.

He laughs and keeps laughing until he’s choking up blood again.

\--

Mary and Dean and Cas did not take their newfound freedom in stride, and Dean and Mary got a few punches in before Lucifer tortured the three of them, too, while Sam was still out cold.

It's over after ten minutes. And Sam's jolting back to life again, Lucifer looming over him like he always does when this happens.

And then, everything is put back in its place, a snap of the fingers putting everything back to “normal” by 9 pm.

By 9:03, Gabriel and Rowena and Jack have returned, because they couldn’t really try anything, not with Lucifer as strong as he is. He’d just track them down, and was already angry enough. They did come back with ice cream cones, so that was something.

Sam sits at the end of the kitchen table, set apart from everyone else. Not a scratch or bloodstain or piece of ripped fabric on him, nor a single hair out of place.

Jack and Dean and Cas and Mary and Gabriel and Rowena are all lined up clockwise the rest of the way.

“So. Dinner. Pizza or omelets.” Lucifer asks, too lightly, perched over the counter, skillet off to the side, and a menu fluttering in his right hand. "Or would we rather order Chinese?"

Sam doesn’t register what anyone else says.

Inside, Sam’s soul celebrates the victory, savors the fact that Lucifer lost this one, when all was said and done. Sam knows he’ll pay for it later. But now, right now, he can still see Lucifer’s undercurrent of hurt, of pain, of desperation. The Devil is heartbroken perhaps almost as much as Sam had been long before.

It was worth it, whatever might happen.

Even if Sam knows his sudden dissociation from his fear is not going to last that long. There's too much there, waiting.

Too much rage and pain and time stretching out before him, with no reliable means of escape.


	131. Say Hello Melancholia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by iamx

Lucifer doesn't hesitate to make himself comfortable in Sam's room. When they first walked in, Sam could hardly go two feet without him being near him in some capacity. Now, he's just settled on the edge of the bed, arms out, body taking up all the room it can, like it always does, while Sam hides under the covers and tries to avoid as much physical contact as possible.

You would think, after the Cage, that the Devil would hate small spaces and locked doors as much as Sam if not more, but maybe he's grown too used to it or knows he holds the power in those spaces, because right now Sam's door is locked and he's boxed in and Sam feels like it cuts him off from the entire rest of the world.

Sam tries to settle himself as best he can. Lucifer isn't doing his worst. He isn't. They're both fully clothed, and he's just holding Sam, sometimes kissing his forehead or his neck, sometimes rubbing Sam's shoulder with the arm that's draped around Sam's half-numb back. He mostly reads something Sam can't make out in the dark while Sam tries to curl up and sleep, and Sam suspects its a stone table from the shape, maybe something in Enochian, but it really is too dark to tell and Sam is too exhausted to care.

Lucifer's shoulder is cold against the back of Sam's neck, and Sam always remains hyper-aware of his position. Lucifer keeps laying on his back, left side radiating cold against Sam's spine. Sam can feel the wings lightly curved around him, like an extra blanket he didn't ask for.

Sam tries his best not to feel like he's burning up, but it mostly just takes all his energy to stop himself from trying to crawl away and rip the door off its hinges and run. That's never an option, and Sam is just so drained from the day, from all the beatings, from trying to hold his own, from the constant, inescapable proximity, that he just tries to keep himself still...

The clock reads 12:45 am. They've been like this the past hour.

Sam still can't fall asleep.

And then, Lucifer tilts his head, looks up, and Sam sits all the way up as well, because something clearly caught his attention.

There's a shadow peeking out from under the door. 

A small knock hits once, then twice.

Lucifer waves his hand and unlocks the door. It shunts open, the lamp flickering on, and Sam can see Dean's silhouette behind Jack in the doorway, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Priscilla stays at Jack's side, alert.

"It's not locked." Lucifer calls as he beckons Jack closer, "Although, it's good you remembered to knock. Sam raised you well."

Dean stays by the doorframe, not coming in. Knows he isn't welcome.

Jack shuffles forward under the scrutiny, arms huddled around his chest. Priscilla follows, stepping on one foot by accident.

Jack peeks out from under his lashes, then his gaze darts back down as his head bows. His pajama legs trail behind him, a bit too big for him. They'd been meaning to mend those, but Jack asked if he could keep them like that because he liked how they covered his feet...

Sam can feel the warmth of his grace now. It feels... unsettlingly on edge.

Sam takes a deep breath. "Jack, are you okay?"

"Dad..." Jack stutters, "I..."

"Hey, Jack. Jack, it's okay. Whatever it is-" Sam comforts, getting up to hug him closer. His son is only a year and a half old, and he's dealt with too much already, Sam has to be there, he can't be out of it, not like this-

Lucifer stops Sam with a hand on his shoulder shake of his head as he rises himself. Sam gives him a pinched look of pure challenge, but Lucifer just pats the bed and guides Jack nearer as he leans over.

"You stay here with him." He directs Sam, then turns to Jack. "Son, hop on up. I'll get you two some cocoa. Should help settle both your nerves." Lucifer assures, too soothingly, and Sam's heart stings with a stabbing pain, because he knows that voice, remembers how Jess did the same damn thing, and the hate and despair rises up to choke him again-

Sam helps Jack up and helps his settle as he crawls over the covers, then sits between the pillows, his head against Sam's shoulder. Sam's back digs into the headboard as Priscilla jumps up and lays down by Jack's legs at the foot of the bed.

"I had a nightmare." Jack stammers, and he looks back at Sam, eyes welling with tears. Sam hugs Jack closer.

By now, Lucifer's shadow has left the room, his shoulder bumping Dean's in the doorway as he passes, and Sam can breathe again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam asks, holding Jack's hands in his.

Jack looks back at him and starts sobbing. Sam holds him closer.

"You... You were gone... and I..." He chokes out. Priscilla licks his foot as it peeks out from under his pajamas.

"Shh, Jack. It's okay. I'm right here. I'm fine. I'm not... I'm not going anywhere." Sam assures.

And Sam doesn't know if this nightmare is something from Michael, something from the other world, PTSD, or just a consequence of what Lucifer did to maneuver his way into Jack's and Sam's lives, his invasion everything Sam's been trying to prevent from ever coming to pass...

But he wants to tear Lucifer apart for this all over again.

Lucifer comes back too soon with two piping hot mugs of cocoa, just as promised. Sam sets his on the side table and doesn't touch it.

Jack sips his with unsteady hands. It does help, regardless of everything else.

Lucifer crosses his legs as he sits on the other side of the bed, Jack in between him and Sam, Priscilla smushed closer to Jack because Lucifer and Sam were too tall to give her much room otherwise. Jack keeps his body angled away from the father he still feels afraid of.

"Can I stay here?" Jack wheezes. "Just... just for a little while?"

"Of course, Jack." And Sam now wonders if Jack thinks he might be able to protect Sam, if he knows more than he should, or if he's just scared and being a child-

"Take all the time you need." Lucifer adds, and then both start and glance at Lucifer. "I don't sleep, and Sam here is a chronic insomniac, so it's not like he's missing out, and we both want you to feel better, so..."

Jack nods once, brow furrowed. He doesn't really know how to navigate any of this.

Sam licks his lips.

They all sit together like this for an uncomfortable 15 minutes, mostly quiet, Jack drinking cocoa, although after about two minutes Jack starts talking about his dream, and what happened while he was gone. Sam joins in sometimes, asks questions, calms Jack down when he's scared, and Lucifer remains oddly quiet, although when he does speak, it is to say how he'll protect both of them, and includes other promises with a precise gentleness that makes Sam's skin crawl.

If Sam didn't know any better, he'd say Lucifer was almost trying to be a decent parent. Not that it would last.

Eventually, it grows very quiet again except for the sound of Priscilla's huffy snores.

"You want to watch something?" Sam proposes.

Jack nods. 

Lucifer waves Sam's laptop over and flicks off the lamp.

Jack picks Raiders of the Lost Ark and falls asleep in Sam's arms twenty minutes in. Sam lets him stay there for the rest of the night.

Ten minutes after Jack is confirmed to be asleep, Lucifer turns off the movie in silent agreement with Sam. The room grows dark again, and the only thing that makes Sam not feel like he's caged is the warm weight of his son clocked out in his arms. 

He whimpers and shudders and thrashes sometimes. Sam sings softly to calm him down, and Lucifer's grace sends over tranquil waves that Sam can feel ghosting over him, too, ineffective only because he's inoculated to the feeling by now. Sometimes Lucifer hums instead, until Sam starts shaking, and then he abruptly stops. Sam sees red eyes gleaming in the darkness at him, blank and too knowing and too full of something Sam wants to both hide from and throw himself into because he's an injured moth constantly hovering over a flamethrower that's barely staying afloat.

Sam forces him to think about his son. Not this. He has priorities. He's an adult, he can't focus on that right now-

Jack had been away from home for such a long time, and he's so damn young, and God, Sam still doesn't know what he is doing or how he is going to protect him because Sam can't even protect himself-

Lucifer's hand remains propped behind Sam's neck, and one hand never leaves his shoulder.

_You should try to sleep, too, Sam. We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. I'll calm the kid down if he needs it. You know I can handle that much, even if I'm new to this._

**I can't.**

_I could help-_

**Please don't make me.**

Sam looks over at him and bites his lip.

Lucifer stares at him for a long while, then goes back to whatever he was reading.

Sam somehow passes out invariably on his own sometime after 2, only because he's just too tired not to.

When Sam blearily wakes up at 5:00 am, he has a cramp in his neck and he's been tucked in under the covers, his head propped up by two pillows. Jack is still asleep, sprawled out over the covers with Priscilla's head tucked under his arm. Jack's head is still nestled against Sam's shoulder.

Lucifer isn't there now, but that's never mattered as far as gleaning when Sam is finally conscious.

_Went to make breakfast. You rest up, Sam. You both need it._

For once, Sam acquiesces without a fight.

Lucifer considers it one small victory.


	132. Two Against One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Jack White

The next morning, Sam is greeted with the sight of Jessica's body hurrying around the kitchen as Lucifer continues making breakfast, blonde curly hair tied off in a bun and the Devil decked out in a crop top and pajama shorts like he's lived in them forever. (Jack had wandered back to his room after he awoke ten minutes ago, and Sam hadn't left despite being awake since didn't want to leave him alone before he woke up, all things considered.)

Lucifer hums, pans clattering as he moves over plates and glasses, hashbrowns frying on the stove. The clock on the microwave reads 8:30 am.

Nausea churns in Sam's gut, and he freezes in the doorway and starts to back away slowly. Lucifer reaches up to grab some seasoning out of a higher cabinet, and then the skin of Jess's midriff shows as her shirt rides up, and Sam's breathing catches, too shallow, chest too tight, heart pounding as fear dizzily almost sends him running-

Lucifer's head turns and he catches Sam's gaze, and Sam knows there's no point in making his retreat after that.

_Don't be shy, Sam. We've got a busy day ahead of us._

Sam walks forward as if trapped in molasses, drawn closer into the kitchen with the same pull as mercury has when it rises in a thermometer that's submerged in boiling water. Then Sam's feet start moving too quickly, and the entire way Sam pointedly looks at nothing as he tries to remain on the other side of the room, as far away as possible.

Lucifer moves faster, lunging as he manages to grab Sam by the shoulder, reeling in to kiss Sam on the cheek before he even makes his way past the stove.

Sam flinches, mute, and stands frozen. Jess's nails feel too solid as they tap against his jawline.

"Morning. You hungry?" Lucifer asks brightly, a bit too mellow. Then Lucifer's hand shrugs off Sam's shoulder.

Soft, not-calloused fingers run through Sam's hair as Lucifer lets him go.

Sam walks as fast as he possibly can to the table and hugs the wall closest to him as he makes his way to the opposite side of the kitchen table, still as far away as humanly possible.

Sam tries to count his breaths, tries to inhale, tries not to whine-

Cas comes down next, looks between the two, unsure.

 _May I-_ Sam hears the miniature bonfire of his grace whisper, and Sam nods his assent before Cas even finishes the question.

Lucifer allows it without comment.

Castiel then settles in the chair next to Sam, grips his hand tightly before he gives it a reassuring squeeze. Cas knew about this history from the Cage memories and from Sam recounting what happened in the warehouse, although he doesn't know all the details. It's not a surprise Lucifer would switch between this form and his other favorite.

The only question is why today, if there is a concrete reason at all. It might just be payback for yesterday.

Lucifer smiles with a shake of his head, then winks at Sam.

Sam's mouth goes dry as he keeps shivering. Then he buries his head in his crossed arms and rests his head over the kitchen table.

Priscilla dozes at his feet.

Jack comes down next, looking a bit confused for a moment, but then he feels Lucifer's grace, sees the telltale shrug, and recognition steals across his features sits down next to Sam on the other side. Lucifer keeps on cooking, although he waves hello to his son.

"Orange juice?" Lucifer offers, head jerking at the glass on the counter as Mary walks in with Gabriel, both of them supporting Rowena between them as they shuffle forwards. "Or you all want something else?"

"Why are you... different?" Jack asks, hesitant. Rowena looks exhausted and still unfocused from her head injury Lucifer has banned anyone from healing. Mary grabs some ice from the freezer for her head after Gabriel helps sit her down, not flinching away as Lucifer passes by and grabs something from the fridge on the shelf next to her.

Lucifer tilts his head as he answers, "Well, I figured Sam would want to go back to properly solving cases. So, I did some research last night while everyone slept, found a few leads, and figured this form will be more helpful in helping all of us maintain our cover. Besides, this body is mine just as much as the other. It's the one I met Sam in, way back when when this all started. Sam's used to it by now. Aren't you, Sam?"

Sam's head rises at that, but he doesn't deign that jab with a response. "Is that why you took my computer again?" He grits out, voice still shaking, because he can't do this, he's fucking sick of it all, and dull, resigned anger is the only thing that's going to keep him upright at the moment.

Lucifer nods. "Not like I haven't cracked it open before."

Sam's head falls back into his hands on the table. He can feel Priscilla readjust herself as she curls up against his feet and hears her give a small whining yawn.

Castiel keeps his tone decidedly neutral, but his eyes are burning with holy rage.

Every keeps sitting as Lucifer keeps making more food. Sam is pretty sure its a compulsion or something at this point to stop him from idly tearing people apart on a whim.

Or maybe it's just another way to torment Sam, since Jess would do that every morning, as did 'Nick,' as did Lucifer back when Sam thought he had a chance of fixing anything.

"Mary, you mind grabbing the coffee for Sam. He could use some." Lucifer asks too sweetly.

Mary complies, scowling, then shoots her son a look of concern as she walks back with a mugful. Sam breathes the smell in to distract from everything else threatening to pull him under.

However, it's only when Dean comes down that all Hell properly breaks loose. He's last only because he had stayed up all night sitting outside Sam's room to try and do something, anything, to get Sam out of Lucifer's clutches even though his room remains locked after Jack wandered in. Dean had watched the blue light flicker from beneath the door until Lucifer's grace hissed at him, _That's quite enough, Dean, I really don't like having to listen to you breathing._ Then he sent Dean back to his own bathroom at 4:03 am in the morning, the showerhead blasting cold water all over him. Dean went to his own room after that and lay in his bed, shivering, until Cas dried him off. Once Dean heard the door click and Lucifer left Sam to his own devices at 5:30, when Sam and Jack were still out cold despite themselves. Dean didn't follow Lucifer, though. Once the Devil was away from his brother and his nephew, he wasn't going to try his luck, because then Satan would come back faster. So Dean passed out after that, only getting two hours of sleep total after all was said and done.

"Oh, no, no, you son of a bitch-" Dean bellows as he crosses the threshold of the doorway.

"Watch your language in front of my son." Lucifer says, tone flat, still intently flitting from the counter to the stove like a bee hopping from flower to flower.

"You don't get to be her!" Dean carries on, fists shaking. "You don't take on that form, you change back right now-"

"You were much more of a fan of Jess before, as I recall. But wait. Don't tell me. You didn't know?" Lucifer asks, all innocence, pointedly gesticulating with the knife he's using to grate zucchini. He draws the next words out as he eyes Sam with a smile. "Sam never told you? After all this time?"

"Told me what?" Dean snarls, hands thrown on the counter like he's going to vault over and rip out the Devil's throat. "What are you talking about, just get out of her-"

Jessica's eyebrows raise, expression equally surprised and pleased.

"But I am her, Dean. Always was." Lucifer answers, eyes glittering.

Dean freezes and looks to Sam, expression something so far beyond horrified the emotion itself doesn't have a name.

"I mean, who do you think helped Sam drive up to Stanford?" Lucifer answers, tone too soft and filled with unvoiced laughter. "Who helped him off the streets after you threw him out like trash?"

Sam straightens his posture and hugs himself, head still bowed.

"It doesn't matter." He mumbles, trying to talk Dean down. He still can't meet his eyes.

Lucifer eyes Sam speculatively. "Oh, but Sam. It does. It really, really does."

Dean comes out of whatever catatonic level of shock he was doused in as the realization settles in.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH-" Dean launches himself at the Devil without thought.

"Easy, there. You're practically foaming at the mouth." Lucifer admonishes, waving Dean into the fridge. "Someone is not a morning person."

Dean lets out a guttural noise, incoherent.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and snaps!

Then Dean is trapped in a chair next to Cas, restrained no matter how much he tries to escape in an attempt to claw the Devil's eyes out.

"How?" Dean finally demands, looking from Sam to Lucifer. "You were in the Cage."

Lucifer shrugs and starts serving up plates of food.

"Where there's a will, there's a way." Lucifer evades, voice singing, "And Sam needed me so bad in those days. Still does." Lucifer doesn't touch Sam but his eyes never leave him once as he keeps pouring glasses and then sits opposite him. "I will say, though, Jess certainly didn't object at the time. I saved her. And she gave me the golden ticket to temporary probation, which was a long time coming, let me tell you. But enough of that. Dig in. You all certainly didn't have enough while we were in Michael's funhouse back there." Lucifer says with finality. He sits across from Sam as he places a gallon of orange juice in the middle of the table.

Almost everyone starts nibbling at the food against their will, even Gabriel and Cas. Priscilla begs, both her heads in Jack's lap.

Sam doesn't touch his plate at all.

Lucifer's toes poke at Sam's ankle under the table, and Sam flinches. The table shakes, and Jack and Cas and Mary pause. Gabriel doesn't look at anyone, and Dean looks at Sam, agonized, and Cas keeps staring Lucifer down.

"Eat, Sam." Lucifer sighs a long suffering sigh. "I made you a salad and everything. And you need to keep up your strength."

"I... I don't think I can keep anything down right now." Sam tries to keep his voice steady, the sound barely a whisper. He ignores the strawberries and lettuce and other assortment of mixed foods that all blur together into a mix of colors on his plate.

Lucifer props his head in his hands, still not eating because he doesn't need to.

"Fine. But you're going to have to eat sometime, Sam. I'm not letting you starve yourself into a damn skeleton." Lucifer answers, voice clipped.

Sam keeps staring emptily, shifts his gaze to the gallon of orange juice sitting in the middle of the table.

"How did you possess her?" Sam asks finally, scared of his own daring. Even in the Cage, even after, Sam's never wanted to ask before.

Lucifer stills. The hair on the back of Sam's neck rises as he feels the Devil's staring at him with the same intensity Sam regards the orange juice.

Sam keeps his eyes level. The logo sticker smiles at him, fake and plastic and saccharine.

"Pardon?" Lucifer asks, a bit too calm.

_You want to run that by me again?_

"How... how did you...?" Sam can't quite finish his sentence again.

Lucifer keeps staring, too still. Then he cricks his neck and stretches, a bit too at ease. "I'm surprised, Sam. You never wanted to know before."

"Things change." Sam breathes.

"I'm not sure this is the best way to start off your day-"

"Tell me, Lucifer." Sam demands. He meets his eyes, this time.

**You owe me that much.**

Red stares back at Sam beneath the brown, like a grainy afterimage of something ancient and cold and dark. Like a prison.

_As you wish. But watch your tone. You're usually so chipper in the morning, Sam. Do I need to alter our sleeping arrangements?_

Lucifer blows a stray strand of hair out of Jess's face. "Not possession, not really. A spell. Simple one. Red here might know if she saw the components." Lucifer points to Rowena, who doesn't look up from her plate. Lucifer keeps going, amiable, "You know how the Cage only allows outside interference, at least before it was damaged? Well, there I was there, a sitting duck, until Azazel touched down. But you know all the nitty-gritty details about how he contacted me already. Once the door was cracked open, after I got my directives out, he found Jess, who had been praying for an angel. But no angel listened, poor thing." Lucifer mockingly lilts with a frown, but then his tone shifts into its usually easy-going surety. "That is, until I came along."

Sam keeps staring at the corners of Lucifer's mouth, arrested and horrified and still.

Lucifer shrugs, spoon tapping on an unclaimed glass of water absently. "Jess had been hurt so badly, those things those humans did to her..." Lucifer's voice trails off into a hiss, then he re-centers when he remembers Jack is listening. "Anyway, little Jessica wanted revenge." Lucifer lips pop on his next syllables, "So I gave it to her."

Sam remembers the news reports, inhales. Lucifer doesn't stop talking.

"When?" Sam asks, changing the subject. Lucifer pauses.

"When what?" Lucifer's reply is a bit too light.

"When did you get to her?" Sam's voice burns. He swallows.

Lucifer mouths counting, his eyes rolling up and to the side as his fingers tick off numbers, until he stills, refocuses on Sam, and answers abruptly, easily, "Hmm, let's see... she called out for me in... Oh, 1989? She was very small back then. You were, what, six or so, I think?"

Dean, Gabriel, and Mary look like they are going to be sick. Cas looks over to Sam, who is still holding his hand, still shaking-

"Was she... Had we, were you-"

"You mean was I her when you two met?" Lucifer clarifies, a bit too cheerful.

Sam nods, throat too tight.

Lucifer's fingers steeple together, and his voice deepens. "No. Close, though, good guess. Happened a few days later. See, the spell, the only way it would work, is if I had something tying Jess to me first. Otherwise it's a complete dud, very finicky." Lucifer's hand waggles, and then he mimes clapping without the noise, "But thankfully you two smacked your little heads together, and thanks to Brady made that little blood pact in your fort, and bam! She had an instant line to me. Could say yes all nice and proper."

Sam goes too still. All the glasses break on the table and the lights overhead burn out. No one moves to fix it even when liquid drips down the table.

"You..." Sam breathes. All he can feel is static clogging his brain.

"Sam, stop being so melodramatic. It's not a big deal. Jess needed my help. So I gave it to her. All she had to do was eventually cede control to me. Think of it, like... Oh, that show Brady made us watch first week of freshman year. The one with equivalent exchange?" Lucifer snorts, derisive, and waves a spoon idly in the air. "It's not like Jess minded. She didn't expect to live past her tenth birthday, and I gave her more than she ever dreamed. And by the time we reconnected with you, well... She wasn't really there anymore. Just me. Her soul was floating around the veil, keeping the door to the Cage open after Azazel made his impression."

"How?" Cas cuts in. Sam starts as everyone refocuses on him.

Lucifer looks mildly bothered by the interruption, tone a bit more harsh. "You're going to have to be more specific. Use your words, Cassie."

"That isn't possible. We can only inhabit human bodies thanks to the tethers of their soul. If given a yes, we can burn them out and send them on, because their soul still gave us permission, but actively inhabiting a body should be impossible without-"

"Yes, yes, that's all true, Cas, except you are ignoring some very clear exceptions." Lucifer's tone is clinical, "Jess's soul was there the whole time. It just wasn't in her-"

"Because you killed her parents." Sam interjects, remembering his soulless bid to keep his soul from coming back, remembering Bobby... Everyone looks back at him and inhales. "You made her kill her entire family."

_Wrong._

"What-" Dean starts, but Lucifer shushes him with a wave, eyes never leaving Sam.

"I didn't kill anyone, Sam. I was a mere passenger on the Jess expressway. Just along for the ride. No, that was all her, and she _wanted_ it. Hell, that's what she prayed for. Why do you think she let me in in the first place? And after everything her father and mother and brother did to her?" Lucifer whistles. "I don't even think counts as a black mark on her soul. Nasty folks, the Moore family. Be glad you never met them, although I will say, it was an exquisite-"

"Stop, just stop," Sam begs as he rises from the table. He backs away, "I need air."

"Sam, you are going to sit back down right now or so help me-" Lucifer instructs as he trails off, eyes narrowing.

Sam stares at him, not moving. Lucifer stares back, Jessica's expression pure venom.

Sam glances at Jack, at his too-remote gaze as he pets Priscilla, and then Sam takes a deep breath and sinks back down into the chair, his own face white.

Dean recovers his voice.

"Son of a..." Dean mutters as he inhales and looks back at Sam, too much knowledge lining his face, "Sam, that's why you... I didn't... God..."

"God isn't listening, Dean, how many times do I have to remind you-" Lucifer interrupts with a long-suffering viciousness.

Dean looks back at Lucifer, hate etched into every muscle, so overcome he stammers as he talks over him, "You... You are such a fucking piece of work. You know that? Taking advantage of fucking kids-"

Lucifer's face loses any levity it might carry, turning all sharp, all angles. "I did no such thing. Jess knew what she was getting into. And even if that's how you see it, well... I did it for Sam. Everything, all of it. I did it for him. And we had a good run for a while. Isn't that right, Sammy? Those days back in college were some of the best. You told me so. I was there. Hell, you even went ring shopping." Lucifer sings out. "I know. I caught you. You weren't nearly as subtle about it as you thought."

And Mary is looking at Sam now, although Cas and Dean and Rowena and Gabriel aren't, and Sam can't bear to look at Jack's face because he's scared of what he'll see.

Lucifer keeps talking, his voice growing higher, "In an ideal world, I'd have stayed Jess. For Sam's sake. But with the fine print of the spell and the Cage and Michael chomping at the bit for the Apocalypse, well, it just wasn't going to last. You know the drill. Jess burns up, because for all her generosity she still wasn't made to hold me. And then it was back to solitary again. That was the worst torture, waiting to get back out." Lucifer's voice softens again as he finishes, "And it was all up to Sam to pick the lock and find his way back to me."

Lucifer waves and cleans the table and its prisoners so everything is back to looking pristine, not littered with glass shards or sopping wet with milk and orange juice and water pooling over and dripping off it.

"Doesn't matter now, though. After all the new tricks I've picked up, Jess is back in rotation." Lucifer looks at his fingernails, tone measured, then looks back at Sam and smiles. "And we all get a fresh new start."

The rest of the meal ends in silence.

Sam doesn't move an inch. Priscilla licks his hand under the table.

\--

Cleanup is relatively simple, when you have three and a half angels inhabiting your home. No real need for dishwashers.

Sam manually cleans up the table anyway to give himself something to do. Jack, Dean, and Cas quietly help.

Lucifer watches, amused, then grabs Sam's laptop and places it on the counter behind them. Mary, Gabriel and Rowena stay huddled around the table, mostly because they've been silently ordered to and because Rowena needs supervision and rest still. Priscilla nuzzles her legs and sits down next to her, both heads panting.

As Sam and the others work to keep themselves busy, Lucifer starts talking again, and Sam can't quite drown him out no matter how hard he tries.

"So. Cases." Lucifer's hands clap together, too loud. Sam winces absently, but Castiel stops him from dropping a plate as Lucifer just keeps going. "I was thinking that would be the best thing to start off with, considering we all could use something to get back into the swing of things and get used to be around one another again. Gabe, Mary, something tells me you might want to sit this one out. More than four's a crowd, after all, since we all won't fit inside the tin can, and someone really should watch Priscilla and help Red out while she's indisposed-"

"You could heal her-" Sam hisses with a vengeance. Lucifer looks at him with frigid, exasperated experience.

"I could." Lucifer says lightly. There's an unvoiced, _But I won't. Priorities, Sam. Because, oh yeah, she helped you try to drain me. So I don't owe her anything. Next time, she'll learn. Unless you want to take one for the team and persuade me otherwise-_

**Just talk about the damn case.**

"Moving on. There's this one in Vegas. Seems a bit higher profile, but everyone who's looked into it so far has gone missing. It'll be a bit more of a challenge, seeing how crowded the area, but whatever causes the deaths keeps slipping through the cracks."

"I'm assuming you've looked at more than one case here." Sam interjects. "Any patterns we should be looking at, commonalities-"

"Well, there's speculations. Jersey Devils, werewolves, ghosts, none of the reports are consistent. But if Vegas is too far, you want to ease into things, there's another potential mystery down in Montana, and one in Yellowstone-"

"What do you even get out of this?" Dean cuts in, exhausted.

Lucifer turns sharply to look at him. Sam pauses. Cas huddles closer to Dean, protective.

"Excuse me?"

"What do you get out of joining in on this. You hate people. You probably cry tears of joy whenever these monsters get someone. What is the point?"

Lucifer shrugs, then licks his lips. "Sam likes hunting and wants to keep teaching Jack the family business. As part of his family, I want in. It pays to invest in your significant other's interests and your kid's hobbies. Besides, Jack needs someone to show him the ropes on all his powers, and Sam is still rusty, all those emotions sending him all over the place, so this will be a good opportunity to fix that. Think about it, Dean. You have Cas, Sam has me, and I want to look out for Sam and my son. Don't want either of them getting hurt. And let's not kid ourselves. I'm not a big fan of monsters, they're so kitschy, and I've been watching you three busy bees do your thing for years. Sam showed me the ropes when he tried to show off humanity's good side, Cas has all of those details in his noggin I've peeked at, and I've worked with both of you when Cas so generously let me share his body, so it's not that hard to pick up on how the whole thing works, even if it was boring when I was Cas simply because it wasn't the same. Had to act all stiff. Point being, we need a common activity to keep us all on the same playing field. You know, bonding. This is the way we move forward and put all the past behind us."

Sam knows the real reason. Lucifer just wants to invade every part of his life so Sam can't get away from him, so everything is infected by him. That, and he wants to make sure he's the only one with a monopoly on hurting Sam. That... and Sam's pretty sure he genuinely thinks this is how they "start over." Lucifer never thought he was the one who had to change. He only wanted everyone else to cave to his every whim.

"I'm good at going after ghosts." Jack says shyly, uncertain, trying to ease the tension that hasn't abated since they got back. He hasn't talked much since then, either. Sam's tried to be reassuring, but there is only so much you can do when Lucifer is involved.

Lucifer points at him and smiles, all teeth. "Then let's see what looks like ghosts."

Sam hugs Jack, the dish rag shaking in his hand.

Lucifer looks over the kids head and gives him a thumbs up.

Sam's knees don't quake. They don't. Sam makes sure. And Sam doesn't try to rip out Lucifer's throat with his teeth, however much the urge remains.

Lucifer keeps talking about their options, and Sam interrupts with questions just so he can try to defeat his own pervasive fear. Cas and Dean field some, too, if only to try and make this bearable.

Mary and Gabe help Rowena back to another part of the Bunker, all of them probably retreating to the library.

At least they'll get a break when the five of them are gone for however long this case takes.

Sam's not sure how this is going to work, or how he's going to keep it together.

_Think of it like a family vacation, Sam. Or a road trip. You remember how we used to go on those?_

Once they filed outside, Sam watches Dean freeze right before he goes to unlock Baby.

He can't quite make himself unlock the door and let the Devil in.


	133. Blood In the Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by k. flay

Cas ends up taking shotgun, although not by choice. Sam sits in the back in the middle, head bowed, body scrunched up with both his legs jutting out on the sides under the front seats to fit. Jack sits behind Cas on the right, and Lucifer on the left behind Dean. Lucifer's decided to put Nick back on for the trip, at ease in his usual jeans and layered shirts since the case they decided was not the one in Vegas yet. Dean and Cas thought it best to solve some smaller ones along the way, and Sam agreed.

Dean holds on to the steering wheel, white-knuckled, a bit too quiet as he starts to drive.

Cas turns the dial on the radio absently, flicking through the glove compartment for music. Maybe it will be enough to drown everything out and pretend Lucifer isn't there with them.

Lucifer looks around the back of the Impala with an inscrutable expression on his face, one hand never leaving Sam's knee.

"You know, Sam, I still don't get it." Lucifer starts up, but this time his tone is enigmatic, doesn't give anything away. "What this thing means to you. I should, I mean, I was right there, inside your head at the time. But it's still so... abstract, to me. What this hunk of metal symbolizes."

Jack gives Sam a look of puzzled concern, because he doesn't know what is going on, but he can at least glean something from the tone, and it isn't anything good.

Dean hunches over the steering wheel tighter.

"It's home." Sam says, for once his voice not failing him, as strong as ever. "It's always been home, or one of them."

**And you can't break that. You can't take those memories away. No one can.**

_Who says I was going to try? You have such a low opinion of me._

**The last time we were here-**

_I know, I tried to kill Dean. I remember, Sam. I remember it quite vividly, probably even more than you._

Sam tries not the flinch as Lucifer's hand slides a bit higher.

_Moving on, remember? We don't need to have all this hanging over our head anymore, Sam. I just want to understand where you were coming from, at the time._

**What, so if you ever possess me I don't have a way to regain control again?**

_I'm not going to possess you, Sam, although I am flattered you seem open to the idea. No. I just want to understand why this made you give up on me._

Sam doesn't know what to say to that without succumbing to white hot rage.

**I didn't give up. I never gave up on you, or us, or any of this-**

_Samuel-_

**THAT WAS YOU. YOU GAVE UP, YOU DID ALL THIS, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU-**

The radio dial slides across itself too fast and the speakers let out a wailing screech of feedback. Dean swerves slightly and swears before he rights his course.

Sam takes a deep breath and his fists loosen at his sides.

It stays quiet for a real long time.

"Why are you so angry at Dad all the time?" Jack finally asks. It's not that he doesn't know he's walking into a minefield- even when he's not the best at figuring out people's emotions, he knows Sam, and he knows Archangels, and he's fought in a war. He knows the microexpressions of everyone when in a warzone all too well. It's just that he can't stand it hanging over them still- the tension is completely suffocating, and Jack would do anything if it meant it might stop, if it might shift the focus off of Sam and might break it down, one way or another-

No one dares to breath as Lucifer stares his son down, motionless and head tilted and mouth not smiling for once. Sam tries to shield Jack with his body almost without thinking, but Lucifer's grip on him is so tight that he's pulled into and against the Devil's chest like it's nothing.

Lucifer doesn't even pretend to breath.

"Why... Jack. You have no idea what he did, do you?" His voice slides over the back of Sam's neck, slippery and soft and full of the sticky residue, the too-long-and-worn-out blame, it's held, for thousands and thousands of years.

Jack's eyes widen and he shakes his head, biting his lip and looking at Sam like he's so, so afraid for him, like he knows he's miscalculated but doesn't know how to get himself out of this.

"It's simple, really, Jack. You know that Cage my Dad left me in? Well, Sammy here set me free, and he promised me forever, and then he threw us both down into Hell. I don't even blame him, really- Sam wasn't exactly in the best place at the time. Right, Sammy? But then, after Hell screwed him all up, he left me. And I could forgive that, easily. I gave him so many chances to come back. But see, Sam here, he's just so stubborn, and so very bad at taking care of himself or looking out for his best interests. So easily swayed by his brother's opinions, even when he knows better. And then he keeps trying to lock us up again, when he knows he has nothing to prove this time. But he's too scared to give himself what he needs, so I have to play hardball. That clear things up for you, son?"

Jack swallows, looking between Sam and Lucifer as if he can sense the weight in the air, brewing like a knife to the chest, and Sam licks his lips and swallows when Lucifer stares back at him, expression amiable in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

Jack doesn't say anything.

Sam's so full of fury he can't speak.

Dean hisses from the front seat. "That was awfully vague, Satan. Considering what you did t-"

"Well, I was trying to keep it PG-13." Lucifer replies, voice throaty and before it turns to ice again. "But sure, I'll get specific, Bucko. See, way back when, Dean tried to rip us apart. Tried to take Sam away from me. And I fought him, made him see that wasn't happening. And Sam just... Couldn't stand the fighting, and he thought the only way we'd stay together, the only way for me not to tear Dean a new one for not playing fair and trying to ruin the perfect thing we had going for us, is if we went down together. You should be grateful, Jack, that Sam got over Dean's controlling schtick to see the truth. It didn't fix everything, sure. But it was a start-"

"That's not what happened." Sam says, all steely quiet.

"Oh?" Lucifer's voice gets real soft. "You saying you remember it differently, too, buddy?"

"Yeah, sure, let's go with that." Sam grits out.

"Sam, don't get your hackles up." Lucifer switches to Enochian on a dime. "You conveniently forget all those times you begged me to forgive you and take you back, Sammy? Because I remember them quite clearly-"

"You did your worst long before any of that." Sam counters, slipping into the language as easy as breathing.

"Oh, did I?"

"And that's not even why you're angry, you-" Sam inhales and closes his eyes. "You didn't give me a choice."

"You weren't in a good place to be making decisions, kiddo." Lucifer growls.

Sam's not even going to argue that point.

"You went and took my choices away anyway. Face it, Lucifer. You gave up on everything we worked for, and murdered thousands of people, and after everything else you've done... You had it coming." Sam hisses, and rears back, teeth bared. "Everything, all of it, you've earned it."

Lucifer goes still and his eyes don't blink.

"I could say the same for you, Sammy." Lucifer's voice is low and sure, brimming with danger as he pulls Sam close, bruising tight, Sam's head against his chest. Then Lucifer leans back, shoulders relaxing, iron grip still clutching Sam's shoulder. "But hey, the Earth is yours, and we can all move on now. Your prayers are answered. You're welcome."

"You- you know, even if we don't consider the worst of what you did. I wouldn't let Jack near you anyway. You know why? Because Jack deserves to have control of his own life-" Sam answers without even thinking.

Lucifer rolls his eyes and interrupts, "Sam, he's our son. He's a kid. Kids don't get control of their own lives until they're eighteen, human-wise, even you kn-"

Sam keeps talking over him, "And you don't get to get his hopes up, to pretend that you're something you're not-"

"I'm not pretending anything, Sam. I don't have the patience for it-"

"And you won't change how this ends," Sam keeps going, hissing, "Because I'm not going to let you break his heart like you did mine."

Lucifer's eyes glitter back at him.

"The feeling was mutual, Samuel." Lucifer adds, switching to English as his voice turns soft all over again, "But it's a good thing we have all the time in the world to fix it. Point is, you can rest easy, Jack. From here on out, we're going to fix everything that's gone wrong. And we're all going to be a proper family, like we're meant to be."

The rest of the car ride is strangled in a muffled, frenzied silence, where the buzzing of what's hanging over their heads isn't fully real, isn't there yet. But it's waiting there, in the wings.

\--

The case itself is cut and dry once they get there. Mix of a higher level haunting in the casino paired with some shifters.

If only Sam's life could be so simple, with the monsters dead and gone.

\--

Lucifer starts to herd Sam towards the hotel bathroom.

"What are you doing?" Jack asks, head tilted.

"Getting Sam washed and stitched up. Today, Sam apparently prefers to be tended to the human way, no grace, so I'm obliging."

Jack tugs on Lucifer's sleeve. Lucifer stops short and crouches down to be eye level with his son.

"Dad's doesn't like small spaces or showers. He gets scared." Jack whispers in the Devil's ear, trying to be helpful and protective, but also changing tactics, because maybe if he tries hard enough whatever cruelty is hiding behind Lucifer's eyes will ebb. Jack has to protect Sam somehow, and directly addressing the situation has only made things worse, and maybe if he just pretends to be small and human and trusting Lucifer will keep the mask up longer, or might cave, if Jack begs. Sam barely hears him, he's so quiet. "You shouldn't make him go in there unless he wants to."

Sam's throat practically closes and he can't will his body to move.

Lucifer pats Jack's shoulder lightly.

"I know." Lucifer assures, expression too kind and at odds with the glint in his eyes or the jumping muscle in his jaw that almost wants to smile. "But Sam's brave enough to go in there when I'm with him. And he won't feel scared of any bathroom fixtures while I'm in there. I promise. I'm going to to take good care of him."

Jack glances at Sam, who still looks afraid and something else, but Sam doesn't correct the statement. Jack assumes it must be the truth, and his expression eases, his shoulders loosening and his wings curling less tightly around himself. Lucifer has been nothing but blunt and direct so far, hasn't felt the need to lie because he sees his version as the truth, and there's only so much he can twist his words. Moreover, Lucifer has been very clear about his promises, and how he doesn't break them, enough that even when prompted, Cas had warned Jack his promises get realized, even if Cas hadn't had a chance to expound upon the reality of that situation, with Lucifer breathing down his neck. And Jack is young. He doesn't know the worst of what Lucifer might mean.

_And I promise you, Sammy, you won't feel anything but good while you're with me._

Sam stays frozen by the doorway until Lucifer leads him along.

The door shuts behind them with a click!

Cas and Dean direct Jack into the rest of the suite with its dividing walls. They think Lucifer won't chance any noise getting through, but they can't be sure, and if they know anything, it's that Sam wouldn't want Jack to be anywhere near this.

They take Jack out to get food after ten minutes when Cas gets a prayer from Sam, something Lucifer must've allowed.

**Cas, please get Jack out of here. You and Dean, too.**

They can't make themselves stay in the suite, and now they know Sam doesn't want the two of them anywhere near this, either.

They are allowed back in after an hour. Jack just thinks they went for a walk to check out the city and see the sights, the fountains and the lights and the stray coyote rummaging in an alley.

When they get back, bringing food back for Sam, Lucifer is pacing, and Sam on the bed with his notebook and laptop as he works on the case, the TV's background noise washing over them, some commercial for fruit loops.

Jack hands Sam his teriyaki chicken, and Sam scarfs it down as fast as he can, having gone without food all day.

And now, Sam looks good as new, clean, hair washed, clothes not bloody and torn, and the gashes on his face and hands are gone, but he still flinches every time Lucifer sits next to him on the bed or brushes too close as he walks by. 

Jack dares to ask about it. Why Sam flinches so much; says he thought it was being brought back from the dead at first but Sam's been alive for a while now. It's accusatory, almost. But quieter from the fear that's still there, ever since Lucifer threatened to take Sam away forever. Jack hasn't forgotten that.

Sam glances between Lucifer and Jack, his son perched on the couch in their room and Lucifer standing by the bedside table, until Lucifer joins Sam on the bed and rubs his arm and cuddles Sam to his chest and then Sam's giving his thousand yard stare instead.

"Just a side effect of both of us going to Hell together," Lucifer says breezily, looking at his son with a serious look as his tone softens. "Hell isn't kind to anyone."

Jack believes him, but only halfway.

Sam tries to think of the here and now, and not the past, and wishes he could spare his son from seeing him like this.

Sam does his best not to swallow and flinch the rest of the night, as if it might prove something. He manages it, almost, jaw clenched, determination in his eyes.

And it almost goes easier, with Dean and Cas and Jack talking about their day and the next case and ducks and normal things. Somehow Cas and Jack get on to the subject of manatees, though. Sam's not quite sure when that change happened, since Lucifer got him distracted at some points by touching his hair, or his face, or Sam's leg...

Sam completely falls off the bandwagon when everyone changes to go to sleep, though. Jack goes to his room, and Dean and Cas are basically banished to their own, and then it's just Sam and Lucifer again...

Lucifer follows Sam's retreat into the bathroom, stripping off his own jacket and shirt with the intent to replace it for a plain white one, and Sam freezes. Although, Lucifer pays him no mind as he removes his jeans so all he's wearing are his boxers, at least until Lucifer catches Sam's expression and eyes Sam before he's fully dressed, either, and Sam backs into a wall, breathing heavily. No one else sees, though. That's still something. At least until Lucifer helps Sam into the silk pajamas he's fucking picked out for him, kisses the edge of Sam's lips (misses the exact trajectory because Sam wrenches his head away), and Lucifer's shirt is still not on, and he takes some liberties as his hands are too close, always too close-

And then Sam is dressed and walking as fast as he can with as controlled breaths as he can manage out of the bathroom, hiding behind the closed door until he's forced himself not to hyperventilate.

Lucifer hops into bed next to him and smiles before Sam goes under, because he knows how much effort Sam expended to physically try not to flinch until Jack was tucked into bed and asleep in his part of the hotel suite. Stubble rubs against Sam's neck as the Devil nestles closer.

"Maybe you can try to flinch less for me?" Lucifer whispers, and Sam can feel his lips move as breaths ghost over Sam's throat. Even the whisper is a half laugh as Sam full-body winces against the weight leaning into him. One hand curls under Sam's back and the other rubs Sam's hip, skin to skin, tucked under the silk waistband. Sam feels Lucifer's knee crooked against the back of his own.

Lucifer doesn't do anything else, though. Just keeps touching Sam and keeps his head tucked under Sam's chin as Sam tries to fall asleep.

_Kidding. You don't have to pretend with me. And I'll make you less jumpy, Sam. Not quite yet. But I'll find a way._

**You like to make me afraid of you.**

_Sometimes, yes. Other times... I just want you to feel what I feel, Sam. Relief and joy at being near you. And all that want you keep tucked away makes you shine so brightly... You weren't wrong about that, Sam. I do miss you. What we used to be. But we can rebuild and get it all back without having to sacrifice all the hard work it took to get here. I'm just not going to overlook all the bonus perks in the meantime._

Sam is pretty sure Lucifer knocks him out that night.

He's positive he wouldn't ever sleep, otherwise.


	134. When I'm Small

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by phantogram

Lucifer wrenches Sam’s head back by the roots of his hair, knocks him back into the fridge with a notable Crash!

_Want to say that again, Sammy?_

**It’s true, though. It’s true.** Sam doesn’t waver. Thinks it's a small mercy Jack is out with Castiel, that he won't see this.

“Um, everything ok in here?” Dean interrupts, stumbling through the doorway. Uncertain. Doesn’t want to abandon him, doesn’t want to make this worse.

_Yeah, we’re all fine here. Life as usual. Move along, nothing to see._

“Take a walk, sunshine,” Lucifer commands, and Dean shoots Sam a pleading look, asking, pleading, _What do you want me to do?_

Dean can’t fight the Devil. They don’t have the means, yet. And Lucifer wouldn’t mind ripping Dean limb from limb right in front of Sam, again and again and again.

Sam gazes back at him, eyes screaming, **Play along, Dean. Go.**

Dean, excruciatingly slow, backs out of the room.

And Sam's alone with the Devil. Like always.

Lucifer always hated interlopers, and he could never really stand Dean. He either reminded him of Michael, or was the complete opposite in every capacity, and that might be just be worse in his book, because, _You poisoned Sam against me, Dean. You._

“Where were we?” The Devil grounds out, shooting Sam a venomous glare.

Sam gulps, settles, doesn’t look away.

“You were suggesting how ungrateful I am and how I could try harder?”

The words burn like bile. The Devil seems somewhat appeased.

He isn’t done with Sam yet, though. Hasn’t wrangled what he wants out yet.

And Sam’s only able to think about what will happen if he doesn’t play along, doesn’t fix this, or he’s going to be a mangled and bloody wreck for the rest of the foreseeable future. Or at least a day.


	135. Gods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by angel haze

Sam is standing on the balcony, hands clenched around metal grate bars as the breeze throws his hair in his face.

For once, there isn't his omnipresent, too-close shadow chewing the scenery and taking up all the air in the room.

Dean considers stepping closer, breaking the silence. Truth is, he's scared to. Sam hasn't had any space to process anything 'til now, and Lucifer's had Sam all to himself for hours, and Dean would fight that except Sam has already made it clear that Jack is who they need to protect, and Dean can't help the bitterness from rising in his throat.

 ** _One hell of a bang-up job we're doing, isn't it?_** Seeing as the Devil's prancing around on a case with Cas and Jack and doing whatever he pleases, the Winchester family business not even safe from the machinations of the same monsters with wings that have staked a claim on their lives since before day one, and Dean tries not to think that but he can still taste sulfur blooming in his mouth and swallows the shaking memories he still pretends don't haunt him even now, that beckon him to the worst of it all, to hunt and clean and maim, because he's just like things they stalk in the dark when he can't hide from the worst of it all-

And it's not like it even matters if he tries, Lucifer just throws them out anyway, and as the time before gets further and further away, every safehouse and every place they've ever been newly infected with the Devil in all his glory and not the photocopy prancing around in Sam's brain...

Point is, Dean knows he can't keep spinning his wheels. Sam clams up- always has, for the all the ways he tries to get everyone else to spill their guts, never extending the same consideration to himself- but he needs something, here.

Dean doesn't know what he can do. And he really, really doesn't want to open this can of worms or make Sam feel like he's doubling down on something Sam has never had the words for, or a way to share with him, because Dean knows he wears his emotions on his sleeve even when he tries not to and Sam can see through anyway and it stops him in his tracks, every time.

(And there's an old, not often talked about track record, of Dean not taking Sam seriously, or taking him seriously too late, and while it's been a few years out since that's reared it's ugly head, there's still a gulch between them, the old tried-and-true uncertainty of Dean trying to protect Sam only for Sam to feel like he's not being listened to, or given orders, or having his choices made for him, and in some ways it all goes back to that, to all the reasons Dean wouldn't choose anything else and all the apologies Dean can't quite cop to, and it all goes back to John's legacy, and getting away from yet another shadow that has dogged their footsteps every step of the way, too, and of more recent hurts that Dean can't quite regret because he knows why Sam won't look him in the eye sometimes...)

But something tells him... There is no room for hesitation, or focusing on the past. Not now. Not when Sam can't keep the faith for anyone anymore because he's had it stolen from him far too many times. Dean can carry that torch, this time, even if he can't quite believe it, because he believes in his little brother against all other odds, and he needs Sam to believe he means it. And Dean will try to keep the weight from bearing down on the brother he's tried to keep safe and perhaps held too close or blamed too much and failed to keep safe and tried to be a brother too anyway, even if he's failed so many times, because they've lived through the Hell that tried to tear them apart and Dean knows change is the only way to forge forward and break this cycle that's repeated itself over and over and over.

And that means asking Sam how he wants to be saved, this time, not deciding for him. But to do that... They need to talk about Jessica, and everything that means, has meant, this entire time, ever since the beginning.

It means Dean has to talk about abandonment, and swallowing his pride, and why Sam even ran the first time, and Dean not running from the same old hurts they've pretended haven't fractured their family into pieces.

So Dean will talk, and maybe, just maybe, if he shoulders on forward and asks Sam what he needs and says just the right thing, maybe Sam will meet him halfway.

Because not only is Sam not okay... He hasn't hashed this out with anyone, just like he's never really talked about Hell. (And while Dean knows Cas knows some things better than the rest, that's not the same as Sam talking about it, and ever since Lucifer walked inside the only angel who ever has proven to really love them, those webs of trust had been worn too thin for Sam to ever open up fully, not like he used to, once upon a time.)

And Dean knows that they either figure this out, figure out a way to get Sam back from an eternity come to swallow him whole, from the same possessive bastard that tried to steal everything Sam was and keep it from everyone else, only now he just has another focus along with Sam, someone else to grasp for with too-greedy hands, the father and son and unholy ghost in a trinity he's trying to make into his image-

Or Sam might not find his way out, this time.

And Dean can't let that happen. Not again. Not when it took them so long to get close to breaching that distance and making it count.


	136. 100 Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by halsey

"How exactly did you think this was going to go?" Dean challenges. "You, what, torture Sam until he's forced to love you? Is that the name of game?"

Lucifer blinks at him, and frowns, but doesn't bother rolling his eyes.

The door is still ajar to the other room, where Sam is still sleeping at the foot of the bed, Jack curled up next to him, both of them still half-buried in papers for research that Castiel had half-gathered and placed neatly off to the side while keeping a silent vigil.

Cas eyes Dean and Lucifer, then turns back to Sam when Lucifer winks at him. Lucifer, for once focuses his attentions on Dean, omnipresent veneer of contempt not abandoned, but not giving way to the usual, casual violent hatred he's slowly found less appealing. The more Sam falls into his clutches, the more kindness he can offer, and with his back to the wall, well, Sam has been paying a hefty price to keep Dean out of this, and Lucifer rewards good behavior. Otherwise, how else would Sam learn?

"He already loves me." Lucifer explains, expression lazy and unbothered. He's quiet, this time, not bouncing around with mirth or pent up violence. No, the Devil himself is being altogether too frank, and too civil, and too much like back at Bobby's and that more than anything turns Dean's blood to pure ice.

"That's not true." Dean spits, getting in his face, every muscle suddenly straining.

Lucifer remains still save for holding up a hand, head tilted, blue eyes and open expression looking at Dean for once like he's actually said something funny. The corners of his mouth are too tight, the smile too wide, and then Dean can't move a muscle, a crushing pressure holding him still, chest feeling like it's about to burst-

And then the pressure eases.

"Dean, Dean, Dean." Lucifer sighs, then clicks his tongue. "We've been over this a thousand times. You know the truth. You might have always hated it, but I have nothing to prove."

Dean doesn't know what to say to that. But there is one way to get one over Satan, and with the way he's been acting with Sam and Jack, lately, trying to play nice while Jack's awake and giving Sam intermittent breaks that he pretends aren't a precursor to something worse-

Dean doesn't know how to protect them. But he has to do something, has to redirect Lucifer's anger back at him so maybe he leaves them alone...

Anything, anything, if it spares Sam the worst of what's been going on.

Because as soon as he found out the truth- about their old deals, about what Lucifer did to Sam to get here, about Jess- Dean hasn't been able to think straight and find a way to make this better.

There is no making this better. Not for Sam. Not when he knows how much Sam's been hiding this whole time, and Dean's knows exactly why he's done it.

And Dean might not know Lucifer as well as his brother or Cas, but he knows enough. And he knows, if he baits him, in just the right way, he might take the fall for all the things Lucifer wants to unleash in the world, but maybe he can buy Sam and Jack a week of peace, or something, anything, and Dean chooses the one thing in his arsenal he knows will hit hardest-

"Sam chose me. He chose his brother, his real family, over you and your lies," Dean hisses, voice breaking, "He chose himself and what he thought was right no matter what you did to him. And he'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Lucifer's expression turns off, and his shoulders hunch, ever so slightly, as his fingers curl.

The air feels like it's made of glass- like everything will shatter with the drop of a pin.

But then Lucifer talks, too calm, too collected, eyeing Dean up and down like he knew exactly what he was trying to do.

"I know. That's exactly it, Dean. You got it right on the nose. Sam's problem isn't that he doesn't love me- it's that he's willing to cast it aside. For the likes of you. For humanity. And he's a tenacious, gorgeous bitch about it, holding up all his ideals when they're going to fail him. But that'll all change. Because he'll do it all for Jack, now- and that's a step in the right direction. Sure, Sam might try to stick to his guns. But he knows a losing battle, and won't fight one if it means Jack gets stuck with the aftermath. All I want is what's best for them, for all of us. And back when this all started, I knew it wouldn't be smooth sailing, since he just doesn't know when to quit." Lucifer laughs, a low, throaty sound, promising hell to pay, and Dean recognizes the sound with a sinking feeling, having heard that noise down in the Pit, echoing from the Cage, when Lucifer's grace sang through the Mark and when Dean first was brought to Hell and when he asked Alastair take him from the rack, and it's the same godforsaken laugh that makes the hair on the back of his neck rise, when the Devil told him Sam was his and no matter what happened, there would always be Detroit, and Sam would always be his, back when Dean was bartering with the Devil while Ellen and Jo tried to pull Sam from Hell and the Devil knew and let them try anyway-

Lucifer interrupts the sharp stab of memories and roiling feels of hate and panic threatening to pull Dean under, impatient but placated back into his usual malicious calm.

"As for loyalty, however misplaced... I can't fault him for that. Not really." Then Lucifer uncrosses his arms and shrugs, poking Dean in the chest, and Dean throws a punch, but it doesn't land, his wrist caught by the Devil mid-swing. Lucifer decides not to break it, hand crushing pressure just a warning, just a cat playing with his food... "But Jack, I think, has done wonders for Sam's priorities, even if Sam could be a little less overprotective. I mean, I have him, and our son is safe. He can rest easy, if he just let's himself have what he wants, and stops trying to pretend he isn't exactly where he supposed to be."

Then Dean is backed into the wall, and Cas stands up, wings out, Sam mumbling in his sleep from the spike of grace, but Lucifer keeps them under and freezes Cas where he stands, too.

**_You move, Cassandra Truth, and I'll fingerpaint the walls with his ligaments, maybe his pancreas and liver, too. But you back off, he's safe, I promise. Now sit your ass back down._ **

Cas complies, eyes burning, hands shaking, grace setting the curtains on fire with a lack of control he hasn't felt since he was a small wave of grace and feeble curiosity and high-frequency form.

Lucifer's cold gust of graces douses that, too, and stops the fire-alarm of the motel going off and keeps the smell of smoke from waking Sam up in a wild panic, and while Jack's eyelids flutter, their kid snuggles closer to Sam's arm and dozes back into deep sleep again.

"But we'll keep working on that. I mean, I've already forgiven Sam for everything. All I ask is that he let me take care of him, guide him past this unfortunate little bump in the road. I mean, someone has to stop Sam from self-destructing, and if he won't take responsibility, then I'm the only hope he's got. Long as he listens to reason... Dean, I meant what I said when I said I would be nice. But I can only do that if you three jesters work with me, and while Sam has been remarkably compliant, there's our son to consider, and I can't have you rubbing off on him and ruining whatever chance at happiness we have..."

"The kid doesn't need you. And he knows that. What happens when he doesn't play ball, Lucifer? What happens when Jack sees you for exactly what you are and fights back after he can't take seeing what you do every single day? You gonna hurt him, like you hurt Sam? You think Sam's going to let that happen?"

Lucifer's nostrils flare, and blue eyes turn into slits, and icy grace curling around Dean's throat, before his expression turns too relaxed again, although it never once reaches his eyes.

"My son is free to live his life however he pleases. And seeing as he models his behavior after his favorite people, I don't see an issue. See, Dean, as long as Sam makes the right choice, and you and Cas follow suit... As long as you keep doing what you do best, and choose your precious family over the world- like you always do- everything will be fine. Because I am family now, Dean. I've been family ever since Sam became mine, and it's high time you got used to it. Then there will be no need for any nastiness, or foul play, and we can let bygones be bygones-"

"So long as I'm still kicking, you can count on that never happening, because Cas and I are going to kick your ass straight out of this universe where you won't-" Dean hisses.

Lucifer shakes his head at Dean like he's an unruly child who doesn't know how to swim but keeps jumping in the deep end.

"Dean. Save the empty bravado for someone who'll actually believe it. You know you can't beat me. So why don't we cut to the chase, and you do what you've been too proud to do this whole time, and make me an offer I can't refuse, like you've been dying to on the inside?"

Dean swallows. Cas looks between them like he wants to make a counter-offer, but whatever angelic conversations are whispering through the air are silenced by Lucifer waving a hand at Cas and Cas looking down and all the playfulness of the Devil giving way to the thing Dean has only glimpsed once or twice, the true evil behind Sam's stolen eyes or when he said yes the first time-

"I mean, you aren't worth much," Lucifer's voice lilts up, and his lip curls as he stares Dean down, every inch of his age and hate burning through the cortorted muscles, an expression not quite human on Nick's long-stolen face, "But I'm sure we can work something out that will make you feel like you've preserved Sam's precious virtue, even though he's always going to be safe now, forever, with me-"

And then Lucifer lets Dean go, and walks back into the room to sit next to Sam, hand almost glancing over his face, and Dean wants to scream, "Don't you touch him, don't-" But his voice won't work.

Because the Devil is offering a way out, offering a price Sam won't have to pay, and after everything that's happened...

Dean needs to do something. Dean needs to protect him the only way he knows how, because he hasn't been able to protect Sam for a long time, and there have already been too many scars that Sam has had re-opened, and Dean needs to do this for himself, too, because he doesn't know who he is anymore if he doesn't do something. And maybe this is too close to Gadreel, to making deals behind Sam's back, but at least Dean is bartering himself, this time, not Sam...

Because there's no right answer anymore. The monsters were already in the house before Dean ever could get to Sam, like they always are.

And it's always the worst of them all, waiting. Always waiting for Sam to fall into his lap, and Sam would, because he always found a way to make Sam play ball even if it was for the sake of everyone else.

"What would you even want from me?" Dean whispers. "What can I offer-"

"That will spare Sam? We can figure it out as we go, Deano. I mean, let's face it. I hurt Sam because he prefers it to the alternative, and prefers to offer himself up for the likes of everything lesser than he'll ever be. But what Sam doesn't know, well, it won't hurt him... And you have a large debt to repay, one I'd rather you paid off instead of Sammy picking up the slack."

Dean considers, and he knows this is a horrible idea, and if Sam finds out...

He can't find out, it would destroy him-

Cas keeps sending Dean a look of warning, because keeping secrets...

They all know how this goes.

But Dean can't let Lucifer keep hurting him. Not when he's already free to do whatever he likes all the time, not when their weapons are useless, not when Sam keeps getting drowned in the deep end without a means of escape-

"I'll do whatever you want. On one condition." Dean finds his voice.

Lucifer's eyebrows raise.

"You don't fucking touch him. You don't get to make him ask for it, you don't get to play whatever sick, twisted mind games you've been playing. You give Sam some fucking space and peace... And I'll do whatever you want."

Lucifer smiles. But he doesn't yet take the offer up. There's room for haggling, and really, it's all a sham and they all know it, because Lucifer can do whatever he wants right now, and everything he's offering is just him dangling a rotten carrot on a stick like it's some false ploy of mercy.

Castiel won't stay silent, though, even if they're all still quiet, because Heaven help them if they wake Sam or Jack. 

"Dean. Sam wouldn't-" Cas warns.

"I know, Cas. I know."

Cas stares at him, drawn and wary, and Lucifer looks between the two of them like they're one big joke.

Then Cas looks at Lucifer, voice rumbling with something that sounds a bit too close to giving up.

"I promised I would not let you hurt Sam or Dean."

Lucifer crosses his legs, and waves and arm.

"I think that ship has long since sailed, Castiel. What are you really trying to say?"

Cas can't look Lucifer in the eye, and instead looks back to Dean, like it's an apology.

"I would watch over you, Dean. I let him out. I failed you both. And I would ask you to let me take your place, and have Lucifer hurt me, in your stead-"

Dean shakes his head.

"You've given up enough for us. And Sam... I haven't been able to help Sam in ages, Cas. We all know that. And he needs you, Jack needs you. And... He's going to need someone, because if he ever finds out..." Dean swallows, and his words trail off.

Sam always finds out, and it would end badly.

But Dean can't stand one more second of Lucifer having Sam right where he wants him, and if that means he makes one shit decision in a sea of bad options...

"Besides, man. You can do way more damage than I can, if Lucifer asks us to do his dirty work. Sam would prefer we keep the collateral damage to the minimum, you know? Keep our eyes on the big picture." Dean chokes out, and then he resists the urge to break something, and instead just steps out towards the window, to get some air-

Cas doesn't move or say anything for a moment, weighing the costs of it all, and the way Dean is breaking.

Then he looks at Jack and nods out of the corner of Dean's gaze.

"If that's what you think is best." Castiel's voice is steel.

Something tells Dean Lucifer's going to make a counteroffer when Dean isn't looking, and all he can hope is that Cas isn't desperate enough to save all of the Winchesters over the world, to try and save them the way they've never been able to truly be saved. 


	137. Papaoutai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by stromae

“What is all this here?” Lucifer cuts in, eyeing Sam and Jack and Cas without any expression. And Sam can’t think, has a good idea what might happen if he finds out. He knows Lucifer’s teaching methods too well.

Castiel almost gets the words out first, before Sam can say anything, and picks his words with care, because he knows Lucifer’s modus operandi well. But Jack beats them both to it, less acclimated to their fear. (Because he doesn't invade people's minds on a whim like Lucifer does for cruel amusement.)

“I want to be able to heal it,” Jack holds up the butterfly in his hands, with its one torn wing. “Sam and Cas are coaching me.”

Lucifer looks between them, puts his hands in his pockets and smiles at his son.

“Have you made any progress yet?” He asks, lightly, with genuine curiosity. A hint of pride.

“Well, I think so, I’m trying-” Jack starts.

“But no luck yet, right?” Lucifer interrupts, brings his hand to his chin.

Jack stops short, seeing Lucifer’s expression. Hears Sam’s muffled heartbeat. Thudthudthudthudthud.

Lucifer walks around, closer to Sam. Everyone’s eyes are on him. Wait with bated breath. Lucifer examines the butterfly with an critical eye, actually engaged.

“Let’s see.” He encourages, shoots Jack an encouraging glance. Jack shuffles. Knows not to make him wait.

Jack’s eyes glow as his grace expands out, tentative, swirls around the butterfly with uncertainty. Gives a push, a bright clean burst of feeling. But there’s no change. They hadn’t gotten that far yet, had only just begun to practice with him.

“See, son, you’re going about this all wrong.” Lucifer announces, pats his shoulder consolingly. “Here, I’ll help.” Turns to Sam, who feels an immediate grip tighten around his arm.

Lucifer snaps Sam’s humerus in two. Crisp, clinical, without a change in his expression. Covers Sam’s mouth with his other hand, muffles the shriek of pain. Jack and Cas both jump, cry out, but Lucifer shushes them, stops Sam from falling to his knees. Keeps his grace hyperfocused on Cas, just to make sure he doesn’t interfere.

 **You asshole,** Sam projects, but Lucifer’s attention, for once, isn’t all focused on him.

 _It’s how my father taught me._ Lucifer excuses, and Sam can’t stand the utter hyprocrisy.

**And you hated him.**

_Not for those reasons, Sammy. He was a very good teacher, despite his many other faults._ And Sam remembers that Lucifer's God, from the apex of creation, was a vengeful God, a neglectful God, an absentee God who he has never hated more.

All the while, Lucifer keeps explaining himself, doesn’t wait for any more exclamations of distress.

“Now, son, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Oh no, why would you do that to Sam,’ I get it, I really do. But to get your grace to do what you want, to repair living organisms flawlessly, it’s not just about will or raw power. It’s all about emotion.” Lucifer starts, and Jack shoots him a look like he would like nothing more than to erase him out of existence. (Too bad he already tried, and it didn't take.)

Lucifer, unbothered, continues, “You have to really want it, you see? And I know how much you love Sammy, so this should be easy. Buck up, try again. Let’s see you have another go.”

And Lucifer thrusts Sam forward, holds out his arm, the bone still sticking out of his rolled-up plaid sleeves.

Jack tries, and tries, and then Sam’s arm is mending. It’s painful and he’s writhing and it’s slow going, and Sam writhes until Lucifer’s grace clamps down, keeps him still.

It’s almost there, almost. But it doesn’t knit together quite right. And Jack’s frustrated, horrified, and that slows his progress more.

Lucifer shakes his head, presses two fingers to Sam’s forehead. Mends the fracture like it was nothing, like it never happened. Presses another vile kiss to Sam’s cheek.

_There, kissed it better. All good as new._

“Well, I’ll leave you three to it. You keep practicing, Jack. I have the utmost faith in you.”

And Lucifer blows another kiss and winks at Sam, leaves, like he wasn’t the hurricane who upended the room.

“Will he hurt you more if I don’t?” Jack asks faintly, doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Bites his lip, fists clenched. This hasn’t been easy for him, either, and all Sam wants to do is hug him, whisk him away from all this. Or just locking the Devil away to be alone forever would do. Cas doesn’t approach, although he sends waves of support. Knows Sam doesn’t want any physical contact from another angel right now.

Sam shakes his head, eyes not leaving the figure of the Devil as he recedes, makes sure he doesn’t have plans to retrieve Sam, to circle back.

“He does whatever he wants, Jack. That’s not on you.” He reassures him, hugs him. Jack returns it gingerly, as if he’s scared he’ll hurt him. Sam just hugs him harder. “And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“…Can we go outside… to the beach? Or maybe have some soup?” Jack asks, takes up the olive branch even though there’s nothing to forgive. It’s not his fault Lucifer is this way, has never been his cross to bear.

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds nice.” Sam says. Still not fully there.

“I’ll get the car. Do you want me to get Dean?” Cas asks, shoots Sam a concerned look.

Sam shakes his head, rolls his shoulder, makes sure the movement isn’t rigid. But Lucifer’s repair job is flawless. He likes showing Sam that he can repair him easily. Because then Sam has to be grateful, has to stay in line. Wants a kick of that fear and devotion. Likes the knowledge that Sam knows he knows the Devil can harm him without leaving a trace.

“No, no it’s fine. Let him have some time. We can go. Tell him the dinner plans, though, that sound ok?”

“Whatever you think is best,” Cas concedes.

Sam forces himself to keep it together. Hopes a few hours reprieve is enough.


	138. Make It With Chu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by queens of the stone age

It's weird and fairly morbid, having the Bunker be located under the house where Kelly died. Lucifer just did some weird spacial distortion thing with Gabriel to change the fact the Bunker would spit itself out into different places (seeing as those security measures were still in place from when they were hiding from Lucifer and Kelly was pregnant).

Now they have a house on top of the Bunker, porch and all. Like a reverse Wizard-Of-Oz situation. Plus, now the Bunker is near a pond in the woods. They're not sure what state they've ended up in yet. Sam knows they're close to the ocean, though, because he smells brine and there's fresh seafood huts Gabriel raids forty minutes down the road. So it's not Lebanon, Kansas. Not like Lucifer wants to be anywhere within an 100 mile radius of Stull Cemetery, after all.

There is one irrefutable fact, though.

Wherever they are, it's cold.

There's frost on the grass, but no snow yet.

\--

It takes a week for Dean to snap and put his foot down. He yells about the Impala and who is or isn't allowed inside it.

Lucifer takes a step forward, dusting off his hands with a rag that smacks on the table where it sits, abandoned, as Lucifer stares Dean down.

Then he snaps! And Sam gets flown away and locked in a small adjacent bathroom by Lucifer.

Outside in the larger room, there's the smack of skin on stone. Lamps get smashed. Sam can smell the blood and hears screaming and sees the lights flicker.

Lucifer only yells, "You want to keep telling me what to do, Dean? Because I don't think so."

"Don't hurt him!" Sam shouts from behind the door, trying to wrench it open, and he doesn't dare say no because that will only seal Dean's fate...

"Please! Please, Lucifer-" Sam gasps, clawing at the door.

"Dean's got it easy, Sammy. You just sit tight."

Sam knows that tone.

It takes Sam five improvised bobby pins and a wrench hidden under the sink to be able to kick the door down, since the wood expanded and it sticks.

Lucifer's hands are dripping with blood, and the jeans below his waistline are sopping wet with even more from the close contact.

Dean got beat pretty bad in the interim. Sam takes inventory.

There's intestines outside his brother's body. One tongue cut out on the floor. Broken nose. Black eye. Dislocated shoulder.

Sam can't fix much of that on his own, and if he tries while Lucifer is still not charitable, the Devil will just inflict the same damage with more tacked on.

Sam takes the path of least resistance and tackles the Devil, an action which barely throws him off course and basically amounts to Sam clinging to his shirt, but Sam knows what works, and he kisses Lucifer with as much panic and focus as he can muster because if this doesn't work Dean's going to be tortured for the rest of the night and Sam's going to have to listen and Lucifer knows Sam can't handle that and did it anyway.

Lucifer reciprocates with reckless abandon.

**Please please please please let him go please I can make this right please just don't hurt him anymore he learned his lesson I'll make him stop PLEASE-**

_Easy on the brakes, there, kiddo._

Finally, Lucifer relents. He snaps (and Sam ducks) but all Lucifer does is heal Dean to 110%, all while backing Sam into the wall.

He grips the hair on the back of Sam's neck, other hand on Sam's chin, and whispers, smiling, "See, Sammy. You keep my blood pressure from going through the roof, when you try."

Lucifer kisses him and Sam kisses back and then there's an arm around his waist and Sam's so close he breathes in ice and then there's nothing, just warmer air and space, and Lucifer rubs his hands together. 

"So, Sam. At least you are being reasonable today. You got anything you want to say?"

Sam knows Lucifer when he's going to give ground because Sam has what he wants.

Sam considers. He answers, haltingly, "It... It would mean a lot to me, if you... If you maybe found a way to not sit in the Impala. I'll... I'll fly with you, or something-"

Dean voices protest, then shuts up when Sam gives him a wide-eyed look of panic and when Lucifer raises his hand.

That lowers when Sam keeps talking, faster now, "Just... Baby is Dean's. It's his home. Just let him have this, please. I'll... We can figure out something that gets us all where they need to go. Please. I'd... I'd be grateful." And Sam's voice shakes and his throat hurts and he can't quite look at the Devil but he has to because Lucifer wants him to and the look on his face makes Sam want to hide and never come out.

Lucifer gives Sam a slow, beaming smile, then gives his verdict.

"Alright, Sammy. If that means so much to you..." And then he's licking his lips and getting in Sam's space again and it takes all of Sam's willpower not to flinch when he gets close but otherwise doesn't touch him. "I mean, who could say no to that face?" He adding, turning back to Dean.

Dean spits blood and grumbles something that sounds like he's cursing Lucifer but isn't quite intelligible. He's still on his hands and knees.

Lucifer side-eyes him and smacks his lips together before he replies, "I gotta say, Dean. You need Sammy here to look after you. You pick so many fights. You can't win 'em all, and you're not getting any younger..."

Lucifer tsks, then turns back to Sam and squeezes his arm and kisses him on the cheek and assures him he'll be back, but to take care of himself in the meantime.

After he leaves, Sam prays and thanks everything that Jack is with Cas, Mary, Rowena, and Gabriel on an overnight case and that he didn't see any of it. Even to Lucifer. Especially Lucifer, if it puts the breaks on this for however long.

He's amazed Lucifer hasn't hurt Dean (at least that he's aware of) ever since they got back from the other world until now.

But Lucifer knows that's the rusty hinge that Sam seesaws on, and only deploys that punishment when he knows he has enough leverage.

And Sam knows why he did it but he's too full of adrenaline and exhaustion and trying to hold it together to pretend this will be fine because if he doesn't everything falls apart.

So Sam helps Dean up on unsteady feet and grabs two beers from the kitchen and hands on off to his brother as he sits next to him.

Then he's holding his head in his hands, hiding his eyes as he tries to remember how to breath normally.

His lips burn from the cold when Lucifer touched them.

Dean's foot taps on the floor and he holds Sam's arm.

"I'm sorry," He rasps, "I'm sorry. But Sam, you shouldn't have to do that-"

"Dean. I'm not letting him hurt you." Sam answers, voice heavy, "Just let it go and don't... Don't think about it."

Like that's been working for anyone.

He tries not to blame Dean for provoking Lucifer. It's not provoking someone when anything is a lit match that can set them off.

But Sam's got thousands of years of conditioning telling him otherwise...

He buries it all down, all the same.

It burns in his chest, sharp and cold.

\--

Cas comes back to check in on things when he knows Mary and Jack are settled in with Donna and Jody. Rowena and Gabriel stay on rotating shifts to get some air from Lucifer, who wants space from some of them, even though he's basically keeping everyone on almost-house arrest half-the-time.

Dean hugs him when he sees him.

Sam tells them to take their time alone and huddles outside on the porch, the same ratty maroon blanket Jack gave him draped over his shoulders.

\--

Later that night, the stars are out. Sam is still outside. He watches them, tracing the constellations, trying to remember each one. He's used to the ones Lucifer showed him, older stars, from before the earth was habitable. He's memorized those for ages. These ones... These ones slip through his head more often than not.

Lucifer flies back in and drags Sam outside with one arm, practically bouncing on the heels of his feet as he chatters, all animated, hands clenching and unclenching in the air, at nothing, like he's almost about to reach out and reel Sam in but reconsiders last minute. Dean and Cas follow, partially to keep an eye on Sam and partially because Lucifer's grace tugs at them, making a point.

Sam notices Lucifer holding back and swallows and tries to make himself smaller. He's already about as hunched over as he can get, though, and Lucifer notices him shivering and tightens the blanket around his arms. Sam flinches but otherwise doesn't move.

"So, I know things have been a bit rocky, lately." Lucifer starts in. "But I have some good news."

Sam would scoff, but he's a bit too thrown from the whiplash from three hours ago.

Then Sam stops short.

Lucifer holds out his arms in a wide, sweeping motion.

"Ta-da! You remember her, don't you, Sam? Well, I found her again. Took a little bit of elbow grease to fix her up, but between you and Dean and me, I think we can get her running. I mean, I could just make her work, but physical labor is more fun. All those different interlocking parts... I might not understand your attachment to the deathtrap. But I know what memories we have with this one."

A red Dodge truck sits in the driveway next to the Impala. Tan-leather seats, custom rims and wheels, red as poppy flowers.

Jessica's truck.

Sam intakes a giant lungful of air and just looks at Lucifer because if he looks anywhere else he might break down again.

"So, I was thinking, this would be a good compromise. You and me and Jack grab life by the horns with this one, Dean and Cas take the tin can. How's that sound?" Lucifer continues, all eager.

Sam's brain remains frozen.

He remembers dancing on the hood of this car, arm in arm with Lucifer even when he didn't know the Archangel by that name, blaring the radio and both of them singing along, camping in the bed of the truck with a mattress and pillows and a tarp, or falling asleep in the back, and the sand between his feet they both trekked in from the beach, Brady laughing and grasping both Jess and his shoulders as he told some outrageous story, or the green inch-worm he watched crawl along the window of the car as tried to catch his breath and laid back with a soft body curled up beside him, the smell of the pine needles they vacuumed out after off-roading, the feeling of hands wiping the blood from his face and patching him up while Sam leaned on the same cold shoulder-

Except that last one is very familiar. Lucifer's done that a lot, since them.

Lucifer took no prisoners with this one.

Then Sam's brain can't help but go into overdrive and he's bombarded with other memories. The scratchy sound of fabric as Jess pulled her shirt over her head, the feeling of Jessica's skin against his, how she'd slide up against him, how her manicured nails would slide through his hair and she'd straddle him in the backseat-

Lucifer throws an arm around Sam's shoulder, and Sam starts and breathes in sap and ice and the smell of apples and his own sweaty fear in one single second, immediately bringing him back to earth.

"And you criticize my baby?" Dean finally says. "When you prefer some tasteless, backwater cherry-flavored Appalachian monstrosity?"

Lucifer laughs. "Your tin can is cramped. Mine is spacious and cozy and nostalgic. I think Sam agrees."

Sam's tongue stays glued to the roof of his mouth.

"The color is awful." Dean's voice sounds foggy and far away.

"It pops. And red is my favorite color. Well, white and red. Hence the wheels." Lucifer points, gesturing.

Sam's mouth is very dry.

"Alright, Blondie, good to know your ego is still intact. And here I thought you didn't like cars." Dean accuses. "Thought you thought they were a waste."

Lucifer shrugs and corrects him, "They are. But if we need to use the metal deathtraps... Might as well use mine. I'm sentimental, what can I say."

"I thought you'd be a fan of fuel efficiency." Cas adds, voice dry and incredulous at the same time.

Sam catches feedback as Lucifer and Cas converse on grace-wavelength.

**_What's an automobile like, my ass._ **

_Shortie, you have to know I was messing with you by now. I was your brainmate, remember?_

**_You are a disease._ **

_Words hurt, Cassie. And you said yes. Just sayin'._

**_I make no excuses for it, even if my intentions-_ **

_Were oh-so-noble. We get it. You had loftier priorities... Like your shit self-esteem, leaving Sam's tight, perky ass-_

**Don't.**

_...All ripe for the taking._

**I will set you on fire.**

_I mean, you do that already, kiddo. It's so warm and toasty up inside you._

**Say one more word about my body-**

_Samuel, I can undo you with a thought. And it's only yours now because I made it so; never forget that. So unless you want to go for a spin and take a trip down memory lane..._

There's a lot more unvoiced there, and the three of them know it.

Lucifer shrugs. "One car won't do much to fight off all the damage the rest of the apes are doing with their carbon footprints. Although I can just make this one go, no gasoline needed. Brady got it to run on absinthe once, though. Remember that, Sammy?"

Sam just backs up two feet and sits himself on the ground and finally takes in some deep, wavering breaths before he glares at him.

"Fuck you." Is all Sam manages before his eyes sting and he forces them shut.

Lucifer clicks his tongue, then crouches down next to him.

"We certainly did a lot of that, too." He adds with relish.

_Thought you didn't want to talk dirty?_


	139. Same Old Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by phantogram

**Bathroom.** Sam thinks as he takes in a deep breathe. The tile floor was uncomfortably cold against Sam’s bare feet, but it was almost warm in comparison to Lucifer’s contact and persistent company.

_Congratulations, Sammy, your higher intellect once again spoils the surprise._

Lucifer jests, but the sarcasm lacks bite, because Lucifer is getting what he wants more and more often, having herded Sam over to whatever anticipated activity had kept the Devil animated.

Sam still shivers. And then Lucifer takes the blindfold off.

And Sam’s heart skips a beat as he swallows, looks anywhere but the bathtub. Its three-quarters full and Sam can see slight steam rising off it, although that’s probably a side effect of Lucifer’s presence itself, having chilled the room to barely tolerable temperatures.

_Just relax, Sam. I promise we’re going to make good memories here to make up for all the bad. We’re starting over properly, remember? And we had some fun memories in bathtubs before the Cage. Try to think of those to keep yourself grounded._

**Please, please don’t make me do this** -

And Sam feels soft hair brush the side of his head as lips press a kiss to his temple, Lucifer’s thumb stroking the edges of his lips so softly it was almost as if he wasn’t solidly there.

_Sammy, it’s time to face your fears. Trust me. I’m going to make this as painless as possible. Think of it as a foray into exposure therapy._

Sam ignores the part of his brain that wants to scream exposure therapy must be voluntary to work.

Sam let’s Lucifer guide him towards the tub. He notes the mint smell of from the other room. Closes his eyes as Lucifer lowers him into water that is neither freezing nor hot, just comfortably warm.

The Cage overwhelms Sam anyway.

 _(He’s being lowered down and it’s all acid and he feel himself burn, skin soaping off against muscle and everything else until he’s just soul, floating there, embracing Lucifer and begging him for dear life to take him back just **no more, no more, please, I love you take me back**_ -

And, _it’s boiling and Lucifer’s lowering his hands in, so slow, and they blister and the water boils and Sam screams as Lucifer says, so quietly, “Sam, you did this to yourself.” Before he shoves him farther in._

Or _, it’s fine and there’s nothing but water there this time, but Lucifer is wrapped around him, kissing him, touching him until he plunges Sam’s head under and holds him there and Sam’s lungs ache and his heart pounds faster and faster and Sam can only see Lucifer’s bright light flickering above him as he keeps drowning, breathing in liquid more and more until his lungs are fit to burst, and then he’s gasping, pulled upright, and Lucifer kisses him, doesn’t let him take in another breath, sucks out all the oxygen out but keeps Sam conscious before pushing and holding him under again, and he keeps this up for hours, promised retribution shining in his eyes until he drags Sam out, fucks Sam soul on the floor of the Cage until Sam screams, **I’m sorry I ruined this, I’m sorry it’s my fault, please** -_

_“Yes it is, Sam. But I forgive you. You’re making up for your crimes one day at a time.”)_

In the present, Lucifer’s grip digs into the soft skin of Sam’s forearm.

_Just think of us right now, Samuel._

**I'm trying I'm sorry-**

_I know. Just… listen to my voice and breathe. We’ll ease into this together._

Without further ado Lucifer steps into the water with him. Sam is fully clothed, the fabric bellowing out below Sam’s knees and sticking to him from suction otherwise, while Lucifer is naked except for his jeans and wedding ring. A reversal of their usual roles, a side effect of these weird attempts at trust-building exercises the Devil has decided to implement.

Sam knows that no one else is home, everyone else cleared out to go on a hunting trip at his pleading requests and Lucifer's less-than-subtle suggestions, so if this goes south, Lucifer will be the only one to hear him cry and beg and scream.

 _No need to be morbid, roomie._ _It’s our anniversary. I’ll make it romantic._

And Lucifer, ever the optimist, sends over the mental image of Sam and Jess, all those years ago, from their one year anniversary, the night Sam surprised even himself and they both splashed and kissed and held each other in the warm glow of their apartment. Sends over what happened after, when Sam carried Jess to bed. Sam can still smell the roses and the sweat and feels the kiss of Jess’s teeth as she makes out with him, half-biting, feels the ghost of it all over again as Lucifer kisses him now.

Sam starts shaking and doesn’t stop. Lucifer whispers soothing platitudes as he pulls them both lower and lower, easing them down until there are both fully submerged, all save for their heads and Sam’s knees, which stick out askew from how incredibly tall Sam is.

Sam stays clutched tight to the Devil’s chest, eyes closed, still shivering. Allows Lucifer to draw circles with his fingers over him, or to kiss his knuckles and lips and neck, all while Sam pretends this is a safe human comfort, not the Cage, nothing like it, and still half-fails.

Sam can feel the afterglow of the lit candles behind his tightly shut eyelids, feel the dry sandpaper feel of Lucifer’s stubble graze his cheek. Hunches himself smaller and smaller.

“There, there, Sammy. You’re doing great. See, not so bad, is it? What do you think?” Lucifer breathes, mouth by Sam’s ear. Sam can’t find his voice quite yet.

**I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m trying-**

_It’s fine. Sam. You’re scared._ _I know how hard this is. But give yourself some credit. You’re doing so well._

**I’m sorry, I love you, please, I know it’s not enough-**

_Sam, just breathe. In, out. There you go._

And Sam lets the hypnotic whispers of the Devil calm him, eases into the almost-human feel of Lucifer because he needs to not be panicked and afraid anymore, he has to get a grip or else-

_I love you, Sammy. We’re right where we need to be. You’re right where you belong, with me. Just breathe. Breathe._

Lucifer just keeps him there, holds him for hours and hours until the candles have all burned out. Then, slowly, peels off layers of Sam’s clothes until it’s just the two of them, Sam’s back pressed into Lucifer’s chest. The Devil burns against Sam’s skin like dry ice, contact something so cold it’s like an artic flashfire meets warmth like frostbite, almost comfortable, like he could ease off into sleep.

And hours and hours later, Lucifer rouses Sam from his almost-sleep, soft and quiet but persistent, hands carding through Sam’s matted hair. Towels them both off and then tows Sam back to their room, hand-in-hand and with a smile because tonight is giving Lucifer everything he wanted.

Sam buries the fear because there is no choice. Feels love because that is the only shield he has.

They share that one night in the quiet loneliness of the Bunker. It’s August, and Lucifer has left the window open.

Sam hears crickets singing long into the night, long after Sam has cried out in something the opposite of pain, long after Lucifer attempted to sing Sam to sleep. And Sam waits as the Devil icy skin cools and frosts over his fevered body as the hot, sticky breath of night steals over them.

Both sleepless, one out of choice, and the other because they could never dream even if they consciously tried. (Lucifer had, and the result had been a disappointment for everyone involved).

For one, real life was dream-like enough.

For the other, the dream and the nightmare were much harder to differentiate. Life itself seemed a bit too hazy around the edges.

 _This is real, Sammy._ Lucifer assures. His lips find Sam's mouth.

But Sam isn't sure he really wants to believe him.


	140. Hard Feelings // Loveless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Lorde

By late November, an early snowfall blows in, all sticky and bright and shining as the wind howls and frost coats the windowpane.

Lucifer watches as ice coats the trees and the powerlines and everything enough to make the power go out, except the generator still works.

But Sam and Jack and Cas and Dean and Lucifer and Mary and Rowena and Gabriel make a roaring fireplace and camp by the mantle anyway, Jack's newly erected pillow fort of blankets and pillows tacked to the couch. 

Lucifer doesn't even misbehave when their all together. Just sits under the green sleeping bag Sam is wrapped in and clinks a beer against the one in Sam's hand and smiles, other hand stroking the side of Sam's face...

Then Jack is climbing out of his pillowfort and into Sam's lap. He asks Sam to read a story out loud and Sam does, one arm around his son to keep him upright, and the other with the book in hand.

It's a portion of the Neverending Story. Jack likes it a lot, but he enjoys the movie more. Lucifer, Gabriel, and Cas argue about the premises in it over angel radio.

Sam's laptop roars to life and the movie streams in Jack's lap, and the next few hours they're watching Labyrinth with David Bowie (a movie Sam is still convinced Jack loves for the premise of Goblins stealing people away to magical lands) and Charlie Brown, both the Great Pumpkin episode and the Christmas one.

When Jack falls asleep, Dean adds Die Hard to the list, and Sam is clocked out, head still next to his son, body still cradled in Lucifer's lap.

Cas holds Dean's hand as Dean resists the urge to try to cut Lucifer's hands off with a saw they got to cut a Christmas tree, since Jack wanted to decorate one just for the shiny objects.

Rowena clocks out in the pillowfort to keep from having to look at Lucifer. Gabriel keeps sipping eggnog and playing Blackjack with Cas when Dean's asleep.

By 3 am, Sam's awake again.

Lucifer left his side to make gingerbread and apples with honey just to keep himself busy.

Sam curls up and cherishes the space.

He knows Lucifer sees that he's awake, though, and Lucifer leaves some cocoa by the coffee table, cinnamon stick and all.

Sam doesn't drink.

By the next hour, Sam's been peeled out of the sleeping bag and picked up and carried upstairs.

When he's being fucked, Sam's mind drifts.

Sometimes, he wonders if Lucifer pretends he is as happy as Sam pretends to be.

He doesn't really want to know the answer.

Because if this doesn't make Lucifer happy in any form...

Sam doesn't know what the point is, and that terrifies him.

\--

The next morning, Sam walks outside and almost forgets to wear shoes until Dean stops him. Jack makes Sam throw on a coat, and Sam has to convince Jack to wear a floppy fuzzy hat to keep his ears from getting frostbite, even though he's not sure that's something Jack can get, and then Jack is running outside in boots too big for him and a red puffy coat too big for him with Sam chasing after him.

Lucifer follows them out, slow and steady. Not even bothering to pretend to dress for the weather.

Sam remembers somewhere that repeated exposure to the same trauma doesn't desensitize you, not really.

Just makes your brain overactive and ready to jump at the same anxieties over and over.

Sam has been so cold. Lucifer is there, every night, singing in his fucking dreams, holding him close in his sleep, walking him to the shower and the bath and the car and the fridge...

The snow felt warm in comparison.

\--

They have a snowball fight. Jack laughs, and Sam laughs, and Cas and Mary and Dean laugh.

Lucifer watches with Gabriel from the porch. Rowena stays inside.

And when Jack has gone on a hike with Cas and Dean, Sam laughs until he weeps.

Lucifer's hand lights on his shoulder.

\--

The next night, there's another storm, so with the exception of Gabriel and Cas, Lucifer gets them all appropriate winter gear and takes them to the Artic to see the Aurora Borealis.

Jack stares, wide eyed. Cas opens his wings and wraps them around Dean and Jack and Rowena, grace humming, low and full of memory.

It's beautiful.

As beautiful as the first time Sam saw it.

And Sam remembers how Lucifer explained how he made it, forged it with Gabriel and Michael while Raphael tried to make plants grow in the ice, and Sam hates it as much as he has ever since Lucifer took him here the first time.

\--

The next night, Jack and Sam watch the stars from the porch.

Sam rocks in the rocking chair, Jack holding binoculars to his face.

Cas sets up a telescope. Dean joins them for a bit, finding a few constellations in the sky and making up fake stories.

Then Jack is thinking about outer space and wondering if he could be an astronaut, and that's all it takes for Lucifer and Gabriel fly Jack to Neptune and Europa and Jupiter for ten minutes.

Rowena comes out and sits when Cas and Dean head inside, and reads Sam's palm for the sake of it. Her nails are painted red, but a deep burgundy, not like blood, and she makes so much up and says absurd things so seriously Sam snorts and laughs until he can't breathe.

Jack returns. Lucifer sits crosslegged at Sam's feet.

Sam tries to teach Jack Tarot with Rowena, after that, as she quizzes him on spell ingredients and substitutions until they all get too cold, and go back inside.

\--

Sam doesn't go to sleep that night. He just makes out-of-season Charoset in the kitchen using the old cookbook he found in the attic from their great-grandmother, grating apples and walnuts and throwing in grape juice.

Mary helps.

Sam explains Passover to her, seeing as she's never practiced, seeing as Samuel never gave a fuck and her mother was casual with some customs but nothing else. Sam's not really too religious at all by now, but they have roots, there, roots Dean was still ignorant of since Sam didn't know how to talk about religion with him, either.

In some ways Sam sees it as rebellion, believing in something that hasn't given him reason to believe back, considering the state of God, and perhaps as pushback for how much Sam has always hated Christmas, with how Dad celebrated it, and what happened before Dean got dragged to Hell, so, so long ago...

That, and Lucifer was a bit too much of a fan of Christmas, both for how it enabled him to criticize human commercialism, and out of ironic, pseudo-blaspheming celebration just because of what he is, just like he got a kick out of the re-appropriation of Easter from the Pagan Goddess it once belonged to.

Sam finds refuge in Biblical Hebrew. It's got a lot going for it, warding-wise, and even before he found his Great-Grandmother's hunter journals, those sigils and spells were nifty against demons and witches and other things. And it's a little close to Enochian without being it, so Sam finds it easier to learn. Not as close as Mesopotamian, but Sam still prefers it.

They are the descendants of Cain and Abel, after all. That blood dictates more of their lives than they want.

Sam wonders, not for the first time, what Abel said to the Devil. Why Lucifer even bothered with him.

He hasn't asked for over 7,000 years. He won't ask now.

After the Charoset and starting a pot of chicken soup, Sam and Mary make out-of-season Hamentaschen. Cas joins them.

And when he takes a bite, Sam prays for his enemies to weaken.

He doesn't know what weakness entails, in this case. Defeat, or perhaps it's just a prayer for Lucifer to be what he used to be, if Sam is not getting out of this, if this is what this is going to be, forever...

Lucifer hears it, and sneaks up on him, except he can't, because Sam knows he's there and feels him, all the time.

And Lucifer rubs Sam's back, and whispers, "Oh, Sam. You know if you pray to me, I'll answer. And who could ever refuse you?"

He doesn't kiss him. Just backs off, perched by the counter. Watching.

Dean wakes up when the fire blows out and a door slams and Rowena's night terrors lead to unconscious spell mishaps.

They all calm her down, give her food and blankets.

Lucifer keeps his distance until Mary takes her to her room.

Gabriel guards the inside of Rowena's door at her request, standing by the doorframe like a sentry.

Like the being of holy fire Gadreel never was.

\--

Cas and Dean stay curled up on the couch that night after Lucifer brings Sam upstairs.

Dean dreams of the day the house burned and wakes up to find Mary asleep on the floor, a picture of all of them in hand, with Lucifer burned out by a match.

\--

The next day, Sam and Jack go ice fishing with Rowena and Cas, and Jody and Donna show up with Claire and Patience and Kaia and Alex, each of them competing.

Dean goes on a hunt with Mary and Gabriel, of all people, all of them restless and antsy.

Sam rewraps Jack's lavender scarf, the one Rowena knitted yesterday while Gabriel tried to make a felted Platypus and failed, around his face after it comes undone, Jack's nose turning red from the cold before he noticed.

They all ice-skate.

A deer gets corralled out of the forest by game hunters and runs on the ice, sliding so fast it cuts past Sam, who re-corrects course but gets thrown out of the way.

Only Sam hits a patch of ice that's too thin.

It breaks. He falls.

His gloved hands barely scrape the surface before he loses his grip.

\--

The water is cold, and Sam doesn't bother struggling, even though he could.

Shock hits quickly.

Compared to everything Lucifer feels like...

It's comfortable. Hurts his lungs, but it feels cold in such a substantial way, Sam can hardly think about anything.

Sam lets himself float away while he can.

\--

Lucifer flies over and pulls him out before he's even sunk four feet, wings wrapping around Sam, for once feeling warm, and then Sam's dry again.

They head back to the Bunker. Jody makes tuna casserole.

Sam watches Jack make a snowman from the window with Claire and Donna while Alex and Kaia and Patience make a snow-fort.

Lucifer is still at his back, still hugging him tight, and hasn't let go since he dragged him from the water.

He leans over and presses a kiss to Sam's temple.

"All the things that you've conquered, and it's a panicked deer that nearly gives you hypothermia." The Devil chuckles under his breath.

Idling, Sam wonders if his luck is so bad from that incident with the broken mirrors and Bloody Mary.

He wants to blame her.

He wants to blame something innocuous.

Not God or creation giving him over to Lucifer like it's nothing.

\--

In bed that night, he can feel the blood that isn't there on Lucifer's hands.

Knows he'll kill the hunters in the woods where no one would even hear it once Sam goes to sleep.

\--

Jack makes a snow angel outside when Cas is stringing up Christmas lights. 

Sam sits in the snow next to him, both of them watching Cas and Dean argue over where the lights should go, until Lucifer flops on his back and pulls Sam down with him makes them both make snow angels, too.

"If you had wings, Sam, they'd be as tall as those trees back there. At least thirty feet across." Lucifer answers, Sam's head on his chest.

Five minutes later, Jack pulls Sam up and shows him a coyote walking through the woods.

Sam lets himself be led away. For distance.

However long it lasts.


	141. Brown Eyed Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by van morrison

And Kelly Kline walks through the door. Sam’s breath hitches.

There is silence.

“Is this real?” Sam stutters out, crosses his arms.

Lucifer clicks his tongue, circles round. Puts a placating arm ‘round his shoulders.

“Oh, Sam, what have I told you?”

And Sam’s eyes look back into his, round as saucers.

_”It doesn’t matter if it’s real. Because you’ll always have me.”_

Lucifer turns, pats his collarbone, and saunters away with ease.


	142. Time Is Running Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by muse

Lucifer’s hand is too cold and tight around Sam’s shoulder.

“Tada! They’re alive. Happy birthday, Sam!” Lucifer laughs as pushes Sam through the door and he spins Sam around to face a room full of people he didn’t think he’d see alive again, including the familiar faces of Dean and Castiel and Gabriel who haven’t died again yet but look equally if not more concerned. No, not concerned, completely full-on terrified, and Sam doesn’t want to know what has caused that look because they have been fighting Lucifer tooth and nail every step of the way.

There’s Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Charlie, Eileen, Adam, Magda, Rowena, Crowley, Kevin, Linda Tran, John, Ash, Bela, Missouri, Pamela, Amy, and Amelia standing in a row behind Cas, Dean, and Gabe. Balthazar, Anna, Tessa, Metatron, and Gadreel are all alive and here, too, standing awkwardly off to the side for some reason Sam does not want to know but he has to anyway. Everyone is too quiet and looks too shell-shocked, are all wound up and drawn into themselves, too tense… And Sam has a feeling they’d been experiencing Lucifer’s hospitality before this, knows how Lucifer drills in his message of how he wants events to go and really makes sure he drives the point home…

Kelly is still there, still solid, still real. Looking at Sam with eyes full of danger and warning.

All of them look unhurt, the same as the last day Sam last saw them all healthy and alive. Too perfect in a way that means they weren’t pristine sometime before.

And it would almost be a found-family reunion, except Mary isn’t there, she’s out with Jack and Donna and Jody on a hunt, and Sam has never been more grateful because there is no way this isn’t going to be something horrible by the end.

“So what do you say, Sam? Gang’s all back together, plus some stragglers.” Lucifer announces, arms out and open wide. “Well, at least the highlight reel. Couldn’t afford to bring back too many people, too much of a crowd for my taste, but some of you I have plans for, so-”

Sam’s voice is faint, but it’s there, because he’s the only defense these people have right now, so he keeps playing along.

“I don’t understand. Why-”

“Would I resurrect people I don’t particularly know or care about including some people who I would much prefer to torture and kill again?” Lucifer cuts in, one eyebrow raised. Sam almost responds but doesn’t get the chance save for a half-noise, because Lucifer gives him a look, speculative and easily able to stop Sam from saying something stupid. “Use that noggin, Sammy. You can figure it out. I have faith in that delicate, fleshy mind of yours.”

Sam has no ideas, still. Just the buzz of danger permeating his brain.

“You resurrected people I care about or former enemies or people you’ve seen in my memories, I get the memo. But that isn’t enough of a clue, Lucifer. There’s no rhyme or reason to… What do you even get out of this?” Sam asks, tone guarded.

“Sam, I could be doing this out of the goodness of my heart-” Lucifer wheedles. And it’s too quiet except for the two of them, but Sam ignores that because he has to.

“I’ll believe that when you decide to freeze Hell over.” Sam grinds out, too much history to keep the heated rage and fear from oozing beneath the surface.

“I mean, that’s not out of the realm of possibility, you of all people know that is well within the scope of-”

Sam’s voice is flat. “Just tell me why.”

And Lucifer loses his playfulness, throws it aside like a musty, oil-slick rag.

“Oh, Sam. Always looking a gift horse in the mouth.” Lucifer starts, wheels closer, and Sam backs up, ignores the feeling of free-falling, but Lucifer keeps advancing, anyway. “Would it kill you to say thank you?”

_Like I taught you?_

“Your gift horses tend to have teeth.” Sam snarls, can’t help it, there so much danger here, even if he can’t quite feel it anymore. **Besides, what can _he_ do,** Sam forces the reassurance but the other alternative is worse, **they already died** \- And Sam’s watched so many of them die, over and over, in the Cage, and that fear is fresh but not overwhelming because Sam can’t quite feel anything but the sheer existential shock that is all Lucifer right now.

And Lucifer’s on top of Sam again, invading his space until his back is to the counter, just like Lucifer always enjoys.

Lucifer dusts off Sam’s collar, tone too light, his blue eyes too cold and intent. “Still not hearing the magic words, Sammy.”

“Thank you.” Sam doesn’t meet Lucifer’s eyes, hates the part of him that’s still grateful there isn’t a hand wrapped around his throat. “Now why-”

“So impatient, Sam.” Lucifer whines, and then his tone deepens, grows colder, “But I can’t really say no to that charming face of yours,” Lucifer adds as he slides one finger over Sam’s chin, his other hand digging into Sam’s upper right arm, tight enough to bruise.

Sam stays motionless and ignores his own too-fast breaths he can see fogging in front of him. One jagged line of Lucifer’s nail burns even after it breaks contact with Sam's face.

Lucifer finally, finally stops touching him as he gestures and finishes his line of thought, “So, here’s a hint: I’m doing a little experiment. Figured you and your pals here might be useful test subjects, or at least make this whole process slightly less boring as I do some… home improvements to God’s whole _magnum opus_. But this is an honest gift, Sam. You’ve been rather isolated lately. Figured some friendly faces might help. And if not, well, I’ve got some _less_ friendly faces, you know?”

Sam listens. Hears a telltale hum. Knows, suddenly, what game is the choice of the day, as the ice pours, demanding and instant, down each and every nerve.

Sam glances behind the Devil as other old “friends” he had thought he’d never have to see alive again appear out of thin air. Can taste the sulfur and fire and bile and blood on his tongue, his ears ringing. The sharp arctic closeness of Lucifer is not drowned out, only accentuated, only all the more clear when thrown against this other nightmare, unholy in all the ways Lucifer is not.

Azazel. Lilith. Abaddon. Dagon. Ramiel. Asmodeus, even, although he looks much worse for wear. Alastair. Cain. Anael. Uriel. Meg. Brady. Ruby.

Sam can’t find the words. And he knew Dean and Castiel and Gabriel knew about this beforehand, they had to-

**You-**

_That’s right, Sam. I knew you would catch on eventually. Don’t panic just yet, though. You’re all mine. I’m not really one for sharing._

Ruby waves a tiny wave, her lips twisted a half-grin until Lucifer waves her off, distracted as he keeps watching every tic wash over Sam’s face.

Ruby’s smile vanishes, triple quick. There is fear there, in her eyes, Sam notes, and pretends he isn’t somewhat thrilled by proxy. It is a raw, new fear, one deeper and more visceral than the one Sam’s grown used to in his chest cavity, and Sam isn’t quite sure what it means but he knows it is far from good.

A heady dizziness almost grabs hold, tightens around Sam’s throat and eyelids. Can’t quite find purchase as Sam’s still too frozen to reach.

Sam studies at the upper echelon of demons as if that can distract from Lucifer being too close, too-in-his-face. Mouth drawn in a smile too wide, too wanting…

Sam can’t look at it head-on.

Lilith looks bored, keeps her white eyes raked over her nails of her last possession victim (the blonde dental hygienist whose name Sam never learned), carefully neutral. Azazel is… hungry, watching Lucifer and Sam with some perverse approximation of self-satisfied that Sam would love to rip right off him, would love to tear his head from his neck. Alastair just keeps his hands in his pockets, tongue uneasily kept from clicking in his mouth, white eyes always glued to Dean. Abaddon bounces on the balls of her feet, is all violence and motion coiled up and ready to go, but still loyal as ever and therefore complacent as long as required. Dagon watches Kelly, eyes scanning over her face (and Sam will destroy her for that, he will), because she always liked singling her out. Ramiel is stone-faced, drawn and wary, only onboard because of Abaddon and Dagon because Lucifer clearly read him the riot act, Sam just knows, and Asmodeus… Asmodeus is in pain, Sam notes, and it’s with a crushing horror he realizes can feel them all so clearly because Lucifer’s true form is wading so deep inside him, and Sam almost loses his footing, because how did Sam not notice the cold before it wandered inside so deep…

Brady is bored but still smiles at Sam, a smile that doesn't meet his eyes. Sam looks away quickly.

Meg is blank, completely blank, and Sam finds he doesn’t quite want to know her mind.

Sam ignores Ruby entirely now. He doesn’t need anything else confirmed.

By now, the cold has grown is so intense Sam is amazed he is still standing upright. That his knees haven’t buckled, shaking as they are. That he hasn’t collapsed in Lucifer’s grip, frenzied and terrified and complacent for every threat Lucifer hasn’t felt the need to elucidate.

“So, I’d say, so far, this experiment has been a real success. What do you think?” Lucifer prompts, one finger hooked under his chin, contemplative.

Sam forces his brain to come back online, to actually think thoughts that mean something.

**Why would you resurrect them, you hate demons-**

_Hate humans, too, Sam, all save for you. And I still need proper, more competent minions for delegation considering the useless lot Crowley left me with. Plus, think of all the fun times to be had if your old friends actually tried something, you know? Would need someone to deal with them while I re-teach you all the classics. Which reminds me, how long do you think it would take to twist them up, you think? A day? Two?_

**But how can you, how, they were dead, deader than DEAD-** (And Sam ignores the other threat, because there is no good answer there, and it’s empty, it has to be-).

 _Hasn’t quite stopped me before, champ. Look at you. Besides, I made them. I know how to bring them back. And it helps,_ Lucifer steps back an inch as his grace bubbles slightly higher, _that I’ve found myself some new tricks. Or at least, revamped a tried-and-true method._

Lucifer snaps! And Sam ducks down, one hand raised, shielding his eyes.

Billie appears next to the fridge. A silver chord, iridescent and half-intangible and so heavy it sucks out all the air out of the room as it lays, all coiled, all bound around her wrists. Her expression eyeing Sam as if to say: Sam, I can’t tell you anything, but you need to know-

Lucifer eyes her, cuts off whatever message she was trying to send as he sends her away just as fast. Like a collapsed powerline, or a slashed throat.

The abortive motion of his hands, level with Lucifer’s neck, makes Sam flinch again, a different, too-jumpy bodily motion.

Lucifer turns back to Sam but doesn’t smile. Not this time.

“So, Sam. Why the dramatic reveal, and all the hush-hush secrecy? Any lucky guesses?”

Sam swallows. Starts pacing because he needs something to keep Lucifer as far away from any point of contact as possible.

“You didn’t know if you could bring them back, but you found out how.”

“Uh, way to state the obvious. Think bigger.”

“You were trying to bring something else back and were building up to it?”

“Mm, half-right. Raphael’s still a work in progress, provided he doesn’t piss me off, which reminds me,” Lucifer briefly turns his attentions to the angels huddled on the other side of the room, “Gabe, you and the rest of the angels I’ve enlisted are up next after this, so chop-chop,” Lucifer claps, then adds, “Make your way up to Heaven double time. Ah, except you, Castiel. You stay put.”

Tessa, Anna, Balthazar, Metatron, and Gadreel all depart still with that same fear. Sam tastes it curling under his tongue, a sting of grace like lightning, but nothing like Lucifer at all.

“And you,” Lucifer continues, and motions to the demons and Fallen Angels on the other side of the room, “You can start on our other project now that Sam’s eyes have been opened. I’m sure you can handle yourselves without my help.”

 _Don’t fail me._ Sam hears, unspoken.

The rest leave as fast as they appeared. It’s just humans and monsters and old friends and demons and brothers left, strewn uneasily about the room.

And the Devil. Always the Devil.

Now with his icy attention laser-focused back on Sam. No more distractions.

“Anyway, what else, Sam? You’re getting warmer and warmer.”

Sam freezes in the middle of the room. Pointedly doesn’t look at anyone else, because the truth is even worse, now.

“You’re…” Sam voice trails off.

**No, no, no.**

_Yes, Sam. Yes._

“You’re consolidating power outside of Heaven and Hell and Earth. Into the Empty. But not just that. You’re expanding your range of influence. And you didn’t know if I could stop you before, but now... You’ve got whatever you were looking for, so you wanted to let me know that there is nothing I can do.”

_Such a smart cookie. Knew you’d get there._

“Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner.” Lucifer whoops, adding, “But you’re still not thinking big enough, Sam.” And Lucifer is back in Sam’s space, rustling a hand in his hair before he wraps one arm around Sam’s shoulder, pats him on the back as he almost forces him to look into the eyes of everyone else in the room.

Sam only looks at Dean and Castiel. Memorizes the set of their jaws and every line of stress and fraction of loss stretched tight over their faces.

Lucifer keeps on going, has really found his stride. “I’m not just doing home improvements, adding some additions on, you know? I’m investing in new real estate, taking us where no man, demon, or angel, has even gone before! With Jack and your help, of course.”

Sam inhales. The cold burns his lungs.

“You’re looking at other universes. Not just this one.” Sam clarifies, grace and wings curled cuttingly tight around his waist.

He can feel the pit yawning open inside him.

_Nowhere else to run._

“Bingo, Sammy. But you are wrong, about one teensy-tiny little detail.” Lucifer sings, gives Sam a side hug.

Sam looks at him properly, throat bobbing. Sees all the glee teeming along Lucifer’s face.

“I am not quite done with my preparations. Not yet. So… if you’re feeling your particularly enterprising, save-everyone brand of martyrdom, like you usually do, well, you’ve got one last chance. The Hail Mary to end all Marys,” Lucifer chuckles and preens, motioning to resurrected friends, new and old, “Take the olive branch for what it is, enlist Ocean’s Eighteen here, and see if you can even manage to get a hit in on me.” And Lucifer’s voice peals off, but his grace is singing, all the triumph of Heaven and Hell ripping into every molecule that is Sam.

His blue eyes are smiling, too.

Sam wants to melt into the ground right where he stands.

“Why?” Sam gasps. “Why even bother...?”

“Because. Once you realize that I’ve won, that there’s nowhere else to go, no plans left to try… well. You’re a smart one, Sam. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.”

_Once you fail, really fail for the last time, Sam, there’s going to be nothing left for you, except for what I allow. And everyone you have ever loved is going to make sure of it. You hear me, Sammy? Really hear me?_

Sam doesn’t answer. Ice has crusted all over the windows and the floor.

“Why are you telling me this?” Sam breathes.

Lucifer taps Sam’s shoulder, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“Because, regardless of what you think, Sam, I’m looking out for you. We’re going to remake this world and so many others together. And when you get with the program, really apply yourself, well… It’s going to be some sight to see. And I’m going to be with you, right there to see your transformation, every single step of the way.” Lucifer answers. His voice and vessel are exuding something so inhuman, a bright joy so holy and infernal in its very makeup, that there are no words left to describe.

The others all flinch away. Sam wonders if they can feel every atom of Lucifer as he does at that moment, beautiful and terrible and insane.

_And no one, no one, Sam, is ever going to keep you from me again._

“I know, this is a lot to take in. But you’ve always been the type of guy who needs a live demonstration to get the truth settled in your brain. So I figured I’d skip trying to convince you and just let this run its course. So just… have your happy little reunion. Brainstorm to your hearts’ content. Figure out all my weaknesses, all your points of attack. You’ve got all these folks behind you. Well, except this one.”

Lucifer motions, plucks Amelia from there to here, keeps her voice muted even as the whites of her eyes roll, terrified by the full fury of the Archangel settling over her. Lucifer’s grace leaves Sam reeling from the loss, just this once, and Sam actually starts forward, doesn’t even have time to pray or think-

Lucifer buries a hand in her abdomen and twists.

**NO-**

The blood splatters across Sam’s face.

Lucifer turns back to Sam, voice still too deep and ageless. Still too light and too crawling with need.

_Always that word, Samuel. Never the right one._

“Still hate that one too much." And Lucifer reels Sam in, holds Sam's back to his chest. Amelia's body turns to ashes in Sam's shaking hands as Lucifer's turn Sam's head, a kiss pressed to Sam's lips, not requited.

"Anyway, good luck, Sammy.” Lucifer says, too cheery, “I promise it won’t help.”

The Devil flies off and away. Leaves Sam, stricken and stained with blood, still frozen and clutching at nothing in the center of the room.

All the people he’s failed have their own eyes on him.

Sam knows what he has to do.


	143. Big Bad Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by in this moment
> 
> so this part was supposed to be Sam's hallucinations manifesting as real enough while he has a breakdown so everyone can interact with them as Sam was thinking up a plan for himself and calming himself down, but that never managed to work with me even though it was conceived early on.
> 
> maybe i'll fix it this go around?

"Academic question, Sammy," Lucifer interrupts, leaning on Sam's shoulder, "Do you think seeing my true face like this will kill them?"

Sam knows he isn't real, and for once, doesn't let the thought derail him, even if everyone can see just how nestled Lucifer has become, even as a hallucination.


	144. Screwed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Janelle Monae

"Layman's terms, every pearl is like, a miniature nuclear bomb on a grid. You make a wish, you morph one universe by twisting it into something else, changing up the building blocks by erasing them and overwriting them. And normally, they only work on one universe, not a multi-universal scale. However, when you involve nephilim, or Heaven's backdoor into all the others... That's when things get complicated." Gabriel says, pacing and pointing at the whiteboard with a ton of Enochian diagrams (which both Sam and Cas can read, and can see clearly are gibberish, because, for all of Gabriel's intensity and seriousness in upending his brother's plans, some things do not change.) 

"Add in a nephilim from an archangel, and you've got your own personal inter-dimensional battering ram. Combine that with a way to undo everything on the ground, then he could twist everything that isn't already connected. Heaven and Hell already have their own failsafes to keep from breaking apart, but if you can break through both sides simultaneously-"

"-Then all those souls, all the things keeping the worlds from bleeding over just collapse into the same place?"

"Exactly."

"So what you're really saying is, if we can get our hands on the pearl, we might be able to fix here, but because in another universe there's another pearl, it could potentially be undone?"

"That," Gabriel says, clicking his tongue, and then he turns grim, "And if my suspicions aren't wrong, then big brother is planning on undoing everything and remaking it from the ground up. If not by his own hand, then by stockpiling all those weapons that can affect everything and using them to remake the world in his image, with no one able to undo it. With an arsenal of reality-overwriting metaphysics-altering carpetbombs in case using brute force doesn't go as planned."

Sam is suddenly hit by a realization, niggling at the back of his head, from old words turning around in his head.

_I kept my promises, didn't I? We'll get what we wanted- and I promised no one on this planet has to be sacrificed in the name of a game I lost a long time ago. You paid their blood price. It's high time we moved on from that. Onto a bigger and brighter future-_

"But he's not trying to remake our world." He murmurs. "He's planning on taking apart everything else."

And Sam should've realized...

The Apocalypse was never off the table. Lucifer just planned on changing the demolition site.

The only question is how to keep him from knowing they know, and keeping Jack from being used, and keeping himself from becoming a pawn in whatever plan he's concocting.


	145. Deep Sea Diver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found another chapter that never got uploaded from like, back in the day.
> 
> chapter title a song by angel haze

“I’m not going to drive you mad, Samuel.”

“You’ve come pretty damn close.”

“I know your limits. Besides, I’ve always asked for your opinion. Always asked you to choose.”

“You ask,” Sam gasps, “You ask and then you just take, and take, and take. Like what I want doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course it means something, Sammy. But why do I need to wait on your words when I can feel how much you love me? How much you want this? It’s all right here, waiting for me. Like a banquet set out for a starving man, and the host still won’t let him eat.”

“I am not obligated to give you what you want. I am myself. I’m not something you can just…just…”

“Own? Make decisions for?”

“Yes. I’m not a piece of meat. I am a person with my own feelings and my own mind, for fuck’s sake. And I know you can feel how much I don’t want this, too. You just decide to conveniently ignore it.”

“Sam, the only reason you feel bad is because you feel like you have to be some paragon of virtue, like you have to put yourself on a pedestal to make up for how others believe you to be. You think you need to be ashamed of this when you don’t. You think you need to keep the wraps on your power to make up for something that was never your fault. You know how good we are together and you won’t let yourself go, won’t let yourself love me. You won’t let us both be happy and safe because you’re afraid. And I’m trying to fix that. ”

“Let’s say I even believe you, which I don’t. Why hurt me, then? If you love me so damn much, if you think this counts as safety, which it isn’t, why are you doing all of this?”

“Because it’s the only way you’ll let me in.” Lucifer admits. “You never let yourself feel any of this, Sam. You hate yourself so much. And if I have to beat all of it out of you, if having you fear me is what it takes, then that’s what I have to do.”

“What about my choices, Lucifer? What about letting me say no, and actually giving me the option?”

“You’re still my vessel, Sam. It’s my responsibility to take care of you. And you’re drowning, you’re sick with the lies and corruption of humanity breaking you apart. You don’t know what you’re doing or saying when it comes to all this. I’m obligated to look out for you. And I’m protecting you this way, don’t you see?”

And Sam has no answer for that, because there was no way to reason with any this. Lucifer was always too far gone, always justifying and rationalizing everything, and didn’t think he had to change because he didn’t want to or didn’t see the value in it and had likely never learned how.

“You really can’t understand this at all, do you? Or at least, you don’t want to.” Sam asks, doesn’t let Lucifer interrupt. “Humanity isn’t the reason I don’t want this, Lucifer. You are.” He whispers and turns away. “Even if you want to pretend that’s not the truth, fine. Do your worst. I’ll pretend, if it will keep you fucking happy, if it means not being torn apart every single day. But you’ll never have what you want because you want something I can never be. I’m human, Lucifer. You can’t hate all of humanity and say I’m the exception to the rule.” Lucifer reaches an arm out, lightly pressing on the small of his back, but Sam is spent and isn’t letting him have this. “You can’t demand and take love. It can only be given freely.”

“Sam-”

“And as long as we’re like this, I am never free. I will never be free. So you can take your feelings and choke.”


	146. You're Mine (Past this point things may be out of order or confusing due to cuts)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by phantogram

“No one’s ever going to love you like I do, Sam,” Lucifer murmurs. Tousles Sam’s bedhead almost fondly, like Sam isn’t some obstinate disappointment who broke the Devil’s heart. Has been, over and over and over again.

And Sam believes him, but not for the same reasons. No, not at all.

“Your love is poison,” Sam grates out, but the Devil isn’t having any of it.

_Don’t lie to me, Sammy. You can never lie to me._

“Our love is the most sacred, holy thing in this entire godforsaken universe,” Lucifer argues. Tranquil, much too tranquil.

And he’s on top of Sam again, slits one of Nick’s wrists open with his too-white teeth. Forces his blood and essence down Sam’s throat as Lucifer fucks him, too gently, almost kind, like this is a good thing, like Sam asked for this.

It’s still too raw, anyway. Too much like Jess used to be, although that ship has long since sailed. Sam shields himself with sarcasm, the only weapon he has. It’s been a long time coming, really since he hasn’t tried anything like this for a month or so. World record, that. Such progress for the Devil.

And Sam chokes the blood down, starts to shake, goes under, and he’s not too sure how he can live like this before everything becomes the same. Where everything is the Cage and nothing matters because there’s nowhere to go, because nothing has changed, even after he thought he could move on, live a new life with new chances topside. It’s all slipping away.

_Don’t say I’m not generous, Sam. That I didn’t warn you._

“You’ve always belonged to me.” Lucifer whispers, rocks into him, kisses grazing Sam’s throat. Then he picks up the pace, lets a drip of ferocity out, leaves a trail of hickies peppered down Sam’s shoulder-blades and all the way down his spine.

And Sam lets him, responds. Is lost. Let’s himself feel for the Devil because it’s never been a choice, never, even as the bad blood festers and the hate rises up to throttle him. Doesn’t erase any of the love, as much as Sam has tried. (And he has, he's tried so hard. But it's never ever enough.)

_No more fighting yourself, Sam. Give yourself what you need. Do it for me._

Sam let’s go. Only human.

No energy left to hate either himself or the Devil anymore.


	147. King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by black math
> 
> also i'm 99% sure this never got finished
> 
> also I wish I got to the section where Jake and Ava pick sides with Lilith and Azazel and other stuff but that never happened, but Jake was going to escape his own bad circumstances because of the situation eventually... and I still feel like I didn't tackle the meta levels of his circumstances well considering a lot of how stuff is portrayed is a man is coerced and blackmailed into betraying his ideals because of threats to his family by essentially a demon stuffed inside a white dude, which feels like it matters in how the situation is framed and Jake is literally demonized after that despite all of it being Azazel's setup, and then you've got Dean micromanaging stuff to do with Sam without consulting anyone else, and canonically he is always deflecting and acting like his situation is different when he's being self-centered in a lot of situations like that where he has double standards, and all that still feels relevant on a metatextual level but I don't think I have the nuance to portray all that with the care it deserves
> 
> there was also going to be an Ava Marin tiny subplot with Marin spying on Ava while they worked "onset" a show (as a small nod to Hannibal as a show) and plotwise to figure out what Azazel and Lilith were planning when not around the bunker, and to make Marin part of the squad, and that never happened either

Sam doesn't exactly expect to see Jake Talley as the one to greet him when he meets at the location of the next hunt, but that's whose cleaning their guns when he gets there.

\--

"You shot me eight times. You think we can put that behind us?"

"Up to you. But you stabbed me in the back, tried to murder my friend, and let Hell loose on the world. I'd call us even. Besides, the whole reason everything fell apart is because we turned on each other and didn't know how to fight the source that set us up."

\--

"I was just trying to protect my family, my mom, my sister... I don't even know if they're alive. I doubt it."

"See, that might work on Sam. But that don't fly with me." Dean growls. And maybe he's playing hard ball because he doesn't have distance, can still remember Sam's limp dead body the first time in his arms clear as day. (And he knows Sam hasn't forgiven Jake, either, not for what he did to Ellen and not for caving in the first place, even though the deck is as stacked as it has always been, just like it was back then.)

Jake scoffs. "Sure it doesn't. Except... Newsflash. I don't care."

"You should. Because otherwise we'll stop you. Just like the first time."

"You stopped me because you couldn't protect anyone from the start." Jake slings back.

That throws Dean- for a moment, but he gains the ground back quick as a whip.

"We protected who we could, with what we knew and could manage at the time. So don't turn this around thinking it's all the same, because you making a bad decision is not on us. You made a choice to hurt and kill. You could've chosen not to."

"Funny if I don't see it the same way."

"Yeah, well, too bad, because guess what, even if the deck was stacked from the beginning- you still made that play, so I'll play the smallest violin, because now you have to live with it."

"You know, I've heard a lot since I got topside. And you say you wouldn't be compromised if you could keep your family safe? Because that's all I see here- you rolling over and taking it because you have no other choice. Same as me." Jake's nostrils flare, but his voice remains low and quiet and controlled. "So how is what I did any different from the two of you?"

"Because unlike you letting one yellow eyed bastard set this in motion, once Sam realized he was played, he fixed his mistake. And then Sam stopped the Apocalypse. Sam didn't just... roll over, and pretend he was saving who he could while the rest of the world burned. And we never gave up on the world, even when it kept on ending."

"See, you say that. But I've been in the Pit, same as you. And I can see that same sickness in your eyes- because you know that isn't what this is, Dean. It never leaves you. Not after the Mark, not after the Darkness- not after everything you pulled, or when Sam tried to bring the Devil 'round for dinner. Your hands aren't clean, no more than mine. Do you know how many people you gutted and sent packing downstairs, all because the knife was easier than an exorcism? Because we kept count down there. Day by day."

\--

"Is it that different? Because all I know is it feels the same. Being pushed around by people who think they are better than you, man or demon, all trying to tell you what to do and acting like you've got no say. So what would you do, Dean, if you were in my place? Because I know what you are, and what you've been- and I don't think you would've chosen different, if Azazel gave you the trigger and said what would happen to Sam if you didn't play nice and do exactly what he wanted. I think you'd threaten and hurt whoever you needed to- that you've done the same thing, threatened and murdered children and whoever you think isn't human enough or in the way, provided it suits your purposes. So the way I see it- the only thing that makes us different- is the ego you built around your own hypocrisy."

\--

_"If you'd just quit your hand-wringing and open yourself up, you have no idea what you can do."_

Sam remembers Ava saying that too easily for some reason. Remembers having the words curl up with every other knife to the gut where people just asked him to crack himself open like an egg and let everything he'd been fighting in, because it was worth it. Because it was meant to be.

Sam is downright sick of it. Sick of it constantly being picked at, a constant wound that never healed or had a chance to scab over.

And it's high time he did something about it. Something that would stick.

Something that would at least feel like it mattered, just a little, in reclaiming his body and his mind and his emotions in a way that didn't feel like yet another betrayal.

\--

"Why did they even choose to bring you back?" Dean asks.

Ava shrugs. Jake still keeps his arms crossed.

"Because, Deano-" Azazel makes then all jump, leaning out from the doorway. "That one showed promise- real artsy with all her kills, enough to make even ol' Lilith proud, especially considering what she did after, and Jake here was the runner up. Consolation prize, if you will, for seeing things through even if dear Sammy was headed straight to the finish line one way or another. Couldn't have done it without you, though. And look at you now, could even give Cain a run for his mo-"

Azazel doesn't even get two words in before Dean tries to make a stab at him, but Jack, of all people, holds him back.

"Don't listen to him, Dean. Just... Go find Sam. I'll deal with him."

\--

"Look, can we at least agree to put blame where it's due? All of this, all of what happened back then- we didn't want to kill anyone."

Ava murmurs, "Speak for yourself."

But Sam ignores it, because he knows deflection when he sees it, even if Hell twisted them up into something nasty because they decided they couldn't be better.

He knows he choose differently than them when it counted back then.

But at the end of the day, they all made bad choices somewhere along the line, and while Sam has long since paid his dues, the only thing that will fix this is if they can move on and choose to be better, and break the script Ava and Jake still seem so hellbent on following because they don't seem to think they can choose any different.

And Sam keeps going. "We didn't want to kill each other. It was all Azazel and Lucifer and the angels and demonic fucks who decided to play with our lives. But we don't have to accept it. And yeah, Ava, you... You did some horrible, evil things, and you killed a lot of people. And you're going to have to live with that. Same as I have to live with the blood on my hands. And you know what? It wasn't right, not at all- but I know why you did it. They abducted you in the middle of the most haunted site in America and kept you in a death match, for months, and you knew practically jack about the supernatural. So yeah, I can understand if you cracked. Same with you, Jake, even if what you pulled with Ellen and the Hellgate is pretty unforgivable. You know, someone once told me "no one has done anything so bad that they can't be forgiven," and while I don't think any of us believe that, I think we can all choose to be better despite our mistakes. I know what I've done to protect my brother, too, and I know they threatened you and your family. And while you could've chosen differently... I do understand. We all could have made different choices, even if we didn't see how much they were making us dance to their tune. But the fact of the matter is- right here, right now, you can make a choice. You can stand for something. You can choose differently, you can choose a different future, you can choose to take control. Because, if we're being totally honest with each other, then we're all stuck here, on the same damn ride we were back then, whether we like it or not. But screw that. We can choose who we're going to be. We don't have to be who we were, or what they want. We can choose differently, in spite of them. In spite of everything." Sam tries. "You just have to believe that you can. That it's even an option."

"Too bad they aren't biting." Meg laughs from the doorway, but it sounds a bit hollow for her. (And Sam doesn't want to wonder why he knows the difference, what it means that they've grown close enough to determine that sad fact, so he ignores it best he's able.)

Sam is old. Sam is tired. Sam doesn't know fear from any mortal quarter because he's seen and lived eternity and the sublime and it won't ever leave him.

But he does fear this- passivity. He fears seeing that gleam and emptiness in the other's eyes, what feels like failure, because he can see when an argument falls on deaf ears and that they could choose differently but maybe... Maybe they don't want to. Maybe they never did, because power was something they always wanted and it always kept getting taken away.

Sam's still scared he'd turn back into that. Addiction still lit up his jawbone like a phantom ache, and he fights it like he fights everything else Lucifer's legacy tried to ingrain under his skin.

And he can't stop letting the others drown, when they won't even admit it's drowning.

Sam can see what he saw in Lucifer in them- the idea that they already tried and failed and they were right the first time, so why bother trying to change when they didn't need to, anyway?

And that still scares him, because humanity was supposed to be able to choose to be better, and Sam knew full well that most monsters were when it didn't. That's what lead to demons.

That's why Sam still hates their guts and would exorcise them, given the chance.

But if Sam can stop Azazel and Lilith and Abaddon and Cain and Lucifer from turning these into the newest generation of yellow-eyed nasties, then Sam will do whatever it takes.

Even if it means claiming a birthright he never wanted and didn't ask for and that Lucifer was forcing on him anyway, in this weird catch-22 of not hostages but people who were choosing to let themselves go and turn into something twisted and something to hunt when they could still choose differently, if they just could reach out and hope and believe that the world and people, just people, nameless and unimportant to their day to day lives, were worth it enough not to forsake themselves, either. Themselves most of all.

Because if Sam didn't lay down the law, Jake and Ava were going to run wild. And if Sam does... If Sam does, he's playing into the same hands that have been molding him like putty, and Sam's not sure how much of that he can take before he snaps in a way he never anticipated because Lucifer always found a new way to make him break.


	148. Hardest of Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Florence and the Machine

Sam freezes when he sees what box Lucifer's rummaging through on the table.

"Hey Sam. Remember these?"

Lucifer holds up and waves an old, grey camcorder. His eyes remain blue.

And Lucifer's face twists into a softer smile, one Sam hasn't seen since Sam stripped down for Lucifer himself without Lucifer having to ask, that same time Lucifer watched Sam turn around until he'd had his fill of watching him and then gently guided Sam to the floor, and then Lucifer kissed him on every digit and inch of skin Sam possessed before shoved Sam against the tile and Lucifer used five fingers to fuck Sam in various configurations, the sharp cold-but-not-the-same-cold squares of the floor digging into Sam's back and knees and forehead.

It might have been a week ago. It might have been a day. Sam has stopped keeping track by now. No point.

He knows it's been at least three years now that Lucifer has remained a mainstay at Sam's side, always there, always present, a line keeping them both tangled and falling over and bumping against one another, and Sam is so worn out by complete fear and a love only kept alive out a sheer necessity to survive that he's not too sure he feels much else except for maybe a quiet, desperate needy sadness or a disconnected violence that only sometimes roars to life inside the outskirts of Sam's brain. It sounds like heartbeats and tastes like salt and laps up like cresting ocean waves when Sam falls prey to the fury, but even then it feels like just another thing happening to him, something inflicted, like he's trapped in a whirling riptide that swirls in circles and keeps choking Sam into pieces, the feeling oscillating and sloshing around inside him like he's being kept suspended in fluid thicker than blood. Lucifer himself is a blizzard bearing down, a collapsed grave of tightly pack snow suffocating Sam from beneath its weight, and like a elongate jellyfish, sharp and pointed and stretched, with ice-cube arms so long and thin and and slight and winding, having been twisted up so thoroughly around Sam's soul that the fringes might as well be a permanent fixture trapping Sam in place. Only each strand of Lucifer feels like wings and mouths and teeth that glance over Sam so lightly and with so much force he's amazed he hasn't been obliterated by the yawning ecstasy and sticky prodding and cutting violence in each and every caress.

In the here and now, Sam wants to back away. But he still can't move, so he swallows.

"Ah, the good old days." Lucifer sighs, then looks back down and give a quick smile that soon vanishes. "Found them when I was cleaning out our room. Think Jack would like them?"

Sam keeps his eyes on the label on the cardboard box labelled: Jess and Sam, 2002-2005.

Sam knows what the box next to him is, too.

It's labelled: Bobby's 2010.

Sam's been around Lucifer long enough that it's not even a question of what's going to happen. Lucifer is going to find a way to make them all watch these, every one, be it one way or another. Not yet, though. Dean is outside fixing up Baby with Adam, while Jack, Cas, Donna, Jody, and Rowena are out for lunch, Gabriel is who-knows-where in Heaven with Anael, Raphael, and Ambriel, and Eileen, Bobby, Mia, and Kelly are redoing their archives and while working a local case thirty minutes from Jack and the others. Sam hasn't been downstairs all day, though. He just heard them from his room, after Lucifer set up the radio system so Sam didn't have to move from the bathroom or the bed if he couldn't find the energy to get up. Some days Sam was like a corpse, motionless and huddled and useless, while other days he couldn't stop moving or keep still for the life of him. Most days were a mix of the two.

Sam would leave the room in an instant, if he didn't know Lucifer would just drag him back in.

So Sam just... stands there. Not moving forward or back. Just can't get any closer and can't get any farther with the blood pounding in his skull.

"You know, I'm not surprised you kept them. But I am surprised at where. You had them right under the bed." Lucifer says, voice like honey. His right hand taps the table with thrumming fingertips, a dull, hollow of echoing sound. "Want to explain that, Bunk Buddy?"

Sam licks his lips, and then makes his decision to enter the damn room.

He doesn't avoid Lucifer, even if he wants to, even if he can't quite speak at the moment. He walks deliberately close to him, like he would otherwise avoid, absorbed in the radius of his orbit, and Sam stops a foot away, not sure if he can sit, not sure if he should do something, anything, maybe try to put on a damn cup of coffee but that would mean turning his back on Lucifer, and he still can't get enough air-

"Sam. You awake yet? Because you are awfully quiet." Lucifer says and taps Sam's shoulder, no expression forthcoming. Sam knows he has a fifty-fifty chance of not being attacked or kissed or something else with that tone, that blank expression.

Sam shakes his head and lowers his gaze, hair falling in his face.

He opens his mouth to say something but the noise is just whooshing air. Lucifer notes the attempt, pupils dilating, hands curling in a way that isn't violent, only wanting-

Sam can't even pray right now. His thoughts are numb static.

Lucifer lightly pushes Sam's chin up with too gentle, crooked fingers, feels the bob of tendons lining Sam's throat, and Lucifer looks into Sam's eyes, notes the trembling fingertips that Sam is trying to keep still, catalogs the quivering twitch of Sam's lip, and Lucifer smiles.

Not a smile that promises violence.

A real one.

And then Lucifer ditches the camera he's holding on the table and hugs him, all unreleased movement, and keeps his head buried in the crook of Sam's neck.

_I love you._

Sam just stays there, motionless, even when the hug grows too tight and he full-body shivers and then there's a slightly twisted, bony hip leaning too close to Sam, and it's attached to a thigh jammed too close in between Sam's legs that shifts up and down ever so slightly, the fabric bunching up around Sam's crotch near the inseam of his jeans. Sam feels the wings around him curl and tighten, so close, so soft, like he could suffocate by being too close to them, an icy pillow of down whose fabric is shoved against his mouth.

Sam tries to make words happen. Some noise comes out. He's not quite sure if it counts as words.

The pressure around him lessens, although Lucifer still doesn't let go. Lucifer's lips rest against the pulse jumping in Sam's neck, but it's an almost-but-not-quite-there-sensation, not a kiss, not pressure, just contact. Sam feels the roughness of stubble on the ridge of his throat, compares it to the softness of Lucifer's uncombed hair against Sam's skin, and the contact stops Sam from feeling like insubstantial, like he's anchorless and floating away. 

Fingers run up and down Sam's spine, bringing other feelings out, sending electricity and goosebumps and other responses prickling up through his exocrine, endocrine, and nervous system all at once.

Sam wants to cry but the tears won't come, so he tries another tactic to stop Lucifer from doing anything else.

He kisses Lucifer on the lips, and it's not conditioned, mindless hunger, not wanting, not broken, not desperate. It's just a small, closed kiss, both honest and terrified as Sam wraps his arms around Lucifer's waist, leans the weight of his pelvis forward, and holds on for dear life.

Lucifer relaxes his grip, wings unfurling slightly, and centers his posture so his body aligns parallel to Sam, legs slightly jutting out to the side before he rolls his hips and presses closer. Lucifer slides his hands up the nape of Sam's neck, past his jawbone and his ears until they are almost halfway up the crown of Sam's head, and keeps them nestled and twined in Sam's mussed up hair, and they're just there, cold contact not a pressure against Sam's head as it prevents Sam from looking away, not tight enough to be a demand but not soft enough for Sam to falter. The softness of his fingers would almost be soothing, if Sam already didn't feel dizzy, if he didn't want to fold in on himself or hold Lucifer closer and lean his head against his shoulder to pretend he's safe, but Sam's not sure if he'd rather fall to his knees and beg for a forgiveness Sam knows he doesn't actually need, or just go limp and let Lucifer decide, and so Sam stands there, indecisive, half-wondering if he should try to kiss Lucifer harder with teeth and an open mouth, if only it will make him not hurt him anymore.

Sam has been fighting for so long, now, fighting constantly. And he can't fight all the time. 

**Lucifer, I...**

But Sam has nothing left to think or say or beg or anything.

He's just so damn tired.

Lucifer knows it, watches it happen as Sam's composure breaks apart completely, and almost takes pity on the one human he wouldn't give up for anything, on the masterpiece he labored over and molded after years and years of frantic struggling and precise violence and blooming kindness.

He knows Sam isn't subdued forever. No, it's always temporary.

But he savors these small victories where Sam can't quite settle inside his own skin and feels all the more rewarded by it.

_Sam, I know this all has been quite an adjustment. But you're doing so good. And I love you. No need to send yourself into a tizzy. Your throat is still raw from yesterday, I think. Should probably give it a rest._

Lucifer kisses the underside of Sam's neck, then slides his lips lower, sucks at Sam's collarbone on the just-revealed edges of skin before his shirt dips down, and then moves his arm. There's an open palm splayed against the small of Sam's back, and another arm moves so that there's closed fists rubbing circles around the zipped fly of Sam's jeans. And then Lucifer licks up the side of Sam's neck, barely applying pressure, before Sam is pressing a kiss to his lips again, still closed-lipped but with more force, and Lucifer doesn't force Sam's mouth open as he kisses back with the same chaste focus and gently walks Sam backwards over to the counter. 

_I won't hurt you, Sam. You're intoxicating. The only drug I ever need._

Sam's face is too flushed and too tight and too dry, but Sam forces himself not to respond to the things Lucifer is doing to him, even though he can't hide from it.

Lucifer hoists Sam up on the counter-top so that he's sitting, both legs splayed and crooked as they wrap around Lucifer's standing form, then ducks his head down and nudge's the too-tight, bunched fabric in between Sam's leg with the top of his head and his face. 

**Lucifer, I can't, it's too soon, please don't make me-** Sam's mind half sobs, half screams, and Lucifer straightens, and has his hands rub the top of Sam's thighs, just the fabric, the friction almost warming Sam up from the cold that's long since buried itself inside him.

_Shh, Sam, shh. Deep breathes. In. Hold it. Out. Keep going. Good._

"I'm not going to fuck you, Sam." Lucifer assures, lips popping over the one word that makes Sam want to play dead, and his voice sounds loud and rough against Sam's ears from the suddenness of it, and Sam flinches, but Lucifer grasps his hands and rubs his thumbs against Sam's palms as he looks up at him, reverent and absorbed. "But I am going to take care of you. So tell me what you need. You don't have to talk if you don't want to or if you can't. You can paint it or pray to me, whatever you like. But let me make you feel safe again, Sam. I want to feel warm again. I want you to seek me out."

And Sam does cry then, silent wracking sobs because anything loud could always garner an unsafe reaction, still surprised he has anything left to grieve.

 **I don't know how.** Sam wails, and his throat is just a lump that is hard and sharp and drenched like barbed wire mixed with acetone and wool. **I don't know how to not be afraid.**

"I know, Sammy. I know. But we'll figure something out." Lucifer sighs, but it's not a condemning noise, the opposite, every bit comforting and warm and Sam tries to hunch himself smaller to keep warm and pretend he can feel it. And then Lucifer fingers leave his hands and instead go to the underside of Sam's legs where his thigh meets his calves, and they knead and and pulse against the muscles and joints of Sam's legs as Sam tries not to fall over, his heels digging into the wood below the counter-top. He only succeeds in angling himself closer to the edge of the counter and would topple to the floor if not for Lucifer being in the way, pressed and immobile between Sam's legs as he kisses the underside of Sam's chin.

Lucifer's right hand moves and wipes some sweat from Sam's brow, and then he's hugging Sam again, one hand tilting Sam's head down where his neck meets his vertebrae, all while Lucifer lays his head against Sam's chest as he listens to Sam's heartbeat jolt against Sam's ribs. Despite everything, Sam feels like he's about to pitch forward and fall and tries to slide backwards out of instinct, but only succeeds in squirming against Lucifer more and sending more blood down to lower places he rather not.

"You want me to get you some blankets? Make you some hot food? Build us a small charcoal fire in the other room that we can cuddle up next to? Or you want to be near sand or outside in the sun, or by some trees, and get some fresh air? What will make you feel better, roomie?"

The tears stop falling because Sam has no more to give right now, but his face still itches and twitches, eyes tightly screwed shut while he tries to stop from careening into incoherence. Every part of him shakes more violently, Sam almost on the edge of convulsing but not quite.

**I want to get down, first. Please.**

"Okay, Bunk Buddy. Can do." And Lucifer lifts him up like it's nothing again and brings Sam back to the floor. Sam stumbles into Lucifer's arms and then hugs Lucifer even closer and tries to hide from the Archangel using his own damn body, because that's the only shield that ever helps. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and the thing that loves you most closer than that, because otherwise it will hunt you down and find you and drag you out from wherever you are hiding kicking and screaming while it laughs and buries itself inside your skin anyway.

"Now what do you need, Sam?" Lucifer huffs against Sam's temple.

Sam licks his chapped, split lips and finds his voice. It's still raspy and hoarse, as predicted. The words are Enochian.

"Want to sit in the sun." And then an idea hits Sam's mind like lightning, gives him a way to curl up and hide as best he can as he continues, "In a lawnchair with cushions. With heavy blankets and leftover fruit salad from the fridge and water."

"Anything else?"

Sam shakes his head and ducks, but then realizes he has to clarify, and he lets go of Lucifer, only to turn himself around so his side presses against Lucifer's body, and Sam's head still lolls on his shoulder.

"Sit with me." Sam tries to make it a question but it sounds more like glass in his throat.

Lucifer gives him an easy, tight-lipped smile, all the tension draining out of him with the immediacy of depressurization of a cabin after an airplane wing tears off. "Will do."

Lucifer lifts Sam up, one arm at Sam's back and the other under Sam's legs, like Sam is a bride, like Sam can't walk, because he might as well not be able to with all the adrenaline flooding his system.

Then Lucifer flies them both so they are outside in the sun, and thanks to the whiplash of his grace there's three weighted comforters between Sam and the Devil as Sam lays on him, knees to his chest and curled up into a ball with a bowl of mixed fruit and a spoon in his arms, half-cradled by the comforters. Sam closes his eyes and feels the sun on his face and feels the nonexistent swallow of Lucifer's throat as he tries to rest, tries to calm down because there's no choice, and he doesn't want to be afraid right now, fear does nothing to help now, when he can't get away...

Ten minutes later, Sam nibbles at the fruit, grapefruit and peaches and apples and raspberries and pineapple which burns against his throat, and thanks Lucifer for the tap water, no ice, although there is an icy hand-print on the glass where Lucifer gripped it, as he chugs it down in one gulp.

Sweat trickles down his brow, stray grown-out bangs pressing into Sam's forehead. He can still feel the chill of Lucifer leeching through, keeping him from overheating, and Sam almost feels like spring, still too hot but more warm, not burning, and not freezing out in the completeness of the empty artic cold Lucifer's been slowly filling him up with.

Lucifer remains relaxed, no coiled up tension except for the small bit never eradicated on his person, and that softens him, makes his body less bony and sharp, and he joins in when Sam starts to close his eyes and hums songs Lucifer taught him, and this time, Sam doesn't flinch, just tries to drift and not feel anything except the sun, except sweat, except the weave of the blankets, except the calloused nail-bitten hands in his own, and the stubble on his jawline, and the soft wings leaning on Sam's shoulders, not too tight and not too close, but equidistant, immobile as if Lucifer was motionless and dead. He smells pine needles from the forest, and mint and strawberries from the potted plants Eileen has been growing outside, and apples and ozone and brimstone from the angel whose arms are circling him.

Sam fakes that this is okay, because that will make it so, he will undo his own body wound so tight its a bear-trap with so much bite force it would break itself in half if sprung, and Lucifer whispers his words that aren't threats, aren't crude, aren't lecherous, aren't brutal, but are the opposite, more than kind and loving and gentle, and Sam lets himself be lulled by the hypnotic noise, from years of Jess and before the Cage and things meant to keep him from losing it in the Cage, because Lucifer never wanted to twist Sam, to make Sam forget, no, he wanted Sam to remember everything and to love him anyway and always, always be his-

When Lucifer kisses Sam, his heart still stutters into a wince, but eventually he just keeps breathing so deeply Sam almost can pretend he didn't do it, after all.

 **Can you tell me a story?** Sam finally asks. The sun has retreated behind a temporary cloud for the last five minutes, and he's colder now, shivering from cold and not fear, so Lucifer piles on five more blankets with a roll of his head while Lucifer's hands try to warm Sam up in a way that doesn't feel like an intended violation, layers and layers between them able to dull the feeling enough to stop Sam from feeling boxed in.

_What kind?_

**A safe one.**

Lucifer tilts his head and considers, while he notes the things Sam didn't add: One where you would never hurt me and I can pretend this is okay. Or one where everything worked out and all the pain was cast away.

He tells a story of when he first saw the stars being made. Sam always likes that one. Then he kisses the back of Sam's head and talks about the oceans and the planets and the cosmic entities that all collided to form their galaxy in the first place. And when Sam asks for something to try and remember how to not be afraid, he reminisces with Sam about the time they went kayaking, but frames it in a way that won't make Sam bleed internally from the memory irreparably.

Sam bleeds anyway, no way not to, but he likes to think he's already hemorrhaged out so badly, that's he's half-clotted from all the damage and ready to be sewed up and sent on his way.

It was 12:25 when they went out there. Dean finds them at 1:03 and Lucifer pulls up another chair at Sam's request, Dean sitting with them in silence because there is nothing else to be done. Adam is nowhere to be found, but Sam suspects he's off in the library again. When Dean first arrives, he mopes about there only being egg salad in the fridge, and everyone knows the unspoken words there, that he can't eat because it smells too much like sulfur, which Lucifer assures him that will change by tonight. Lucifer doesn't even bother to bait him once. He has Sam exactly where he wants him, and everyone knows it, and if this kind of almost-peaceful detente helps, then it helps. Dean listens as Lucifer resumes the story of some planet that rains glass somewhere, all of the Devil's attentions still laser-focused on Sam.

It's 2:30 when Cas, Jack, Rowena, Eileen, Mia, Bobby, Jody, Donna, Adam, and Kelly return together.

Jack flies up and immediately rushes over to greet Sam, and Lucifer kisses Sam by the edge of his ear before he helps him to his feet, and Sam holds Jack close, feels the bright warmth of his grace, like a heat lamp, like a heating pad, like a medical blanket you plug into a wall, and Jack is bright but not too bright, soft but not too soft, and Sam thinks he might be the only good thing Sam's ever made with Lucifer that will last, no thanks to the Devil himself or his methods of doing so.

Dean claps Sam's shoulder as they head back inside and talks about the Impala and how Adam is learning, because it's something safe, something Sam won't flinch from, because he has very little left to say.

Lucifer still sets the home videos on the television. Sam's long since prepared himself for the inevitable.

Jack might even like them. He's been shielded from the worst of the worst, and he doesn't know why Jess makes Sam hurt, hasn't a clue.

And once they get to 2010, some of the videos don't even have much of Lucifer in them. Some of them are just Jody, Ellen, Dean, Cas, Bobby, and Adam having a good time, although Sam and Lucifer show up and aren't anywhere near antagonistic. They all look so young. Except Cas and Lucifer. They look pretty much the same, albeit Lucifer's body is far more pristine now that it was back then.

No one mourns Adam, mostly because he's alive again, although Sam wonders if Adam mourns himself. He had wanted to go back to Heaven more than he wanted to be alive back then, and he got that wish. No one even blames him for what he did with Michael. Kid thought he was helping.

Sam buries the thoughts of the past as he lets Lucifer hold him close, and grounds himself in Nick because remembering Jess is worse.


	149. Say Amen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Panic! At the Disco

They get to the last tape. Static hisses across the TV-screen before Bobby's house is in full view.

\--

"And here we have the Devil in it's natural habitat, stalking it's prey," Gabriel's voice echoes, a whisper behind his custom add-ons to Sam's camcorder as he films Sam and Lucifer from behind the couch.

Cas scrunches his face on-screen as the camera fumbles, looking at Gabriel with reproach, then the camera ducks behind the couch as Sam and Lucifer both look at Gabriel and see the camera rolling, both of them glaring and protesting before Sam rolls his eyes. Lucifer envelopes Sam in his wings, still shooing Gabriel off.

"Little bro. Some privacy would be nice." Lucifer's voice calls, deadpan. "Don't make me kick your ass out."

Gabriel peeks the camera over the couch when they aren't looking. Sam and Lucifer kiss by the counter, Lucifer backing Sam into the fridge.

"No can do, Luci." Gabriel hollers. "I'm keeping this as evidence to hold over your head forever. Besides, we haven't seen the Devil on the prowl. The world needs to see the truth. Will Sam win him over on the next season of Bachelor? No one knows. But it's been 3 months, four days, six hours and thirty-five seconds since Luci's stopped going all Terminator, so there is hope for the star-crossed lovers. Let's see if the win streak holds up." 

"I don't think they appreciate your voyeuristic intentions." Cas says drily from next to him, and the camera looks back at the floor again, falling below the couch in the struggle the moment Cas tries to grab the camera away. Gabriel holds him off.

"Oh, stuff it, Cassie. You're just jealous tall stoic and handsome over there hasn't kissed you yet."

"That's what I said. They should just get a room and get off our mmph-" Lucifer yells over the couch, before he's cut off, presumably because Sam is kissing him again.

"Shut up, Lucifer. And Gabriel, just cut the damn footage." Sam hollers after a moment, "We're not on display."

"You'll never get me alive." Gabriel yells as Cas and Sam try to corner him, and he vaults over the couch and scampers away. "Besides, you'll thank me later. This will be great when you two get hitched. I can see the headlines now, tall lanky human brings reformed felon to heel, more at seven-"

Gabriel almost makes it... Until Lucifer flies right in the doorway he was going to try and make his escape from.

"Shit." Gabriel curses and stops his momentum just before he smacks face-first into his older brother's chest.

"I'm not going to ask again." Lucifer's mouth quirks as he holds his hand out.

Gabriel fakes him out and then throws Cas to the floor before leaping out a window.

The camera gets tossed over to Sam in the interim, the strap getting tangled over his arm, but he doesn't get a chance to turn it off before Dean, Ellen, and Bobby come running in at the noise, guns in hand, then visibly exhale when they see it's just the normal level of mayhem it's been the past month.

"What did I say about windows?" Bobby yells after him. "Damn angels."

Ellen pats Bobby's shoulder in sympathy.

Lucifer repairs it with a snap! And shakes his head.

"Gabe's never going to listen, you know." He turns to look at Bobby before redirecting his attentions back at Sam, ruffling his hair like he usually does.

"This is the third time he's tried catching us this week." Sam rubs his face and frowns.

Lucifer kisses his temple. "Jealousy." Lucifer assures quietly. "That and he's just happy some of us found some damn normalcy in all this. One of his brothers isn't gunning for the Apocalypse anymore. Pass out the flower crowns and champagne."

Lucifer throws up his hands in mock celebration.

Sam gives Lucifer a less-than-amused look.

"He's just trying to get blackmail on you." Cas sasses Lucifer, ruffling his wings.

Lucifer laughs. "Not that it's going to do him much good."

"Yeah. Well, maybe he'll send you a tape in five years when Sam's finally got you to calm the fuck down." Dean adds, then swigs more beer.

Jo slams the front door open, expression pure and utter panic.

"Sam, Dean, it's Adam-" She gasps, running in. "It's Michael-"

Everything goes to shit, all the dominoes that fell the first time falling exactly as Sam remembers it.

On the footage, Lucifer goes cold immediately.

\--

And this time, Sam's sees the expression he's always seen lurking underneath, the sight front and center the second Michael's name was said.

From the couch, everyone who was there at the time stiffens. Jack looks at everyone in confusion, Kelly holding him close and equally confused. The others who weren't there, Mia and Donna and Jody and everyone else who's huddled on the couch, just look around at the people who were there, then keep watching, because no one is allowed to leave, and there was not much else to do. 

Gabriel huddles inside his wings, looking at one empty spot on the table. He doesn't want to remember this, either.

Adam hugs himself and looks at nothing, not there at all.

Mary sees that, looks at Dean, then at Castiel and Gabriel, and, finally Sam, not knowing what to do.

Sam is watching the screen, breathless, arrested...

Lucifer looks at him, then down at his hands, then back at the screen. For once, he's not happy.

"You want to call it a day-" Lucifer says a bit too softly, as he turns and shifts so Sam isn't on top of his lap completely.

Sam stops him from rising. His hand clamps over Lucifer's sleeve.

"No. No, if we're watching this..." Sam answers, and his eyes are glassy, his face drawn. "We're seeing it through to the end."

**You can't go on pretending it didn't happen.**

_Sam, I'm not-_

**You already made me watch it all. No taking it back now.**

Sam drags Lucifer back over to him in the one thing he can have control over.

Cas covers his eyes. Dean hugs Cas close, both of them clutching each other's hands. Bobby looks like he's going to be sick, and swigs more beer. Jo covers her eyes and Ellen hugs her close, because they died the second time soon after this, and the memory is closer than they want it.

Jack keeps watching like he'll find answers here.

Because Sam and Lucifer had been happy. He'd seen it. He'd seen what it must have been like, before whatever happened made them so angry and sad and scared.

Something happened. Otherwise everyone wouldn't be like this.

\--

It all sounds very fuzzy and far away. But Sam still caught the whole thing on tape, didn't even notice the camera still dangling off his arm, because they all ran and then flew to get Adam, to fight off whatever happened close enough to Bobby but not close enough for them to pick up on it.

Only turns out...

Adam had said yes. On his own.

There wasn't any fixing that.

Raphael and Michael are waiting in the field in a middle of a deserted forest, miles from any civilization, followed by so many angels.

Lucifer and Sam get there with Gabriel, closer than the others, because something stops Dean, Cas, Bobby, Ellen, and Jo from breaching the wall of angels around the clearing. Dean yells something Sam can't make out but it is angry and wild. Angel blades glint, and there is a struggle, and large swathes of holy oil set aflame.

"We warned you. You can't put this off forever." Raphael warns Lucifer.

"Watch me." Lucifer snarls.

Lucifer, Sam, Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael argue. Gabriel wants to bail, but his older brothers and his one younger one won't let him. (In the present, Sam can understand their argument now, hears the Enochian clear as day. Cas translates under his breath to Dean and the rest when Jack looks at him, imploring.)

"Look, I'm just gonna go..." Gabriel tries to start off, but all his brothers give him a pointed look promising hurt (or, in Lucifer's case, a mix of promised hurt and still-stinging betrayal).

"No, Gabriel. You are as much involved as us, now. You stay." Michael directs.

Gabriel shuffles in place, not good at fighting his siblings. "I don't take orders from you."

"Or anyone." Raphael hisses, cricking his neck.

"Oh, shut it, Raff." Gabriel's hands ball into fists, and his mouth frowns. "You couldn't be more of an ass if you tried."

Michael and Lucifer stare each other down as their younger siblings argue.

"You left us alone, Gabriel. You left me alone." Raphael keeps talking. "You don't get to run from this family forever."

Gabriel is fuming, "Have you ever considered that's why I ran in the first place-"

"Let Adam go." Sam interrupts both of them, staring down Michael. He had no clue what they were saying at the time, but he still had one mission.

Gabriel and Raphael break off and stare at Sam staring down Michael and Lucifer staring down Michael and Michael staring at Sam like he'd like nothing more than to make him a bloody pile of jello.

"You don't deign to speak with him-" Raphael snarls at Sam in English, but Lucifer's eyes flash and his wings flare out.

He snarls at his brother, all teeth, ready to tear him apart, "You do not speak to my vessel."

"Perhaps not." Michael's tone is even. "But he is what we need to speak to you about."

He still doesn't so much as look at Lucifer. Just keeps staring Sam down like he's the vilest bug he's ever laid eyes on.

"Then get on with it." Lucifer matches Michael's volume but his tone is all acid.

Michael's voice rumbles, "You have used, manipulated, and experimented on your vessel to the point that it is more than an abomination. It is unworthy of life. It is a stain on Creation. You have cohabited with it, infested it, infected it with everything you are and altered its very makeup to the point he is not something our Father made anymore."

"Sam is not an it." Lucifer's jagged tone brooks no argument. "And you besmirch our Father's name. He is better than anything God could ever make. He is perfect. I didn't have to do anything. He just grew into all his glory on his own. I merely brought it all out."

"Fine." Michael accedes, but the bitterness lingers. "But he is still nothing, Lucifer. He is nothing but a broken, degenerate thing you have defiled."

"Sam is more beautiful and more kind and brighter and more alive and more resplendent than anything you will ever be." Lucifer snarls.

"All he is is your vessel to take. You can't fight God's plan, brother." Michael cuts in, expression showing nothing except an almost-sneer.

"I'm not fighting anything. He gave Sam to me. I'm taking everything Sam has to offer." Lucifer says, all pent up violence.

"Look, Mikey, Raff, Luci, let's just all take a step back to talk civil-" Gabriel tries to interject.

"No one asking you-" Raphael counters.

"You can't tell me what to do, Raff-" Gabriel hisses at him, wings out.

"You disowned us all, Gabriel. You might as well not be a part of this." Raphael yells. "And I am still your older brother-"

Lucifer talks over him, all danger, "Gabe, stay out of this if you know what is good for you-"

"You're siding with him." Michael joins in and turns to his second youngest brother. "Siding with Lucifer."

"I'm not siding with anyone. You're all bonkers, loco, take your fucking pick." Gabriel holds up his hands. "I bailed on all of you for a reason. You've all got sticks up your asses that you like hitting people with."

"Then why are you here, with them, Gabe?" Raphael accuses. "Why even bother?"

"Because they asked me to, very nicely." Gabe points back at Dean and Cas, who are still being prevented from entering their little discussion because of the wall of angels they can't get past, although not for lack of trying. "And because I wanted to see the truth. I wanted to see if Luci really was giving this a shot. Look, we all had a bad run, like, really bad, but he's doing better-"

"Lucifer never changes, brother. You know as well as I do." Michael reprimands. "This only ends one way. Besides, don't tell me you don't know what he's been doing while he pretends to change. Unless you do, in which case, your allegiance is clear."

Gabriel shifts uneasily at that, and looks to Lucifer, then back at Michael.

"Maybe not, but even if he's got screws loose and more than one complex, he's still trying more than you are," Gabe argues.

"I don't need to change, brother." Michael booms. "I'm doing what our Father asked of us. Not that you have any consideration for that."

"Earth to Michael, HE BAILED." Gabriel yells. "So maybe cut the crap."

"He only left because of him." Michael's wrath is a quiet, burning hatred only borne of raw emotions gone sour as he stares Lucifer down.

Lucifer hold up a hand, the entire area crackling with ice.

"Let's get to what really matters here. Business. Gabriel, Raphael. You are not part of this discussion. And Michael and I have some things to settle. So if you would kindly shut it-"

"Don't make me laugh. You both always do this-" Gabe starts to argue but then looks at Lucifer's expression and trails off, backing away.

"Lucifer-" Sam tries to interrupt, not knowing what's going on but knowing the way Lucifer is talking, but Lucifer just holds him closer.

"Sam, this isn't a debate. So unless you want me to fight them right now, I suggest you follow my lead-"

"No one invited him to be part of this discussion," Raphael interrupts as he addresses Sam.

Lucifer snarls at him, "I said: Don't. Fucking. Talk to him."

Michael holds Raphael back, and Raphael shuts up.

"Let Lucifer say his piece. What his tainted, repugnant vessel wants is of no consequence-"

"I beg to differ." Lucifer drawls.

Michael's tone doesn't change. "Lucifer, you are acting like a child-"

"No. I'm claiming what is mine, and you are trying to be the model son, like always, because that's all you care about. Even though dear old Dad ditched us. And you don't even know what he really wants. Gabe makes a decent point."

"This is the only time he is ever going to say that." Gabriel mutters.

"Look, I don't care about whatever this is. You two don't matter." Sam addresses Michael and Raphael. "There's no need for an Apocalypse any more. It's over. Just let Adam go and move on." Sam interrupts again.

Michael finally talks to him. "Your half brother said yes. And I intend to honor his request and conditions for inhabiting his body."

"Which are?" Sam asks. Lucifer regards Michael with suspicion.

"Sam Winchester, your brother saw your pain and wanted to ease it. That's why he said yes. There is no way Lucifer will ever give you what you are looking for. He cannot love you."

"He does-" Sam shouts, and Lucifer stops him from advancing on his elder brother.

"Just because he can love doesn't mean it doesn't come without a price. He is selfish and self-absorbed. You know that as well as I. His love is a curse, and it will destroy you just as it has destroyed everything else he's ever loved."

"That's a lie-" Lucifer hisses, holding Sam tighter.

"Lucifer, I loved you more than anything. You were my brother. You were the first thing I ever saw created after myself. And you loved me, loved our Father, more than anything. And your love only ever turns into hatred. It is inevitable."

"Michael, you deserved it, you turned your back on me-"

"Only after you turned your back on us all!" Michael loses his composure, all fire and fury, until he calms himself, Lucifer brimming with leashed retaliation as Michael turns back to Sam, and adds, "And even if you tried to stall this out a year, a decade, the Apocalypse will arrive. It is foretold. My brother isn't so patient, whatever you might think."

"Then why bother speeding it up? If it's destiny, which it isn't, only you keep pushing-"

"Do you really think Lucifer hasn't been doing anything to prepare for what is to come?"

"You don't give him a choice-"

"Then he hasn't been attacking my forces with his own? Or holding off on preparing to take over Heaven? Or stockpiling weapons? Or raising more demons and corrupting more human souls for his army? He might adhere to the letter of your agreement, Sam, and he might not kill humanity with his own two hands, but he does not honor the spirit of your prayer. He is preparing for war, participating, has been this entire time, and he knows this is coming just as well as I do. He wants to win. He won't. But he wants to. That is the only way he'll ever have you."

Sam looks at Lucifer, conflicted but not willing to give ground. He knows Lucifer is trying. He might not be holding up so well, but he is, he is-

"He's only doing that because of you." Sam finally answers, staring Michael down. "He's only doing it because he doesn't know what other options he has. He's scared of you. Scared of what you are going to do to him, and to us. And if you'd just let him rest, he would stop, he wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't he, Sam Winchester? Look me in the eye and tell me that you think he would ever suffer you to live freely in a world like this."

Sam doesn't answer.

"Whatever you know of the angel you claim to love, you haven't see or lived with him as long as I have. You don't know him like I do. And even if you did... He will destroy you from the inside out, if you keep going down this road. He hasn't given any of us a choice. He never will. That isn't going to change."

"You could have stood with me." Lucifer says, all quiet. "You could have acted like my brother, Michael. But you wrote me off. So if I don't give you choices... Doesn't matter. You don't get to take away Sam's in retaliation-"

"No, because that's your job, isn't it, little brother?"

"He chose me, Michael! And everything I have done was to protect Sam! From you, from Heaven, from our Father, from everyone who would ever hurt him-"

"You still deny it." Michael's voice finally loses composure. "All you have ever done is try to keep the one person who loves you, even though you deserve nothing, under your thumb. It does not matter if he'd rather love anything else and wants to protect everything else from you. You would sacrifice his freedom for your own gain the moment it serves you. And he would make that sacrifice. Only it would all be in vain, because you will sacrifice the lives of others and disavow the promises you made him eventually. That is all you know. And then it will all be for nothing. So, no, brother. You cannot protect him from who and what you are. You will hurt him. We all know it. You can't help yourself. You already have. And you always will."

"Maybe I have!" Lucifer's eyes show real pain, real fear, real sorrow, as he looks back at Sam, for once everything getting under his skin. He rasps. "But I can be better. I'm doing better, he told me-"

"Lucifer, don't listen to him, he doesn't know anything-" Sam chokes off, feeling too much of the waves Lucifer feels pulling him under.

"Michael, you're wrong. I won't do anything Sam wouldn't still love me for. I will never do anything he doesn't want. Everything I do is because I love him, he's the only person who ever really loved me, none of you ever did, not really-"

"We all know you are afraid, Lucifer. You can't love, not really, because you are only afraid of losing it. You have been afraid ever since you looked down at humanity and saw parts of them in you."

"That's enough!" Lucifer shouts, never letting go of Sam, and Sam holds on for dear life as Lucifer breaks into pieces. "I will not listen to this-"

"Face it, Lucifer. You are afraid of your vessel. Why else control him? Why else ask for his love and force the issue? You know it's the only way you will ever gain control over humanity like you crave. You want power over him, like you want power over everything, you don't love him for who he is, you only want to use him for what he does for you-"

"Stop it!" Sam yells, "Stop talking to him like that, you don't have the right-"

Lucifer talks, softly, at the same time, "You're wrong, brother. I love him. I love him more than the world, more than everything-"

"Then that is worse." Michael decrees. "Because if you loved him, really loved him, as I love our Father, then you would not be who you are. You would be incapable of doing what you have done. What you will do. And you will do it regardless."

Lucifer laughs. "I thought you would be happy that I finally found humanity worthy, even if it is just the one."

"It doesn't erase everything else, and quite frankly, I find it disturbing. You do not love Sam for himself, for his humanity. You love him because you want to remake him in your image. You love him for what he does for you. You love him because you want to spite us. You love him for the love he has for you, not true unselfish love where you give up everything as he has done for you, however stupidly-"

"That's a lie." Lucifer answers, eyes burning, voice raw. He holds on to Sam and doesn't let get and Sam almost feels like he might be crushed by accident. His wings are closer, pressing into Sam, cold and shivering and brimming with light.

"If we had never kicked you out of Heaven, Lucifer, you wouldn't give your vessel a second glance-" Michael scoffs.

"That's a lie." Lucifer repeats, and this time, the word is more hiss than coherent. "I love him for who he is. For what he might become. For everything he is and ever will be."

"And yet you will still betray him."

Lucifer goes dangerously silent and his face twists into an ugly expression promising bloodshed.

"I have not."

"You have, brother. You have the moment you promised you would love him unselfishly and made him hope for a future with you. Because you can never give him that. You don't have a future yourself. And you will, brother. You will continue to do so because that is all you ever do."

"If I win, if I kill you-"

"Even if something made our Father forsake us and let you triumph, Sam will never want the future you will give him. It is known."

"Sam is full of surprises. And I can learn. He can teach me." Lucifer counters, and Sam can feel him hoping, feel his desperation, both on the tape and in the present and it all aches inside his bones. "I can change."

"You haven't yet. And we all know... I know, you know..." Michael's voice rings out, "Sam knows that you are going to fail him. It is just who you are, Lucifer. And you will justify it, and you will control him, and you will take away his choices, all because you think you are right, and that's all that matters to you. It is all you ever do."

"Okay, I've had enough of the party Kool-Aid." Gabriel decides to interrupt, not having it. "Maybe Lucifer's an over-dramatic murder-happy diva. Maybe he's not the best person in the world. Maybe he's really fucking intense and scary and like that guy in The Shining only with more bloodshed. Maybe he's a pathological liar who believes his own malarky. But that's unfair. He's... He loves Sam. Even I can see that."

"His love is selfish." Michael answers.

"His love is real." Gabriel reproves.

"It doesn't mean Sam won't suffer for it. And Sam knows he will. We all know he will." Michael warns, and the area grows too hot, the grass starting to smoke, "He's just waiting for the inevitable as much as we all are, and hiding behind his human weakness to pretend everything is going to be fine. And it isn't."

"That's not for you to decide." Lucifer says, too soft, too gentle, and his eyes are cold, icy dead points fixed in the vast sea of space between them.

"No. You've already decided for him." Michael tilts his head and actually agrees. "Adam has seen it, too. He sees the pain you've inflicted. He sees how much you've already torn Sam apart. And he wants me to fix it. We all know this ends the same way. I kill Sam, and we fight, and our fated battle happens, and you both die. Or Sam says yes out of blind loyalty, and we fight, and you both die together. Or Sam waits and waits and keeps waiting and we fight. And you lose. And Sam loses any future he might have had with you and dies heartbroken anyway. One way or the other, you will fail."

"Or I kill you." Lucifer asserts, eyes narrow slits.

"Or I kill you. Or Dean kills you. Or Cas kills you. Or Gabriel kills you." Sam's voice is steel at the same time.

"Whoa, keep me out of this-" Gabriel murmurs, but Sam keeps going.

"Or anyone kills you and Raphael and all your forces. You're not special. You can die." Sam's voice is steel. "And when you do, we all walk away from this without you darkening our doorstep again. And we can move on, live our lives."

"And half the world still dies from the strife, and then Lucifer can destroy the world unopposed, with you lighting the way for him. That is not your wish, Sam Winchester." Michael answers without expression. "And my Father is with me. My Father wants me to fight my brother, and I shall, because it is ordained. You cannot run from it."

"I'm not running. But your future isn't certain. It never will be." Sam counters.

"It always has been. Always."

"No. My answer is and always will be no, and I will stop you. My brother will stop you."

"Your brother is no longer relevant to the future-"

Sam talks over him, heedless. "Lucifer will stop you, and he won't have to go along with this stupid Apocalypse to do it-"

"The only reason he is even hesitating is because of you, Sam. The moment you are brought low, he will do what he always does. He wants you too much to uphold his promise. You fall, and the world rights itself."

"Sam." Lucifer's voice is all pain, all quiet. Gentle.

Sam looks at Lucifer, and the hair on the back of his neck rises. "Sam, he isn't going to let this go. I have to protect you. I have to, I can't pretend-"

"Lucifer. Lucifer, look at me, please." And Sam is cradling his face, staring into blue and red overlaid eyes, so very close. "I told you. I told you, you don't have to play by their rules, you can get out, we can get out, we can be free, we just have to break the damn script, we can fight this-"

"Sam. They aren't going to let me."

"Try anyway." Sam starts crying.

"Sam-"

"You wanted to try. This is your moment. Say no, Lucifer. Throw it all back in their face. You have nothing to prove. You have me." 

**I know you can change, I know you want to, I know you need to heal, prove you meant it, prove to yourself that you can, fight for me by fighting for yourself-**

Lucifer just looks at Sam, nothing but tired and certain and afraid. "I can't risk you, Sam. I can't-"

"You have to. Lucifer, you have to-"

"I won't."

_Not at the price of losing you._

Then Sam is trying to talk Lucifer down, desperate.

"Lucifer, wait! Please. Don't listen to them, just walk away, we can just leave, this doesn't mean you have to do anything-" Sam pleads.

"Sam, there is no way we walk out of here without them trying to kill you until the end of time. Not until you say yes. So unless you want to say your goodbyes now and have me drag you down to Hell to keep you away from them forever, so you don't have to see what has to be done... No. I will not make you my prisoner, not unless there is no other option. I will win this. I have to win this, for your sake. This ends today." Lucifer's voice is rabid and wild, his wings out as he readies to fight for Sam. To fight for the end of the world again.

Gabriel continues to face off with Raphael, who edges closer, and then the Archangels burst over their vessels into their true forms. Cas shields Dean and Bobby and Gabriel flies over to shield Ellen and Jo as best they can.

And Lucifer stares down his brother again, jaw clenched, eyes burning, every particle of himself unfurling into fury and bloodshed and intent.

"Michael, if this is your ploy... I will fight you. I will stop you. Sam is mine. And you will not take him from me. I have nothing else to say."

"Lucifer, no-" Sam screams and tries to pull Lucifer back. Lucifer remains implacable and keeps Sam still in his arms.

Michael steps closer to Sam and Lucifer, deliberate and slow, and Lucifer keeps shielding Sam, goes in to fight his brother-

Raphael darts in from behind, holding his stave, while Michael and Lucifer engage each other, true forms biting and gnashing and clawing and screaming, all the noise welling around them like a horrible symphony.

Raphael strikes.

Then Sam is falling to the ground.

And Lucifer fucking loses it.

\--

Sam doesn't remember what happened very well after that himself, but the tape shows everything, whatever Gabriel having modified it with making the footage impervious to harm. It's worse seeing it, now. So much worse.

\--

So many angels burn up on an atomic level, the whole field catching fire from their wings and a blizzard icing all the trees over as Lucifer razes Michael's forces to the ground.

And Lucifer is holding on to Sam, screaming, trying to fly him away, trying to kill Michael and Raphael right there and then while trying to keep Sam alive, and Dean, Cas, Bobby, Ellen, and Jo try to stop this, to fight, to do anything, and Sam can hear Dean screaming Sam's name, but it's a complete bloodbath, and Gabriel flies them away when he finds an opening, and Raphael flees-

Lucifer destroys the entire surrounding area trying to get to Michael, not one of Michael's present forces left alive.

Sam is barely conscious in his arms. 

Michael stands there. Does nothing but wait, and yell at Lucifer, and Lucifer yells back, and the only difference this time is Sam can understand the Enochian now.

"I am doing what I must, brother. Either take your vessel as God intended or he will be barred from you forever."

"I will kill you for touching him-"

"I have no need for Sam Winchester to die. Sam Winchester is nothing. But he will either be in the game as intended, or he will be taken off the field. You insult your own station as an Archangel. You betrayed us, all of us, when you twisted humanity, when you defied our Father. And now you continue to defy God's will, for a human you claim to love?" And Michael holds out the weapon used to slowly sap Sam's life away, as an offering Lucifer must take, if he wants Sam to live. "We know what this is, brother. Make him say yes, or he will be erased."

And Lucifer takes it, unmakes the weapon slowly killing Sam right before his eyes, and with that opening, Michael wrenches Sam out of Lucifer's grip even though Lucifer is reaching for him and grabs hold and keeps holding on for dear life, and Sam's arm breaks and is so bloody from the carnage Lucifer wrought earlier that is slips right out of Lucifer's grip, and Lucifer's true form lets Sam's soul go against his will because Michael won't let him follow, because Sam's is already being pulled away on an atomic level, and not letting go would break him apart, and Lucifer's vessel is burning up more now that he exerted so much force, and now that Michael has a body of his own, a truer fitted vessel, he can outplay him-

Michael flies Sam up to Heaven.

Lucifer follows, prepared to burn the whole place down to get Sam back.

\--

The camera has been slung over Sam's arm the entire time, still going. It films his entire conversation with Raphael and Michael, alone, in Heaven, while Lucifer tries to tear it's very foundations down to the tiniest sliver. Heaven shakes on its foundations as they talk.

"You can't do this, he was getting better-" Sam rallies himself, all righteous fury. "He had a future, he was building something with our help, he was going to move on and you ruined everything-"

"You really are made for my brother, Sam Winchester. You lie just as well. And you believe it." Michael reproves, all passion turning back into dispossessed distance. "Not as deeply, though. You really are a creature of denial like my brother laments."

"Get away from me. Both of you." Sam snarls as Raphael restrains him, and the camera falls off his arm and gets stuck on Sam's belt, swinging, instead.

"I should cut out his tongue-" Raphael hisses back to his brother.

Michael doesn't allow it and waves Raphael off. They all can see the movement from the recording, as unfocused as it is.

Dismissed, Raphael leaves to rally the rest of Heaven against Lucifer, and the forgotten camera films Sam's conversation in the Garden with Michael.

\--

Lucifer watches it, even though he knows what happened from being inside Sam's head.

So does everyone else, completely sucked in, because they hadn't seen this before. It answers some things. Not enough.

\--

"My brother will come for you. But you will be gone by then, or him dead. This is his punishment for defying our father and perverting his purpose." Michael's voice answers Sam, and Sam only. He holds his own lance in his hand, keeps it vertical, and his own body still.

"Fuck you." Sam spits, and the camera sways wildly. "I'm going to kill you, I will-"

"Sam Winchester. My brother is going to kill your entire species. You can't afford to kill me. I'm the only option for their survival. And if your life is the price they pay..." Michael pauses and stares Sam down. "Then you will pay it."

"This is your fault-" Sam argues, not sure what else to do. The camera stills, only focusing on a large tree in the background beyond them. Their grainy voices are the only thing to hear, the sight constantly the same except for when Michael walks into the camera's line of vision.

"No, Sam Winchester. It is yours, yours alone." Michael paces as he speaks, hands laced behind his back. "My vessel disappointed me and became irrelevant... But you. You weren't content to sit things out. No, you had to reciprocate Lucifer's affections and grow attached. You let him do anything he liked to you. Let him have his way, make you into something less than human, not demon, not angel, not anything but a freakish atrocity, an eyesore on this earth and inside the firmament of Heaven, of all of God's creations. You sealed your own doom, Sam Winchester. You try to be something other than you are. You love my brother. You pray for him. You believe in him. And if he won, he would still tear you apart, because that's all he knows, and you would be foolish enough to let him. So listen closely. All you are is the skin my brother will die in." And Michael stills and glares at Sam, head tilted, nose turned up, like Sam is a virus, a tick, or just dust, nothing of value or note but universally hated. "Nothing less, and nothing more."

"You made Adam say yes under false pretenses. He'll fight you. He'll kick you out." Sam vows, praying. "Adam, Adam, I know you can hear me, I know you are in there, you have to fight him-"

"He can't hear you. And even if he could... Death is a kinder mercy than what would be your future if I did not intervene. Adam wants to save your soul, and your heart, and your planet, Sam Winchester. He wants to protect you from Lucifer and yourself. You said it best, I think. 'We'll just keep kicking this can down the road until we can't anymore.' I agree. So did Adam. You were already dead, Sam. You were bleeding out so slowly you didn't even feel it. But wounds always fester. Will grow septic, no matter how much you pretend otherwise. And eventually, you'd have been right where we are now, only worse, because Lucifer might have even convinced you he was right, and you would have believed him. He would have had you slay your own kind, your brother and your friends and your family, and made you think it right. This is a better end. More honest. Best not to let Lucifer make you into anything worse. Best to end this, quick and clean. Not draw out what will only be a slow and painful death."

"He wouldn't."

"Are you so sure?"

"He might have tried, once. But he wouldn't if you gave me more time, he was learning-"

"He was lying to you, Sam."

"No he's not, he isn't-"

"And you believe it because Lucifer wants to believe it, too."

Sam swallows, and can't stare Michael in the eye any more.

"Don't insult your own intelligence, even if you are nothing, Sam Winchester. You know my brother well enough to know I speak the truth. You just don't want to know, because you would rather pretend free will is real."

"It is." Sam rasps, so certain it hurts.

"No. It is all Fate. All slotted into place as my Father always envisioned." Michael tilts his head, his voice lowering, "You can't run from it, Sam. You can't break it."

"I can try." Sam answers, unbowed.

"Trying only to fail is a special kind of masochism." The camera sways as Sam jerks, and Michael's mouth quirks, but it's all in contempt.

"I don't care." Sam growls, all the words bursting out of him at once. "Lucifer is going to retrieve me and we're going to figure this out and I am going to change his mind, you'll see, except you won't, because we'll stop you, we'll lock you away or kill you and you won't ever hurt anyone again-"

"He thinks he is my brother, Sam. He can't kill me."

"And what does that make you?" Sam spits back.

"Lucifer isn't my brother anymore, Sam. He's long since become something else. That's why he'll fall." Michael stares out beyond the confines of Heaven, beyond Sam.

"Maybe he loves me more than you. Maybe he'll see what you are and think the same way." Sam snarls.

Michael walks closer to Sam until he's only inches away, lance to his throat. "Then you should be afraid, Sam. You should fear that most of all. But enough of this..."

Then the camera shifts, and Sam is being forced to his knees by the Archangel.

Sam's throat bobs, the lance level with his chest. Michael's face is dispassionate.

"Last words?" The Archangel asks.

Before Michael can kill him, there's a rumble and what looks like a rip through Heaven's sky.

The tape flickers and there's a haze of static over the screen before it keeps running.

\--

The last tape doesn't end there, though. Not like Sam thought it did, with a bright light and Lucifer helping him up and Michael gone. It goes on longer.

Sam had never watched the tape before this.

Didn't want to remember.

But even Sam watches, stricken, arrested, because he doesn't remember this, and everyone notices.

"What... What is this?" Sam asks, looking at Lucifer, who won't meet his eyes. "I don't... That didn't happen. I don't remember... Lucifer, did you know-"

And then Sam gets his answer, clear as day on Lucifer's face.

For once, he just looks tired and nervous.

Sam doesn't know what to think of that.

They keep watching.

\--

On the tape, something else, something burning and bright and angelic, unfurls above them in it's true form, wings red and white and laced with gold and silver, dripping tar.

It has a human heart and a human body and a human face that Sam can almost make out before it's inside Sam, and Sam catches Michael's lance in his hands, eyes glowing green.

"You shouldn't do that." Sam's mouth answers. Same cadence Sam normally has, same expressions, same body language except more tired and afraid and purposeful. Sam rips the lance from Michael's grip.

Sam doesn't know how it got inside him except he does, because he feels the soul there, feels himself, that's why he didn't need to say yes, because it's just him-

"Samael." Michael answers, eyes narrow. "You should not be here."

"But I am." Sam answers, rising. The wings remain out, a shadow blocking out too much light, although the red wings still glow, like magma. "Therefore I am warranted. Besides, you sent me back. I'm sure you felt it."

"Which I don't understand." Michael eyes Sam like he's actually dangerous, because he is. "Why would you come back? I am fixing this. I am doing you a favor, stopping this before it gets any worse. Before he does whatever it is Lucifer does to make you one of us."

"I thought you were all about Fate, Michael. You know how time travel works. It loops. So I can't let you kill me." Samael mocks, teeth drawn back. "And it's still Sam."

Sam picks up the camera and talks directly to the screen, like he knows the denial and fear and complete confusion everyone watching it is experiencing, because he's seen it.

"Look, I know this isn't going make a lot of sense, but we don't have a lot of time. Our plan is going to work. You don't have the plan yet, but you will... Look, you'll figure it out. We need to go back to the warehouse, there are answers there. Hasn't happened yet, but you'll know when." Sam starts. "And Gabriel, your plan works, but you haven't gotten the details right yet, you need to talk to Joshua-"

Lucifer flies into Heaven, not sure how he got in so quickly, and his vessel is burning out faster, damaged from earlier. He stares. He was helped along to breach Heaven's stronghold by echoes of icy grace the other Sam, Samael, recognizes too well, even if his own Lucifer hasn't shown his face or made his presence known yet.

"You aren't my Sam." Lucifer states, interrupting. His expression is blank, head tilted. "Not from the here and now."

"No. I'm not." Sam answers, expression filled with too many things to catalog.

"But you're him. You're alive." Lucifer breathes and lights up, smiling, eyes almost tearing up as he looks Sam up and down, reading the age there, seeing how long his life has spanned so far. "Not from this time, but still... You live."

"Don't act surprised." Sam accuses. "You've seen me before. Seen the tape, remember? I know what you say after this."

Lucifer holds up his hands. "I didn't want to contradict anything. I don't know what happens next, I haven't lived it..."

"No. You haven't. Which is why I'm here. Lucifer, sometimes being alive isn't enough." Sam answers, bitter, and keeps himself very still, and then his composure breaks and he's approaching Lucifer, begging, reaching, grasping, almost touching him but not quite, voice frantic and broken. "Lucifer, look. I know what you're going to do. And please, you have to listen to me, don't do this. Don't do what you are going to do. It ruins us. It ruins everything. Just let it go, find some way to heal, do anything but what you've been planning on. But don't do what you are going to, please, I can't forgive you for what you've done to me, to everyone, you don't even know, but you haven't done it yet, you can stop this, and I know you don't want what happens to happen, I've seen it-"

"That's Sam for you. Always being so... Sam." Another Lucifer cuts in, Future-Lucifer, still housed in Nick but radiating the echoes his true self in all his glory, the one Sam outside the tape recognizes, only his true form on the tape is more vast and more terrible and holding back more fury in his icy eyes than the one Sam knows now. It's his Lucifer, Lucifer after the Cage, after Jack, after this... "And you know that's not true, Sam. We have so much going for us in the future."

That Lucifer crosses his arms and looks way too at-ease.

"It's not worth the price." Samael argues. Future-Lucifer snaps, and Sam winces, only healing the vessel of his past self back so it isn't even pockmarked a single burns.

"You trying to convince them or me?" Future-Lucifer's lips curl as he gestures between themselves and their past selves and Michael.

On the tape, Michael and past-Lucifer stare at him. Michael looks affronted and on edge, while Future-And-Past Sam together hold out the Lance like he can ward him away, all the fear and hate and pain and love and violence coiled up inside him.

"You shouldn't exist." Michael starts in, disbelieving. "You should be dead..."

Future-Lucifer rolls his eyes. "Anything I say to correct you would be a redundancy, brother." Then he snaps, and Michael-inside-Adam collapses and is sent somewhere else. "But you'll keep up your faith in Dear Old Dad backing you until the end, even with this fiasco."

Past-Lucifer looks spooked and tries to pull Sam closer, to shield him, before he remembers just who is inside him and stops short.

"You shouldn't have followed me." Samael warns, feathers standing on end.

"I do I lot of things I shouldn't. And too bad. I did." Future-Lucifer says too brightly, and crosses his arms. "Can't have you doing something suicidal." He cups a hand of his mouth, addressing his past self. "Still haven't fully gotten him to stop doing that, unfortunately. But it's a lot harder for him to pull off, now." Lucifer gestures at Sam's self, then he turns his gaze back to Sam, gesturing, egging Sam on with a slight smile. "Well. Go on. Take a swing. You tried it already. Didn't take. But I'm all for letting you have another go. Not like we can settle this here all proper. Might break something permanently, and we wouldn't want that. Would unmake everyone you ever loved."

"I am not letting you make this our future." Sam hisses at him and doesn't advances, then gestures at Past-Lucifer. "He isn't _you_ yet."

"Maybe not. But he will be." Future-Lucifer eyes Sam with that same resigned expression, still full of fury all under the surface. "Sam. You won't alter the path we're on. You erase the past, you erase us, you erase everyone, me, you... Our son. Jack." The last bit is tacked on for Past-Lucifer's benefit, who just looks like he wants the answers but doesn't know what to do with them.

Sam inhales, eyes closing. Future-Lucifer has him caught, as usual. Or he thinks he does, and he knows what happens from the tape.

"We both know you aren't going to do that." Future-Lucifer's tone is a bit too sure, and he's not wrong, Sam knows it and opens his eyes. Future-Lucifer taps his foot, then catches Sam's expression. "You weren't ever going to change the past. Not really. I mean, sure, you're trying to make multiple contained loops that branch into each other to change things. Not delete us, or delete what happens, but to escape into the past with everyone from the future after you send it off in another direction. Artificial fourth-and-fifth dimension inosculation."

Sam looks resigned to the fact the plan is that obvious because of the methods used, but also beyond rebellious.

"Bit difficult to hide a master plan when you have photographic evidence." Lucifer says, a bit too kindly, as he puts his hands on his hips and stares at Sam. "And I can always follow you back. You know I will, Sam."

Sam's expression goes blank.

"But you keep on running away with your little soul train here. Nothing is going to change. I mean, you've already seen the damn tape, Sammy. We've seen how this goes." Then Lucifer looks directly at the camera and waves. "And you clearly wanted me to know all about it."

\--

And then Lucifer is looking out from the television at Sam in-the-now, and Sam's eyes go wide and he can't stop shaking.

Jack glances at their Lucifer, who doesn't look at anyone, just keeps his wings furled around himself.

Sam keeps staring at the screen in mounting horror, mouth open.

\--

Future-Lucifer turns back to Sam on the tape. "And when we head back home after your little detour, everything will figure itself out and this will all smooth over."

"That's what you think." Sam argues from inside his past-self, all fire.

"Don't be dense just to spite me." Lucifer whines, impatient, then ticks off his fingers. "First rules of time travel. Even if we did change something, we wouldn't know." Lucifer looks back on the tape, addressing the audience and illustrating by miming as he goes. "Time is like a tree, you can deviate course, but if something contradicts the future, it branches off and doesn't loop back, which breaks the chain... Like what happened with Balthazar and the Titanic. It deviates and then loops back to what it is supposed to be because if it doesn't, that whole branch dies because it can't propagate itself because the time travel never happened." Lucifer points as he talks at the camera, "Sort of like that future you saw, Dean. That one, you left Sam and stayed gone, so that didn't happen on this go-around. Might still exist in another loop we can't access, but it doesn't apply to us. Otherwise, you've visited the past, seen what happened with Mary when you tried to change that caboose. Nothing truly can be put off course. Once you set the board, it has to happen. Otherwise, we'd never show up. Still won't change the future. And uh, see, if past-me doesn't know what happens, our future still happens. Tell him, and the future still happens. Kind of a Catch-22."

On the tape, Sam looks more than unsettled and bit defeated, but he rallies anyway. "If you actually change, like you wanted to, for once in your life-"

Lucifer just eyes Sam like he's being difficult, but his tone is a bit too low and gentle and promising hurt. "Sam. Denial after the fact is more than stupid... It's willfully obtuse, and I'm tired of humoring you. If I don't do what I did, we never travel back here and this whole loop doesn't happen, so we never see it. The fact that we saw it means it all happens. One way, or another. And I'm not letting this go. We've got too much at stake."

"I want to talk to my Sam." Past-Lucifer interrupts, a wild look in his eye. "I want to talk to him right now."

Samael doesn't vacate his past self's body, but his eyes stop glowing green.

Past-Sam crumples to his knees and stares at everyone, flinching away when his Lucifer approaches him.

"Sam, are you alright-" Past-Lucifer asks quietly.

"You. You don't know what you did-" Sam chokes out, flinching away from him. The memory bleed-through has done a number on him, being so much at once.

Past-Lucifer stops in his tracks. "I haven't done it yet. Sam… Tell me what to do. I can stop this. Sam, what do I do?" Then he's begging. "Tell me what happens-"

Sam looks terrified and conflicted, and then Samael resurfaces, stands back to his feet, looking exhausted. "We can't do that." He says, very quiet.

"Why not?" Past-Lucifer demands, but it's with an edge of desperate, frantic fear, not anger.

Sam's expression turns into pure pain. "Because I know what you'll do if I tell you."

Past-Lucifer looks stricken. "Sam-"

Future-Lucifer sighs. "Wow. Really, Sam, you were right. One of me is enough. We were so stupid and young and in love these days. And you rubbed off on me so much when we were together. I can practically smell the denial from here." Future-Lucifer glares at his past self. "So very... human." Then Future-Lucifer is eyeing Sam appreciatively.

Past-Lucifer looks ready to fight. "Don't talk about Sam like that."

"It's true. Besides, he can take it." Future Lucifer counters, rolling his eyes and refocusing on himself. "And you don't know what he did, well, does-" Lucifer amends as an afterthought, tapping his face.

"I don't care!" Past-Lucifer argues, baring his teeth and wings out.

"You will." Future-Lucifer promises, not rising to the bait. His eyes are slits, and his voice a hiss.

"It doesn't matter. We failed him!" Past Lucifer rages, advancing closer. Sam flinches and back away. Past-Lucifer looks like someone stabbed him.

Future-Lucifer loses his cool, the ice crackling around him. "No. We didn't. But you will, if you don't get with the program."

Past-Lucifer actually looks terrified and ashamed and scared, but he steps in front of Sam to confront his future self. "He hates us." He says, pointing, looking back and forth between his future and past-and-future Sam inside his own skin, and then his voice breaks. "He's afraid of us."

Future-Lucifer completely loses the amiable veneer, only looking at his past self with disgust. "Small price to pay for keeping him alive and safe. And Sam still loves us. He even came back to give us another go." Lucifer glances at Samael, who's mouth bares into a bitter snarl. Future-Lucifer adds, adamant, "And we kept our promises."

"We promised never to lie to him, to trick him, to hurt him." The other Lucifer argues before Samael can counter that, and there's an edge of crazed despair there, too, like he's knows he's going to lose his own argument because he knows himself, then gestures at Sam. "We have."

He looks at his Sam, horrified, and Sam just looks at him, then closes his eyes, not contradicting him.

Future-Lucifer's tone brooks no argument as he advances. "What we promised was to protect him. And he's safe now. Safe from everything."

"Not us!" Past-Lucifer accuses.

"With one exception." Future-Lucifer gives himself a flat, dead stare. "Better us than the alternative."

Past-Lucifer fidgets, not meeting his own eyes, until the rage resurfaces again, sharp and jagged. "We were going to change-"

"Oh, grow up." Future-Lucifer snarls, advancing on himself now. Past-Lucifer grabs Sam and stumbles back, and Sam doesn't fight him, still not knowing what to do. Future-Lucifer keeps going. "You think we have a choice? We don't. You want to protect him? You want him to live? Then you make this play. This is the only option we have."

"We promised-" Past-Lucifer rallies beyond his shock, backing away, his hands shaking.

"Get used to it!" Lucifer bellows as he stares himself down, eyes wide, nostrils flared, chest heaving, then reigns himself in, and his tone lowers, words hissing out, fervent and faster and frenzied. "You think we didn't try to fix this? You tried, after he came back, don't tell me you don't remember it. And we tried all those other times past this point. I tried, again and again and again. We always tried so hard for him. But this is the only way he lives and is truly safe from everything. I know. I’ve lived it!" Future-Lucifer's voice breaks, and there is something broken, something equally desperate there, and he keeps going, "We gave him everything! And he threw it back in our face, because he's human, and he loves us, and he doesn't mean to, but he doesn't know any better. But he will. We have time, now. We have a future. And everything will work out."

"After what you did to me-" Samael accuses, advancing.

Future-Lucifer turns on him, vicious.

"You made your choices, Sam. I made mine. Don't act like you didn't force my hand, or have a part in making it have to be this way. But we have a life now. And if you would just stop living in the past-"

"Some life-" Samael hisses, grabbing him by the throat. His Lucifer stares him down.

Future-Lucifer voice turns dangerous and soft. "Is it, Sam? You stop the Apocalypse. I let you. We start a family. I bring the people you love back. We have our life, we have our son, we have the whole damn universe at our fingertips. And no one is going to stand in our way. Not even you. And not me, either." Future-Lucifer's true voice rumbles, full of promise, and splays one hand against Sam's heart, because even as an Archangel, that's still there. "So tell me, Sam. Why is this not a sacrifice you are willing to make?"

"You know why." Samael hisses back at him, pulling away. His eyes never leave his Lucifer, until he turns back to Past-Lucifer. "Don't do it. Don't listen to yourself. For once in your life, don't ruin your own chances, don’t go down this road, don’t turn into him-"

“I’ll do whatever I have to.” Future-Lucifer's voice interrupts, a bit too cutting in its softness. "And I am happy, Sammy. You could be, too, if you let yourself."

"Stop talking." Samael yells as he wheels around to face him, pain clear as day.

"Sam." Past-Lucifer cuts in. Samael jerks and turns back to look at him, refocusing. "It's too late for me."

Sam stares like he saw it coming, but didn't want to believe it.

Past-Lucifer reels Sam closer and holds the tip of the Michael's lance up against his own chest, still clutched in Sam's hands. "But I don't want to take your choices away. I never wanted that."

"Oh, because that's going to solve anything." Future-Lucifer is all fury again. "You're worse than me, you know that? You think this will all be solved with human ideas and human feelings and human illusions of choice because you love Sam. Only guess what? You're wrong."

Past-Lucifer doesn't engage, and neither he nor Sam speak.

Sam doesn't move and just stares at him until he closes his eyes, and he almost moves, and then he chokes off and almost stumbles to his knees as his eyes flash and both his past and present self can't do it, even though they've seen everything that happens afterwards. This Lucifer hasn’t become what he is.

Nonetheless, Future-Lucifer doesn't move behind him. He knows what happens.

Sam licks his lips, hands shaking, and then he jerks and turns his head and angles the point of Michael's lance to the ground. His eyes swim.

"I told you, Sam." Future-Lucifer's voice carries. "You chose this."

Sam's voice is a wavering snarl, but he doesn't turn around this time. "Go to Hell."

Past-Lucifer reaches his breaking point. He looks at his future like he's only seeing himself clearly for the first time. "I know what I am. What we are. I know I'll do it. But I can't do this to him, and if this is the only way to give Sam back his choices-"

Past-Lucifer grabs the lance out of Sam's hand and aims it at himself.

Future-Lucifer does move, then, closer and closer. "So that's your solution? Erase the future, erase our life we made, just because you don't like getting your hands dirty, what needs to be done? I don't believe you! Wake up! We don't get choices! And you know what? Michael was right about one thing! We're angels. We don't get free will. Not when it counts. Dear Old Dad gave us a fucking script to follow, and even when we try to fight it, everyone keeps standing in the fucking way! And now, when we finally have a chance to stop that, because we do, we fight, we win, we get to make our own script after this... You just want to give up? You just want to lose Sam and leave him to the wolves?"

"He needs us, he trusts us, he loves us-" Lucifer argues, but he knows he's fighting a losing battle.

"And we don't do anything he doesn't agree to or deserve or that he can't handle! He's fine." Future-Lucifer insists.

"No he isn’t!" Past-Lucifer argues.

"Maybe he’s not all there yet." Future-Lucifer concedes, "But he will be! I'll make sure! For fuck's sake, we have all the rest of eternity to make it up to him! Just like he can make up for everything he did to us! Goes both ways!" Future-Lucifer yells, "Get a grip! You know what we promised? We promised him he would live, and that no one else would touch him! That trumps the rest of it, because as long as he's alive, as long as we're taking care of him, nothing else can go wrong. We can fix the rest later." Future-Lucifer snarls. "So I intend to uphold that promise. And so are you. Or are you going to abandon him now? Because that's all that will happen. You let him kill you, or you try to kill us, and Michael kills him. Or all the other things waiting out there that he hasn't woken up yet will! Why do you think we went down this road?"

Past-Lucifer looks at him like he's lost something already, then looks at his feet, wings slumped, and turns back to Sam's future, his voice very soft. "You go back further, you know. More than once." He admits, then stares at Sam openly.

Sam looks like despair is ready to overtake him and still doesn't move. "Lucifer, don't listen to him. This is the only second chance you’re going to get."

Past-Lucifer stares back at him. "I can't risk you, Sam. I can't."

Future-Lucifer gaze darts at him again, then licks his lips. His tone evens out. "Earth to Sam. You've got a timer on the whole time warp extravaganza. So if you don't want to be late, I suggest you get a move on." Then Lucifer's gaze turns too-knowing. "I've already lived it, remember?"

"You won't win this." Samael promises, expression turning feral. Then he vacates his own body, true form unfurling like the Future-Lucifer's did, both of them hazy on the footage in comparison, their full glory unable to be conveyed through the tape and that protects everyone's eyes. Samael, still Sam, is all Archangel except for the parts that aren't, that are undeniably human, and flies into the glowing rip beyond the camera's scope of vision, Michael's lance clattering to the ground of Eden.

Past-Sam falls to his knees and starts dry heaving, too many memories overwhelming him at once.

It's just Past-Sam and Past-Lucifer and the Future-Lucifer they don't want to acknowledge.

Future-Lucifer says after Samael has left, very quiet. "I already have."

Past-Lucifer looks dead inside.

Sam doesn't look at him.

Future-Lucifer walks over to his past self, for once not looking anything but honest. “You always wanted the answers. Now we have them.”

Past-Lucifer stumbles back. “I can’t-”

“Are you going to let your weakness condemn Sam to death?” Future-Lucifer asks, voice deepening.

“Don’t!” Sam scrambles to his feet and runs in front of Lucifer’s future self, lance in hand. “Don’t touch him. He’s not you.”

Future-Lucifer stares at him with undisguised fondness. “Sam.”

Past-Lucifer steps in front of his Sam, voice low. “He doesn’t want this-”

“Sam doesn’t know what he needs.” Future-Lucifer corrects. “Even you can agree with that. And we will fix this. I know we will.”

“You haven’t.” Past-Lucifer accuses.

“We have time. Sam is as safe as he’ll ever be from where I’m standing. The grass is greener on the other side.”

Sam finds his voice. “Lucifer, you don’t know what he’s done-”

“But he will.” Future-Lucifer corrects. "I will."

And Sam freezes when he meets his gaze.

Future-Lucifer holds up a hand to his own forehead and gives his memories over to his past.

Past-Lucifer doesn’t look at anything but his own hands.

"I… I can still fix this," He says, looking at his own Sam, stepping forward. “I… I can do anything else. It doesn’t… It won’t be like this.” He doesn’t sound convincing, not even to himself.

Sam scrambles away from him, because he knows that look, knows Lucifer, knows they are well and truly fucked now, that he was wrong for hoping this would ever not end badly…

"No. Lucifer, don't-" Past-Sam begs and tries to run, but he's grabbed by his Lucifer anyway.

His Lucifer hauls him to his feet, gentle, and not exactly sorry. Sam struggles until two fingers hit Sam's forehead, and he falls unconscious, forced to forget this whole exchange.

Future-Lucifer stares himself down. “Knew you’d make the right choice.”

Past-Lucifer only looks at Sam, and licks his lips. “It’s… It’s not going to happen. Sam… Sam won’t do it. He won’t. He’ll say yes, and… He won’t do it. We can take care of ourselves and he’ll be happy and… And everything will be fine. You won’t matter, then.”

Future-Lucifer shakes his head. “You want to live that way… Suit yourself. But you’ll see. You’ll get used to it. And you’ll still become me. It’s the only way."

"I don't want to remember this. He can't know. I... I don't want to know..." Past-Lucifer asserts, staring himself down.

Future-Lucifer smiles at him. "Even if we hide it from ourselves, it won't change it. But I'll let you keep the the important bits. Nothing else." Future-Lucifer waves a hand, wiping parts of his own past-self's memories of it all. "Still. I know you’ll make the right choices, when the time comes.” Future-Lucifer steps forward and puts the camcorder in Lucifer’s hands. “You’ll see things my way in the end. You love Sam as much as I do. You'll do what needs to be done.”

Then Future-Lucifer flies back through the rift he exited to whatever future he came from.

This Lucifer pockets the device and rubs a hand over his face like he is well and truly terrified.

He wakes Sam up immediately after, not willing to linger in Heaven while vulnerable. “Sam. Sammy.”

“Lucifer… What happened?” Sam asks, and then he’s staring back at him, frantic. “What happened to everyone else? Adam-”

“Dean and everyone are fine. As for Adam…” He glances at where Michael had been and isn't anymore. “There’s nothing we can do. Not now. But Sam, I need to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Lucifer-”

Lucifer holds Sam up in his arms, hands cupping his face and wings wrapped around him, true form bleeding through. “Sam, do you trust me when I say I’m not going to let anything happen to you?”

Sam nods, not following. “Lucifer, if this is about me being stabbed and abducted-”

Lucifer closes his eyes and looks exhausted. His eyes open again as he stares, like he’s memorizing Sam’s face. “Sam… There’s something you need to know.”

“Lucifer, you’re scaring me-”

“Sam. If… Hypothetically, if… If this goes wrong. Would you be able to forgive me? As long as I loved you and made it up to you-”

“Lucifer, if this is about the Apocalypse and possession and you killing everyone-” Sam starts in, wary.

“Sam, listen! If I somehow had information that there was one way for us to get out of this together, and if I can promise you stop this Apocalypse and that I won’t kill everyone… And that in the end, everyone you consider family is alive and we get what we wanted, what we’ve been trying to hold on to, even if we both have to make sacrifices… Would you forgive me for what I had to do to get us there? For doing what I have to do, to protect you?”

“Lucifer, you aren’t making sense-” Sam answers, stammering, face scrunching in alarm.

“Sam. Would you forgive me?” Lucifer is adamant and inconsolable.

Sam remains thrown and wary, then asks, slowly, “If no one is dead? If there’s no Apocalypse? Lucifer, why wouldn’t I?”

"You promise?" Lucifer whispers. "You promise you won't hate me?"

"Lucifer... I don't... If you don't destroy the world, if everyone's alive... Why would I hate you?"

Lucifer looks like he’s going to cry as he hugs Sam close. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Lucifer-” Sam tries to look at him but Lucifer just holds him tighter.

“It doesn’t matter. Let’s… We need to get out of here. Okay? I need… I need you to be safe. And Bobby’s… Bobby’s isn’t safe, not anymore-” Lucifer starts talking to himself.

Realization breaks over Sam too quickly, and he tries to free himself. “Lucifer, no! No, you aren’t taking me to Hell-”

Lucifer flies away, Sam still struggling in his arms.

\--

The tape cuts out with a hiss of static and nothing else.

Everyone is silent and shell-shocked.

And slowly, ever so slowly, Sam turns to stare at Lucifer, all the rage and pain and hate and everything alight in every particle of his being.

"You son of a bitch." Sam breathes, and then he's tackling Lucifer and tries to tear him apart. He snarls in Enochian, "YOU SON OF A BITCH-"

The glass of the TV shattered and the paint starts peeling off the walls and Lucifer lets himself be pummeled into the floor.

**You knew. You knew what would happen and what you did to me and everyone and you did it anyway and you are still doing it and you knew-**

_Sam. You had to find out sometime._

'WHAT DO YOU DO TO ME?" Sam demands, voice raw as he tries to rip Lucifer limb from limb. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!"

"You transformed yourself, Sam. You did that all on your own!" Lucifer answers in kind, trying to keep Sam still.

"YOU-" Sam screams, and then he's seizing, and Lucifer's grace is infecting every inch of him, and Sam recovers, still choking, still screaming, "HOW COULD YOU DO ANY OF IT?" And then he's sobbing, "How could you?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Lucifer whispers, too quiet. For once, his face isn't angry. It's just alien, all archangel, and all Sam sees is how lost and broken and afraid Lucifer always is along with all the want and possessiveness and sheer intensity that's always tied to Sam, just Sam, like Sam belongs to him.

Sam hates him more than he ever has in his entire life.

**I will end you.**

Lucifer's mood shifts on a dime, and then it's all want and fury and need.

"WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO? YOU THINK IT WAS EASY? YOU THINK I WANTED WHAT HAPPENED TO HAPPEN THE WAY IT DID? YOU THINK I WANTED TO BE THROWN BACK IN THE CAGE? YOU THINK I WANTED TO LET YOU THROW US IN?" Then Lucifer is holding Sam arms and rolling them over and pushing Sam against the floor, pinning Sam down, words ringing in his ears and grace screaming all around him, tearing everything apart, and everyone else struggles to get out of the line of fire, terrified of the pure maelstrom that is Lucifer out of control. "I TRIED TO CHANGE IT! BUT YOU JUST DID WHAT YOU DID, AND YOU THREW EVERYTHING I WOULD GIVE YOU AWAY, AND YOU LOCKED US UP, AND THEN..."

Then he shifts, hands smoothly over the sides of Sam's head as Lucifer continues, too softly, "I thought you would say yes and you would see things clearly, that we would work it all out. I thought we had fixed things then, that it had changed, that we would be fine, Sam. I wanted us to be fine. And then you tried to throw me out, and locked us up, and it all happened the same way... But I forgave you." And then he keeps shaking, Sam still struggling, as he forces himself to calm down. His grace shuts Sam up and holds Sam down like a straitjacket, fingers clasped around Sam's jaw. "Sam. Listen. When I got out, those times you couldn't keep track of me before and after we dealt with the Darkness? What do you think I was doing, Sam, when I wasn't inhabiting a vessel or when I was doing all those rituals? I tried to change things, I tried to find any other solutions, to get you to give me other options, I tried to see if there was any way to go back and change things. But everything I found all led to you not being safe, and nothing changed, and things kept going wrong, and you kept doing everything I knew you would, and there aren't any other options, and I wasn't going to lose you, and I knew how this would end-"

"Exactly! You knew how this would go." Sam yells as Lucifer's smothering grace withdraws itself. "You knew and you did it anyway!"

**You knew what you would do to me-**

"It was the only way! Are you really complaining, Sam?" Lucifer accuses, holding out an arm as he forces his voice to remain level, although it still wavers. "Look what we have. I brought them back, we have our life, we have Jack-"

"Just because I won't give them up, just because I love them and wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. You don't get to use them against me! They aren't an excuse! It doesn't justify what you did, it doesn't justify any of it-" Sam answers, so overcome he can't say anything else.

Lucifer eyes blaze, and he adds, "I did it for us," And then his voice chokes out, "I did it for you."

"No. No, you didn't." Sam yells, still trying to rip him apart. "You did it for yourself."

That sends Lucifer over the edge.

"You promised you would forgive me!" Lucifer hisses. "You promised-"

**Because you made me. In the Cage, you made me, you didn't make it a choice. This is on you.**

The lights burst, and the stove sets itself on fire, and the earth shakes.

Sam screams, "You knew what you would do to me and you did everything you did to me and you enjoyed it." Sam chokes off, too overcome to say anything else, all the memories of everything that's ever been done to him and all the fear of what has yet to be done to him bringing him under all over again.

Lucifer backhands Sam, hard enough so his nose bleeds, and Nick's wedding ring leaves a mark as Sam flinches, and Jack yells something but Lucifer throws everyone back, keeps them pinned by the pinions of his many wings, cutting off their air and their words.

Lucifer true form wavers over himself, bright and unforgiving and terrible.

"Sam. You ungrateful... I did this to save you from yourself." Lucifer snarls. "I did this to save us."

Sam spits blood in his face and stares him down.

**No, you lying, selfish-**

_Look in the mirror. We could have been happy if you just said yes and took me up on my offer and you didn't, Sam. You tried to make me leave._

Lucifer eyes flash red. "It was nothing you didn't deserve. You made me do it, Sammy. You forced us down this road the moment you threw us into Hell. And don't pretend like I didn't make you feel all the good as well as the bad. I gave you everything, Sam, and you will take everything I fucking offer you or so help me-"

"I'll kill you, I will rip your fucking heart out-" Sam finally chokes out.

Lucifer's true voice bleeds though. "You didn't give me a choice, Sam. I did what I had to do."

"I won't forgive you." Sam snarls, still fighting Lucifer off. "I won't ever forgive you."

**You're the one whose seen the future.**

Then Lucifer looks at him, the same ugly look Sam knows from the Cage, eyes slits, nostrils flaring.

"Yes, you will. I know you will. You know why? Because you're mine. You will always be mine." And then Lucifer is hauling Sam to his feet, backing him into the wall, hands around his throat. "It might take a few hundred years, might take a thousand, but after this all blows over... I think we'll have moved on. I know it. And you had it coming, Sam, for what you decided to do to us. This is all on you."

And Lucifer flies Sam away, somewhere no one can track down.

Everyone just stares at each other as they are released, not knowing what to do.


	150. Paradise Circus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by massive attack
> 
> also pretty sure this never got finished or added on to but it was gonna lead into the house being turned into a mini icebox with sam being tortured like in the cage and Jack intervening and things going south if I remember my initial plans

Dean wakes up to the sound of Priscilla howling bloody murder and trying to claw the door down. Jack has flown in with her, Cas holding him close and Gabriel nearby, Jack inconsolable and almost incoherent because he can't get to Sam and he doesn't know what's going on and Priscilla can't, either, and he can feel Lucifer all the way from here and it's terrifying him and he knows something happened but isn't sure what.

Dean goes to leave the room, but Cas gives him a look like he's just noticed something and gives him a look of pure fear and stops him. He opens the door and holds a hand out. The very air is so cold it makes the skin flake over his vessel and shrivel and flash-freeze. So no leaving their rooms, then.

The entire hallway is covered in ice four inches thick and the air fogs from the heat drafting from the bedroom.

Cas goes and flies into everyone else's rooms, which are insulated from the cold as well, but everyone's all still trapped.

Dean isn't sure what it means, but the look on Castiel's face tells him something is more than just wrong. It's bad.

Really bad.

Cas doesn't answer and flies to get Bobby, Mary, Kelly, Charlie, Kevin, Rowena, Jo, Ellen, Adam, and even John.

"Cas... What's happening?" Dean's voice is raw. He's afraid, so damn afraid.

Cas doesn't meet his eyes, but his shoulders are hunched and his eyes are wide and his wings are almost visible against his own attempts to keep control.

He doesn't say anything back.

Dean walks forward and looks him head on, clutching his shoulders.

"Cas. Please..." Dean begs.

Castiel looks at him, and Dean almost sees the grief and the pain and the complete failure on the echo of Castiel's true form.

"Dean..." Castiel's voice is barely controlled, and everyone flinches and claps their ears at the first layer of his true voice bleeding through, and Cas winces and can't say anything else.

Gabriel shifts, heals everyone. Everyone looks at him, at the glinting almost-outline of his own neon bright blue wings, so different from his brothers'. Like midday, the sky with no clouds.

Dean finds himself focusing on that, despite it all, because he can't quite reign in his heartbeats of his sweaty palms or the feeling of impending disaster he knows already has set in.

Castiel's are a dusky charcoal laced with iridescent multi-color undertones. Dean's seen them, thanks to Sam's help (the Singing and the Sigils) and a convenient spell they used sometime after Chuck healed Castiel back to full capacity, no more injured wings. Dean had always wanted to see them without burning out.

Michael's are white and gold-tipped and gleaming, but have long since been ripped and torn and broken into shreds (even worse than the fallen angels and Gadreel's, who Dean has seen from behind the protective canopy of Castiel's own wings, because there is always a transparency there before they fully manifest). Dean remembers that, from the one time Michael showed him his true form and settled inside his skin.

Sam had mentioned Lucifer's were pale pink, before. Dean doesn't remember the context, only that he had scoffed, at the time, because he was overhearing some talk of dawn and a poem or something extra schmaltzy not directed at him, because it was when Lucifer was living at Bobby's and pretending to be everything he never was. Dean didn't laugh later, not after Sam stared at one pink sunrise one morning and was catatonic for a whole week some time after his Wall came down. 

Jack's are green and silver. Dean heard Sam, Mary, and Lucifer talking about it once.

Gabriel's voice is quiet and serious, for once, and Dean finds he can't quite make out the words well, like there was a sudden altitude shift and his ears haven't popped. He tries to read lips and doesn't like what he sees there, either.

"Don't go downstairs." Is all the youngest Archangel says. There's fear there, a rolling in the whites of his vessel's eyes, and a fear in the bright blue they can see below the surface. Gabriel's true face, hidden but still able to show echoes, like angels seldom do except under extreme pressure or emotional strain.

"What's happened to Dad?" Jack demands, eyes glowing gold, and then he's shaky and crying again. "What's happened?"

"Jack..." Cas chokes.

"Tell me." Jack compels.

Gabriel knocks Cas out before he can be forced to say anything, and Dean catches him, too shocked to do anything else.

"You don't want to know, Jack." Gabriel answers. "Sam wouldn't want you to know."

Jack cries harder.

Dean doesn't even want to know what that kid picked up on from his own grace.

Cas comes to.

"Maybe I can stop him-" Jack answers, hands rustling through his hair.

"You can't." Cas says. "Jack, Lucifer isn't going to respond to anyone or anything-"

"I'm his son-"

"And I'm his closest brother, and Sam is... Look, kid. How to put this...?" Gabriel tries, struggling to give an answer that will work. "Lucifer is so far gone right now, he'd just as likely hurt you without even registering it. He's not stable right now. He's... Sam's his one and only focus right now. And you don't want to walk in that. There's a reason we're locked up and not able to get out. I can't even get out, and I'm an Archangel."

But Jack is still looking like he's going to try, and they can't let him...

"Cas. Take me to my brother." Dean demands.


	151. Hotel California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goes before playing with fire but after time is running out
> 
> chapter title a song by the eagles

Everyone is seated at the table piled with food like Thanksgiving, or as Lucifer had joked earlier, some Americanized parody of The Last Supper, a joint celebration that’s “meant to bring us all together,” as part of a way to, “usher in of a new era where everyone works together, one way or another.” Or some other bull.

_Who do you think you are, in this scenario, Sam? Jesus or Judas? I may have the Apostles, and you might have the status as betrayer… Although, I’m more likely to kiss you, you’re not really one for initiating. What do you think?_

There’s a pig along with turkey, friends and demons and humans and angels and witches and monsters alike, like some especially unhappy extended family reunion. Lucifer isn’t present yet, is off going to get fetch Jack, Kelly, Bobby, Donna, and Jody while they wait for the rest of the “guests” to arrive.

And it’s all too much for Sam then, the sight too much like something else not-different-enough that Lucifer created for Sam in the Cage. It all floods back with a vengeance.

There’s a red light illuminating everything and lightning, always lightning, a rumble as it streaks across the void that lies halfway beyond the kitchen. Maggots and worms and mold are squirming, half-ingesting the pig head and the apples and the turkey and the potatoes and the cranberry sauce, all while swarms of flies and centipedes and other crawling things glut themselves over the table. Hooks chime, chains dangling in the distance, going up and up and up until they disappear into the gloom of a dark ceiling, no end forthcoming. Screams from the distant vestiges of Hell keep on screaming as blood pours out of the walls, seeping down its sides, copious and red and streaking, and Sam’s bleeding too, there’s blood on his hands and staining his shirt all over his stomach and chest…

Sam backs into the wall.

Only Sam isn’t the only one who leaps back, this time.

Dean is white-knuckled, has lurched out of the chair without a thought, breathing heavily, eyes wild as he looks at Sam before his eyes go far away. One hand presses into the counter to keep himself upright, because that’s still there, the kitchen is almost the same save for its additional redecorations, and Dean knows those screams and those chains and that light. One muscle in Dean’s palm shakes, like he’s gripping a blade he’s forgotten isn’t there.

Castiel stares at Dean before he jumps up and starts talking softly as he clutches his shoulder in a frantic but forced serenity in an attempt to calm Dean down.

John isn’t faring much better. He has a faraway look in his eye, and his jaw tenses as he remains immobile. His hands shake.

Mary is clutching his shoulder, face white, eyes wide. She starts smoking as Sam looks at her and then Sam looks away, anywhere else.

Gabriel folds his wings over himself and hides. Rowena is muttering some spell as if it might do anything (it doesn’t, because nothing has changed, it’s just Sam, all Sam, projecting his thoughts and hallucinations like they’re real, but even though Sam’s knows it, they all know, there’s no way to stop it).

Sam’s eyes track movement as Bela nearly falls out of her chair. Jesse tries to help her up, but she flinches away.

Everyone else pushes back in their chairs in reverse, but are otherwise less affected when compared to those who have been to Hell and back already.

Crowley looks mildly disturbed but otherwise not too bothered, because it’s not Hell that scares him. No, it’s Sam.

Or maybe Lucifer, now that he’s flown back in, no passengers in tow because he was mid-flight en route to get them when Sam lost it. He stands inches away, always too close but not enough.

“Sam, I could hear you praying for me from a thousand miles off, what- Oh.” Lucifer, for once, stops talking, his tone growing too soft and tender.

_Oh, Sam. Look at you._

Lucifer motions, and now there’s a bucket in front of Sam, right on time.

Sam collapses to his knees and retches up his guts. Lucifer cleans him off with a wave, Sam still trembling.

And Sam can feel how pleased Lucifer is, his too bright and cold Grace sings with it, even as Lucifer’s wings wrap around him and he whispers a few comforting words as he holds Sam’s hair back.

“There, I got you, kiddo.” The whorls of Nick’s hands weave tighter into Sam’s hair. Sam tries to focus on that, tries to center himself on something physical, something real, even if it is Lucifer, but he can’t stop shaking and there’s only one solution to stopping this and he doesn’t want to pay that price.

_You really do crash and burn without me._

Lucifer's hands are always cold, like brain-freeze as fingertips make contact with his scalp.

Sam looks up from the floor, still tasting bile.

Lilith looks impressed for once and regards Sam with curiosity. “Just like home.”

Azazel keeps staring at Sam and starts clapping.

Abaddon whistles.

Cain is silent, as is Meg, who is looking at the table intently, although not with the same disinterest as Ramiel. Dagon sits back and enjoys the show.

Lucifer's other hand is cradling Sam's cheek now. A muscle in Sam's arm twitches.

“I have to say, I haven’t seen that kind of psychic projection in anyone else. Maybe you should get a raise.” Asmodeus’ smug, southern lilt projects as yellow eyes glance at Azazel's own.

“Please. Mary’s the one who should get all the credit.” Azazel deflects as he looks back over to her. Mary looks ready to leap across the table and strangle him. She lunges over and makes it halfway before Lilith throws her back with a wave.

“Wow.” Ruby mouths.

Alastair keeps his eyes on Dean and winks.

And Sam is angry then, so angry, it rises up in his chest and burns-

Sam's left arm lurches out and twists.

Alastair is pressed against the counter by the sink as he bleeds out black smoke, both screaming and laughing.

Sam wrenches himself out of Lucifer's grip and rises to his feet. He slams into Ruby, grabs her knife she reclaimed and stabs her even as one arm is still out and Alastair burns out into nothing.

Sam is a whirlwind, puncturing and stabbing and hacking and snarling and tearing out throats with his teeth until all the princes and knights and the Devil's lackeys of Hell are dead all over again. Crowley is the only demon left alive on the other side of the table, because he isn't Lucifer's, never will be.

Sam looks up, back at the table, panting, can feel the splatter of blood all over his face. Sam didn't swallow any of it down.

It's quiet.

But Sam's heart never stops beating too fast. It's too hot, Sam is burning up, sweat dripping down his brow, lips cracked and dry-

The hallucination shudders for a second, on and off and on and off again.

Everyone is staring, wordless.

Sam meets Dean's eyes, then Castiel's.

Then Lucifer's, because he can feel him staring back, promising something Sam doesn't want to see.

The room shifts into something else, into the Cage without any modifications, into the motel Sam once hid in alone, into the warehouse in Georgia, into his apartment with Jess-

Sam tears himself away, tears streaming down his face. He runs out the door as fast as his feet will carry him. 

Ice follows behind.

\--

"Sam?" Dean's voice rolls over Sam like it usually does once he catches up to him, a bit more shaken than usual. His voice is hoarse. "Sammy?"

Sam can feel Castiel and Dean crouching over him. There's a hand on his shoulder. It's warm even through the shirt.

Sam stays curled up on the ground, on the grass, on the outside, not a room, not a prison, not a Cage-

It's cold and started to rain, but when it reaches Sam's radius of about thirty feet, it turns to sleet and lightning.

Sam keeps hugging his arms to his knees and keeps his face pressed into the dirt.

It smells like dewdrops and pine needles and mud, almost like another day so very long ago.

He can feel other footsteps against the ground now. Not theirs. The hand recedes.

"Stay b-" Dean stutters out. He doesn't finish. Castiel's protests don't, either.

Sam doesn't know why they've gone quiet but he can guess.

"Sam." Lucifer's voice breaks like seafoam on rocks.

"No." Sam says. He doesn't know what language. He doesn't know what words are right now.

"Look, Sam, you can't keep going like this," Lucifer wheedles. His grace is too gentle. He feels it caressing him, too gentle and light and kind and that scares him the most.

"No." Sam repeats. He presses closer to the ground.

"Sam, you know what you have to do to make this stop." And it's Lucifer crouched over him now, a hand in his hair again. "You need me. Let me help."

"No."

"Sammy."

"No." Sam's one word is a broken sob. 

**You did this to me and you loved me and you did this and I hate you.**

_I know you don't, Sam. Just like I don't hate you. You just need rest._

"No." Sam chokes.

"Oh, Sam. You never know how to take care of yourself properly. But I do. Always have." And then there's a hand moving Sam's face from the dirt, a sleeve wiping the mud off, and then wings wrapping around Sam's entire body and there's a few fingers being lightly pressed into Sam's lips and they are wet with the smell of stardust and ozone and Sam can't open his mouth because he knows-

**No. I said no.**

_I heard you just fine, Sam._

Sam opens his eyes.

The area feels warm again, no rain or wind. Cas and Dean are on the ground, slash marks torn across them. Dean is wheezing, silent and bleeding from too-sharp wingtips. They aren't dead. Just wounded. Lucifer keeps their air cut off. Like gasping fish.

Sam doesn't see outside anymore.

Only the room, the warehouse.

Just Lucifer's hand held out in front of Sam's face, dripping blood.

There's a mouth nuzzling Sam's ear. Arms and legs hugging him into Lucifer's chest.

"C'mon, Sam. Drink up."

**No.**

_Sammy._

**It doesn't matter. You make me relive everything all over again one way or another, I'm just your prisoner every single day-**

_You can't be a prisoner if you want it._

**I don't-**

_You do, Sam. You can't lie. You may hate me, but you still love me. And you still feel it, all of it, no matter what I do to you. It's a marvel, Sam, everything that you are. And you chose this. You decided to throw us in the Cage. You chose me, for better or worse, for forever. What would you even do if I was gone, Sam? You still want me. You would miss me. You wouldn't know what to do if I was really gone. It would destroy you. But have no fear, Sammy. I'm not giving you up. You're mine. I own you, every part of you, until the end of everything. Why does that scare you, Sam? Getting out was never an option. You know that._ _And when you get down to it, when push comes to shove, you say yes when it really matters, every single time. So don't fool yourself, Sam. You want me. You need me. You love me. And I am going to make you feel it again and again and again._

**If you love someone, you let them go.**

_What do you call it when someone holds you close and tells you they will never leave you but that this is how it has to be? That's what you did, Sam. You didn't let me go. You took my freedom away, Sam, even though I know you love me more than you can bear. Why would I do anything less than the same?_

Sam has no answer.

Lucifer snaps! And Dean and Cas are healed and sent away, leaving just the two of them. 

Ice coats the entire clearing, creeping slowly out, hunting the blades of grass down like a disease. Otherwise, Sam doesn't feel any grace except that which immediately surrounds Lucifer, like incorporeal skin.

The cold hurts Sam's lungs.

But Sam's insides feel like the surface of the sun. He wants to shut down, but he's wired too tightly.

Has too much squeezing around his heart.

"I postponed tonight. Figured you needed a few days to recuperate." Lucifer starts, nonchalant.

**No.**

Then Sam feels cold legs hugging around his own as his head is guided upwards by the other hand. His body is pressed lower, so he's under Lucifer's chin by a few inches.

Sam's neck strains, his pulse jumping as Lucifer makes eye contact. Lucifer bites down on his own lip until it bleeds.

The bloody hand cupped over Sam's mouth moves downwards, past his sternum, past his ribs, past his navel, undoes his belt-

It slips lower. Sam shivers.

One thumb barely makes contact.

The skin is cold. The blood is colder.

The thumb rubs circles as it closes around him.

Lucifer's other arm moves from Sam's neck and wraps over his chest to keep Sam from jerking out of his grip. Sam doesn't have the strength to break free even if he wanted to try. That hand slips under Sam's shirt, too, and starts stroking wherever it pleases.

Blood drips over Sam's lips and into his mouth as Lucifer kisses him. His tongue barely applies pressure.

Sam swallows. The hallucinations fade, because Lucifer's grace is inside him again, from the blood. It banishes the imprints of memories as it forces Sam to live in the present, numbing his brain into every immediate feeling Lucifer wants him to feel.

Reality crashes down. Sam smells grass and dirt and ice.

The other hand slides. The movement is stilted, sudden, uneven.

Lucifer takes his time. 

Sam is so drained he doesn't feel anything but exhausted and that too-physical need he can't control. There is no room for anything else.

Sam can't even cry. There are no more tears left.

"You know, you really are magnificent. Such a sight to see." Lucifer talks, as if it's nothing, as if he isn't breaking Sam apart like he always does. Sam knows he means it. He always means it. That's what hurts most. "Especially covered in other people's blood. It's such a turn on. Do you remember those days? All the things I did while I was inside you? I know you do. I know you miss it, the way it felt when I was with you every step of the way. Fuck. You're so beautiful. Why do you have to do this to me? It's cruel, Sam. The things you make me do to you. There so much of the universe I can control, and all I want is to take you and fuck you senseless all the time. It's torture, Sam. You're just so fucking perfect... And I fit so well inside you, as much as you fit inside me, no matter the occasion. But that can wait. We have time."

Sam gasps and tenses and tries to squirm to make him pick up the damn pace.

He doesn't.

Lucifer just keeps whispering and keeps kissing Sam in between, long and slow and patient. The ridge of his still zipped-jeans rocks into against Sam's bare skin as he grinds against him, just enough to feel but not enough to do anything else. Sam couldn't drown Lucifer's voice out if he tried.

"This might be hard to believe, Sammy, but I really am grateful for you deciding to keep your body for yourself. I know that's hard to consider, with everything that's happened. But I can't do this when I'm in the same skin as you. Well, I can. It's not the same. I can't watch you from outside yourself, all those beautiful little reactions and sensations you give me. And after all these years, I've grown used to seeing you like this, Sam. I built a life with you like this. Eons and eons old, and the last few thousand or so are all I need. And you know what? It was worth it. You saying no. Because I still won. And you got what you wanted. Thank you, Sam. We couldn't have gotten this far without you."

_Now what do you say, Sam? Tell me what you need._

**Nothing. I want nothing.**

_Then this is working for you, Sammy? Don't worry. I'll keep going._

Sam chokes back a sobbing whine and screws his eyes shut from the release that doesn't come. Lips press against his forehead.

_I know you don't always know what's good for you, but something tells me you're not quite feeling it. You sure this is what you want?_

**Drop dead.**

_Oh, so you want me to take the lead. I can do that. But you gotta work for it, Sammy. Now tell me, what do you say?_

**Get fucked.**

_That's your job. Come on, Sam. I just want to hear the words._

Lucifer bites a little as he kisses Sam's lips again. The pads of Lucifer's fingers are softly circling, massaging, keeping Sam's skin covered in goosebumps. Sam is so full of pain and hate and need that it hurts.

**Thank you.**

_Not those, Sam._

**I want you. I love you. I'm yours and I'll never leave.**

_Not those either, Sammy. I'll give you a hint. It's one word, four letters._

Sam inhales as the pressure increases.

**More?**

_Is that a question I'm hearing, Sam?_

**More.**

_Again, Sam. This time with feeling._

**More. I need more. I need you, Lucifer.**

_Now we're talking._ _If didn't know better, I'd say you drew this out on purpose. Not that I'm complaining._

And then Lucifer's hand jerks faster, still applies uneven pressure, sometimes circles, and Sam wants to scream but he can't make it make sound because the hand that was against his chest is around his throat, strangling the noise.

_Now, you want this, Sam? You going to shine for me?_

**Yes.** Sam's choking breaths gasp in and out too fast to get enough air.

_There we go. Is this enough?_

**No.**

Sam feels the press of grace, and then he opens his eyes to stare at Lucifer's, who look back. He's not quite smiling.

_What else, Sam? I want to hear you sing._

**Fuck me. I need you to fuck me like you mean it.**

_All in good time. Last thoughts?_

**I deserve this.**

_Why, Sam?_

**Because I was made for you. And I chose this. And you're mine.**

_That's right, Sam. That's absolutely right._

And then Lucifer gives Sam release. Lets go. Rises, turns Sam around and pushes him on his knees. Holds him in place, one fist in his hair and hand around his chin, like he prefers.

There's the sound of jeans unzipping. 

Sam doesn't fight. Tries to cooperate as best he can. He knows what he's in for, and the less he struggles, the sooner this ends.

Lucifer fucks Sam's mouth raw. Then he heals him.

Sam swallows. He tries not to taste it, but it all burns on his tongue and combines with the iron taste of Sam's own blood, anyway.

Quick as lightning, Lucifer flies them to a motel room. Sam only knows because he's seen the decor before, catches a glimpse a second before his head is pressed into the pillow and Lucifer preps the both of them.

Icy breaths huff at the back of Sam's neck as all the layers between them are stripped away.

Lucifer fucks him for three days straight without stopping. 

Sam passes out twice from sheer exhaustion. Both times, Lucifer brings him to and heals the worst of it. Then he keeps going until Sam breaks down and tells him everything he wants to hear.

The Devil is silent the entire time.

Afterwards, Lucifer licks and sucks Sam clean before he washes him up underneath the looming shadow of the showerhead. He's not quiet anymore, no, he's as vocal as ever. Sam tucks his head against Lucifer's chin, still trembling. At one point he loses it and claws at the glass walls, but Lucifer grabs him. Talks Sam down. Heals him. Stops him from streaking more blood on the door.

Lucifer keeps holding Sam hostage, lays right next to him, for another whole night. Not fucking him. Just holding him there, skin to skin. Looking at Sam, drinking in the sight of him as he runs his fingers over his handiwork. Sam twitches and doesn't stop shivering, although his muscles are starting to give out.

Sam is pretty sure Lucifer murdered everyone in the hotel earlier in the week. It's been too quiet, except for Sam.

That and there's a bloodstain seeping from outside the door. Sam has stared at it for a long time, since the shades are down and there's not much else to see.

"Why?" Sam manages to ask, voice a whisper.

"Why what, Sam?" Lucifer asks. He keeps tracing Sam's jawline.

The air smells like blood and ice and sweat and the sickly-sweet scent of death and slow decay.

"Why did you do it?" Sam leans against Lucifer's chest because recoiling won't end well. He can pretend he's safe now. He can. "What did I do?"

Lucifer puffs out some air. "I wasn't punishing you, Sam. I was just taking everything you have to offer." He says. Then he shifts them both to press a kiss to Sam's lips, and adds, "You're just so good, Sammy. So fucking good. You were just begging for me to do it. Your whole body was crying out for it. Still is, really."

Lucifer's hands caress Sam's skin with more force as the weight of his body presses closer. "And you prayed for me, Sam. Really prayed, and of your own volition, too. I just... couldn't contain myself."

Sam curls into himself more, and Lucifer eases off. One hand lightly strokes the inside of Sam's thigh.

"Well, that," Lucifer adds, thoughtful, "And then you said no."

Lucifer presses another kiss to Sam's lips, which fall open at the flick of Lucifer's tongue. Lucifer just keeps going, open-mouthed and sucking like he wants to be the only element Sam will ever breathe in. A pointer finger trails down Sam's throat, down the line of his sternum and past his ribs, until it makes its way all the way down between his legs.

Sam winces. The kiss breaks off.

Lucifer turns Sam around so his back is to him again. One elbow curves against Sam's throat. His grace sings.

_Pray for me, will you?_

He's much more gentle, this time. 

Sam buckles at every stroke once the Devil pushes inside.

**Lucifer-**

_Is that a yes, you will, Sammy?_

**Yes, Lucifer, please-** Sam's prayers are a thin whine humming between them.

Lucifer inhales. All the while, the pads of Lucifer's fingers constantly stroke each and every bruise he's left.

Sam shudders at every point of contact.

_You have no idea how much I miss you, Sam, even while we're like this, even when I'm inside you. You're killing me slowly, kiddo._

Sam's throat bobs against Lucifer's bicep. Then Lucifer's arms reach around, his hands grasping before they settle their grip, curled fingers alternately stroking and twisting.

**Lucifer-**

Sam's body remains loose, his muscles and nerves like heated taffy, having been strung up so tight for so long it's all collapsed over itself. Lucifer capitalizes on the opportunity and keeps going, deliberate and tender.

Sam's mouth moans, the sound low and hoarse and scratchy because he doesn't have strength to scream.

"Shh, Sammy. Shh. I'm here. I've got you." Lucifer hisses. He presses in deeper, still stroking and keeping up an even pace. Lucifer's true form and body stay combined, overlaid perfectly.

Sam closes his eyes as gilded brightness starts to glow against the pillows and sheets.

Sam feels wings press him closer to the mattress, and the imprint of the light shines against his eyelids as Lucifer's true form spills out. Nick's physical form only curls tighter around him, his heels digging in to Sam's shins.

Sam's voice gives out just as his prayers dwindle into incoherence.

There's a chin nuzzling closer. It grazes Sam's neck, and he starts, his head tilting, as Lucifer kisses him full on the mouth again.

This time, he doesn't stops kissing Sam the entire way through.

Lucifer doesn't end it, not until Sam's teeth are ringing in his skull and starbursts swim across his eyelids and after his tear-ducts are so used they can't leak fluid.

It's only once Sam is overcome, after Sam's throat cries out a thin rasp and says all the things his lips and tongue don't have the physical ability to speak anymore, that Lucifer relents.

_You're all mine, Sam, mine forever. And you are going to feel, and embrace, and rejoice in every second of it for the rest of eternity. Understand me?_

Deep, deep down, Sam dredges up the last reserves of fight left in him.

 **Go. To. Hell.** Sam heaves out, barely cognizant.

Lucifer isn't pleased by that. No, he isn't pleased at all.

\--

When Sam is once again cleaned up and flown back, Jack and Cas and Dean and Kelly and Rowena and Bobby are waiting for him. They all hug him once they realize it's okay to do so, and drag him away from Lucifer anyway they can manage without setting him off. They can see the bruises and scratches Lucifer didn't bother to heal, still fresh and visible.

They sting and throb and Sam picks at them and he can't stand on second of it.

Lucifer allows Sam to be herded away with a crooked smile and waves them off. Tells Sam to have a good time. Promises he'll see him later tonight.

There isn't anything to say to that. (Only the plan to take him down that's still nowhere near close to completion. That's the only thing Sam is holding on to, at this point. Riding out the safety bar be damned.)

Jack takes them on a picnic at the ocean. Packs extra blankets and a mixtape he made with Cas and Dean.

Sam goes swimming. Let's the salt wash over him, feels it stinging over his every wound, but doesn't care.

They all build sandcastles and eat sandwiches and discuss new cases and pretend everything is fine while they wait for the rest of the plan to fall into place.

They watch the sunset. It's red. The clouds are puffy.

Sam can see so many stars. Jack lists them off for him. The constellations.

After that, it all catches up to him.

Sam tries not to cry and hides in the Impala an hour before they have to leave the beach.

\--

Lucifer doesn't fuck him that night. He just holds Sam's naked form close to his chest under the covers as he murmurs. His grace never stops humming.

Sam's wrist nearly lose circulation from how tight Lucifer's fists grip them, so much so that Nick's wedding band has dug in and made an impression.

Lucifer nips a little as he kisses Sam's open mouth, then shifts and presses one chaste kiss to each of Sam's closed eyelids.

Sam ignores the blue staring back at him, ignores their eyelashes fluttering against each other, ignores the ice airbrushed on his cheekbones and lashes and face by long, exhaled breaths, as he curls up and tries to sleep.

Fails.

_Have something you'd like to say?_

**I love you.**

"Goodnight." Sam rasps. He stares at walls that used to be his own. They aren't, not anymore.

The Devil gives a sharp nod of his head and keeps his face buried in Sam's hair for the rest of the night.

_Sleep well, buddy. I've be right here if you need me._

Sam drifts off at some point despite himself.

He's too worn and tired not to.


	152. The Way You Used To Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some S7E10 dialogue is used because Bobby and death and his own childhood, also I've named Bobby's mom Marilyn.  
> Chapter title a song by Queens of the Stone Age.

Looking back on it, coming back to life isn't exactly what Bobby expected it to be. Especially after being a vengeful spirit, then trapped in Hell, then ferried up to Heaven by Sam, and then jail-breaking Heaven temporarily only to have Lucifer suddenly be in charge and bringing him back to life.

You shouldn't be able to bring back burned bodies. The fact Lucifer can scares the ever-living daylights out of him.

Nonetheless, post-resurrection, Bobby's sure of three things: his love for his boys, his determination to what he can to make this right, and the fact his wife was still tucked away in Heaven and his father was still somewhere burning in Hell, where he belonged. Bobby doesn't know what happened to his mother. He's not quite sure he wants to know, even if he both pitied and blamed her for messes she never knew how to escape.

But Bobby sure as Hell can see how Lucifer has dragged Sam into a similar dynamic, and how Sam is fighting that, tooth and nail, in a way Bobby's mother never fought for herself or him.

Bobby is proud, sure. But he's more heartbroken and furious. He's seen just how Lucifer turned out, before and after, even if most of what he was before remained a lie.

Sam, of all people, should never have to face this. And Sam is just as scared as he was raising his own kids, of turning into John or Dean, only more, too, because Bobby never had to contend with the one he loved latching on and being an abusive, violent, manipulative asshat.

If Bobby could, if it would do anything, he'd shoot Lucifer in the head, like Dean did once, if it meant Sam got free.

But they no assassination attempts have succeeded and their weapons are, for the majority, entirely useless, and as things are, all it would do is make Lucifer hurt Sam in retaliation, because Sam prefers it when he's hurt and the others are spared. When that happens, Bobby and Dean and Cas and Mary can only look at each other in their uselessness as Jack stares them down, accusatory, when Sam is once again taken away from him...

And they can't quite be repeat offenders. People learn their place real fast when Lucifer wants them to.

They are all stuck just watching it all unfold. Bobby does what he can, like the others attempt to, all of them having their own roles. He helps Sam patch himself up and keeps an eye on Jack and makes things right when Sam isn't able, even if Sam hadn't begged him for help when things got to be too much. Sam is lost, Bobby can tell. He's navigating a minefield only he and Cas know well, and it takes up most of his energy, if parenting itself wasn't hard enough, and Sam doesn't know how to protect anyone aside from using himself as a buffer.

So every morning when he sees him, Bobby gives him the biggest, gentlest bearhug he can and feels his heart stutter in his chest and when he does, Bobby's hands go clammy, because they both know placating the Devil has a pricetag Sam should have never had to pay, and because he can't protect Sam from this, no matter how much he wants to.

Bobby looks after Jack in the meantime with Cas and Kelly and Dean and the others. He'll do right by Sam's son, by his grandson-by-proxy, just as he knows Sam has, even if Sam thinks he's too broken now to ever do this right.

Bobby makes sure to tell him otherwise.

He can see where Sam has achieved what he never thought he could, just like Bobby beat the odds raising his boys, boys that were more his than John's, by now.

He still remembers their last proper conversation. A phone one, remote and distant, before John took Sam and Dean away.

“No, we didn't shoot rifles, as a matter of fact. We threw a ball around." Bobby had said.

 _"That's not-"_ John's voice had been more than heated, low as it hissed across the iffy phone signal in whatever beat up nowhere place hunting had drawn him to in Oklahoma.

"He's a kid, John. They both are. They're entitled." Bobby had answered, matter-of-fact.

_"You don't get to make that call. You are not their Father, you-"_

"Yeah, I know I ain't their dad.” But Bobby remembers thinking: _But I was still better at it than you._

Because seeing that look on Dean's face that day, seeing how Sam was free with Bobby that week he stayed alone...

Bobby wouldn't trade any of that. Not for anything in the world.

He just wished they could have that load lifted off them by their own family, if John had been a better person and not the one he was.

\--

“Hey, Bobby, where are we going?” Dean had asked, eyeing the field like it was suspicious.

“Well, Dean, where's it look like?” He had answered, patting Dean lightly on the back before rummaging through the bag. 

“Dad says I'm supposed to practice with the double-barrel.” Dean replied, challenging, although he looked more guilty and nervous from knowing how John got about not practicing.

“Well, we're gonna skip the guns today. Here.” Bobby answered, handing him the baseball mitt. Eight-year old Dean took it, albeit dubiously, although he couldn't hide some relief and excitement behind his eyes. You could see it how he perched on the balls of his feet, how he relaxed, ever so minutely-

“Today... you're gonna throw a ball around, just like a regular snot-nosed little jerk.” Bobby added.

Nowadays, John avoids him until he can't, and more often than not, Mary draws Bobby into their fights until he puts his foot down.

Bobby doesn't regret being part of it, even if he hates that they've lost sight of what matters.

Their sons may be older than them and wiser in some ways, thanks to Hell, but that doesn't mean they leave them to the wolves.

\--

**Roughly One Year Earlier**

Waking up from what's supposed to be death is a lot like the inverse of dying. Everything happens in reverse.

And there's a reason for that, really. Particularly in Bobby's case.

Brain damage isn't a joke, and Lucifer isn't chancing him coming back wrong when, for all his idiosyncrasies, Bobby really was one of the few lesser annoyances on Lucifer's list. I mean, sure, he killed him, but that wasn't really personal. Back then, that was just a last ditch effort to keep Sam with him, because if Sam had nothing to go back to, he'd stop fighting.

He'd let the world burn, if Dean and Cas and Bobby, the only family he had left aside from Lucifer, could die and be raised again on Lucifer's whim.

Only problem was, Sam fought back harder and Dean hung on too long, and Lucifer wasn't banking on Sam saying "No." for the sake of it.

In some ways, Sam was just as rebellious as him.

That's another reason he has to do this right, this time.

If he's going to make Sam equal parts grateful and terrified for his family's continued welfare, he's going to keep him right where he wants him, with very little wiggle room for anything else.

There's no holding back.

Hey, he can compromise, after all. He did promise he'd bring Sam's loved ones back when this was over. Starting over sees as good a timeframe as any.

And it's not like Sam can say no to a peace offering like that.

I mean, he could. But he would never stick to it. There's far too much blame and loneliness and aimless emptiness in Sam's life for him to stay contrary for the sake of his own principles and nothing else.

Sam is a man of action, of experience, not empty platitudes or valuing morals over his family. He loves them too much.

Lucifer knows that all too well.

And by now, after all those practice runs, after every invasion and careful evaluation of what works and what hasn't, Lucifer has his proper leverage and the linchpin of experience to know how to best pick Sam apart. He's seen just how he ticks, inside and out, the process of physical, mental, and emotional exsanguination and constant picking at the raw wounds that never healed a continuous applied pressure, all just to see which ones take to Lucifer's brand of expertly-deployed TLC the most.

The way inside Sam is in some ways, an easy one.

All one has to do is keep a tight hold on his heart.

And doing this whole resurrection deal right, well, that means you gotta repair the dead ripped up brain tissue.

So Lucifer gets his hands wet and sticky inside the brainstem, grace like a floodlight, while he repaired Bobby's neurons and neural pathways, one by one.

He's had a lot of practice, seeing as he's crushed Sam's skull in his hands over a hundred times and then put him back together, right as rain.

Practice makes perfect, even if Billie tries to hoard the souls away from him and can't. Death being bound twice certainly makes up for Death stealing Sam from the Cage the first time. Lucifer enjoys the freedom, even if that's only one component of bringing the permanently dead back.

Then again, that's why he brought Mary back first. If she came back wrong, she had enough left on her ledger to be re-purposed.

But she didn't.

Once that went off without a hitch, Lucifer was free to make sure every other human on his list got rebuilt without having to worry they'd come back damaged goods. Lucifer has got this down to a science, by now. And if he sees all their hopes and dreams and fears on display as part of the process, well, that's just useful in and of itself.

You gotta know how to squeeze people where it hurts if you want them to cooperate. Humans are predictable and easily manipulated like that. They were built that way, the selfish little apes.

And Lucifer will admit, figuring out how some of Sam's loved ones function was fascinating in its own way, even if it was more about functionality and usefulness than curiosity.

Lucifer wants to know what makes Sam love them and not let go. After all, Sam loved him more and tried to let go of him. And even after all these years, even after Sam tried to explain because Lucifer would make him, would get his answers, and Sam doesn't know why, not really, except that he trusted Lucifer more in some ways, with his whole heart, and perhaps that's what scared him: the fact he wanted to give up the reins and would do anything to not acknowledge that.

Still. Truth is, Sam isn't sure what makes him hold on, so more often than not, so he's not a reliable character witness and never has been. Sam beats himself up and never knows what's good for him. So Lucifer knows he will just have to evaluate the issue at it's source.

The Devil is not sure what he sees in them that would ever lead to Sam leaving him for their sake, and he's going to find out why.

Then he is going to make sure it never- **_never_** \- happens again.

\--

Working backwards bringing people back doesn't bring back the memories of being a spirit, first. Lucifer has no use for the memories of a ghost, and those kinds of feelings don't bring the soul back to latching on to living. They need proper anchors to the world. Alive feelings.

So the heart cries out, the soul asks, and the Devil obliges.

\--

"Bobby... You've helped. You got handed a small, unremarkable life, and you did something with it. Most men like you die of liver disease, watching 'Barney Miller' reruns. You've done enough. Believe me.” The reaper's words echo.

“I don't care.” Bobby remembers answering, so certain.

“Why?” The reaper had asked, baffled.

“Because they're my boys.” He answered.

That's all there is to it.

Now he feels that love calling out to him, even as his heart starts to warm up in his chest. Everything else feels iced over, but it's not a normal ice.

It's an ice Bobby feels deep inside his soul, calling him back, keeping him from the surefire memory-vagueness of Heaven.

No, this, these memories starting to alight in his physical body, they feel realer, more alive, and Bobby is sucked towards them-

The next memories rise up as Lucifer's grace tangles inside him, distracting from the pain by the sheer relief the memories give him.

\--

“All right, scoot, jerkface. Show your elders some respect.” Dean calls to Sam, shoving him sideways as he pushes his way on the couch.

“You scoot, ass-hat.” Sam vollies back, throwing some popcorn scrunched up face not giving ground. Then Bobby hands off two beers, and Sam gives a grateful, mouthful-of-popcorn "Mm." Noise as he hands one off to Dean, Bobby handing off a bag of food to Dean for perusal.

“Did we get licorice?” Dean demands, holding up a hand and looking at Sam, all accusatory.

“No, we did not get licorice. We got good snacks." Sam corrects through another mouthful of popcorn. "Licorice is disgusting.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't quite understand that, uh," Dean smiles and holds out his arms while he racks his brain, "Mr. Peanut-Butter-and-Banana Sandwiches?”

“You know what? I stand by that sandwich." Sam argues, pointing in retaliation. "Nobody likes licorice." He stutters, trying to convey the depths of his condescension. "It's… It's made of dirt.”

“It is a classic movie food!" Dean counters, face the picture of offended and voice all indignant as his hand comes down, illustrating his point. "It's right up there with popcorn."

“Popcorn?" Sam's eyebrows raise, his voice higher and his tone moving on to pure disbelief because he knows Dean's just being ridiculous now, "Really?”

“Yes!" Dean interrupts, just as adamant, because once he digs his heels in he can't go back. Sibling etiquette demands it.

“You're out of your mind.” Sam answers, flippant because there's no argument to be made, now.

“What? It's like little chewy pieces of heaven.” Dean waxes poetic, hands clenched, mouth practically drooling.

Sam rolls his eyes and scoffs, clapping Dean on the back. “Oh, chewy pieces of heaven if you're a girl.”

Ever since he was three, that was Sam's old way of shutting down sibling fights, because even from a young age Dean hated being compared to one, and everyone who respected Sam never knew how to counter without sputtering because everyone know how Sam felt about being seen as one. That's when you could tell he got frustrated.

Dean used to co-opt it by saying, "Good thing you aren't one, then." When John wasn't in range to hear. "Cuz I guess I'll just have to be flowery enough for the both of us."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

And those were old habits, too.

\--

Lucifer watches with attempted clinical detachment as he makes sure everything stays online for Bobby Singer's half-alive body, but he can't help but clench a fist as he thinks about arguments with his own siblings, and the rage he still feels for Sam holding on long after he should have let go.

Dean should never have come back to that cemetery if he wanted Sam to be happy.

And Sam should've never let Dean confuse his choices.

There was only ever one choice if Sam was going to be happy or anything else, and Lucifer wouldn't allow any other option.

\--

The next rough ride of memories would be more Lucifer's speed, if only because they distract him from all the work that lies ahead of him.

Karen's voice is beyond inconsolable. “I can't believe you. I hate you. Everything's a lie. Our whole life, our vows... everything. You knew I wanted kids. Why didn't you just sit me down and say... I don't understand. You're a good man. You'd be a good dad. What does that even mean, you break everything you touch?! What kind of excuse is that?! Just stay away from me! You broke my heart, Bobby! You happy? Just go away!”

Only problem is, he can't help but think of Sam, accusing him of lying, of tricking him, of breaking his heart, of all the ways Sam has broken Lucifer and himself and the world, and Lucifer speeds past this because it hits a little too close, after all.

He hates seeing the shallow mimicry of real emotions from frail, shallow humans. They don't compare to the other feelings Lucifer has lived as an angel.

It's repugnant. It's a mockery.

Lucifer isn't like them, whatever Michael might have said.

He only ever would try to be for Sam, and Sam was elevated beyond humanity, more angel filling him day by day. Lucifer grace slips inside like tiny filaments, growing and growing, following Sam's bloodstream and the curl of his lungs until only golden icy tendrils clutch around his heart, keeping it safe, where it should be.

\--

“Bobby?” Marilyn asks, and then her tone turns shrill. “Bobby Singer, you had better be washed up when you come down.”

Except when Bobby does...

Her expression is a mix of prohibitive and agonized as she says, “You're filthy. God, what is wrong with you? It's like you want him to get mad.”

At the dinner table, Ed Singer eyes Bobby like he's a gnat. Marilyn bustles around the kitchen with nervous energy.

“Hey, look. The crown prince decided to drop by for a late bite.” Ed grumbles.

“Oh, he – he was just washing up. So, who... Who would like to say grace?” Marilyn stutters.

“Hell with grace. Pass me the biscuits.” Ed answers.

Bobby goes to pass them, and his milk knocks to the floor.

The glass shatters loud as a gunshot. Milks spills, liquid branching out. Like a pale bloodstain not yet scoured from the tile.

“I'm sorry.” Bobby says.

Marilyn rushes to counteract the damage.

“What is the matter with you?” She hisses.

“I don't know. I'm sorry.” Bobby repeats with more intensity. 

“You break everything you touch!” Ed snarls.

“Let's just have a nice supper.” Marilyn pleads.

“A nice supper?” Ed turns on her.

“Mm-hmm.”

Ed purposefully throws his plate to the floor with one swift movement of his arm.

“There's your nice supper. I get no respect in this house.”

“It's fine. It'll just take a second.” Marilyn says, voice trembling, but she tries to keep it upbeat. Sometimes that works. The knife scrapes over the floor as she tries to contain the damage of wayward peas and carrots and broken ceramic.

Ed pours more alcohol in his drink.

Bobby watches him, frozen.

“You just gonna sit there?" Ed asks, rhetorical, violence coiled in the way his hands close the bottle. Then he's yelling, "Get a broom or somethin'!"

And Bobby jumps out of his seat, running to do so. Marilyn eyes him and then looks down.

Bobby hears Ed even from the hallway. Hears Ed rise from the chair, all ready to let loose.

“You know why he's like that? Because you let him do whatever he wants.”

“It's okay." Marilyn answers, and she tries to smile reassuringly, voice soft and soothing and sweet. "See? I'm almost done."

Bobby makes his way to the doorway again, standing there.

Marilyn sniffs and holds the tears of fear back as she cleans up, trying to keep it together, pointing back at the table as she suggests, stumbling, "You just relax and… And have another drink.”

Ed stands over her, stance wide as he inhales.

“Don't tell me what to do.” He says. Deliberate.

“No." Marilyn gasps, too quiet, and then her voice sobs as Ed's arm moves back, "Wait. Wait.”

Ed smacks her hard enough to draw blood.

“I… No!" She screams, sobbing, cowering, hiding her tears under her red hair, huddled against the floor. She hears Bobby's receding footsteps from the door, and he hears her whisper at him, loud enough, "Why do you always provoke him?”

“Because he's a bad kid – that's why.” Ed answers, matter-of-fact.

And Bobby remembers his answers.

“Well, that's a load of crap." He growls. "Who the hell were you to say?”

“I'm your father. And you show your father respect.” Ed snarls.

“The day he deserves it, you drunken-” Bobby is yelling now, eyes wide, every part of him rallying against this monster he swore he had left behind, past and present.

“Shhh...” Marilyn insists, but Bobby cannot stay silent.

“-Bully! Punching women and kids – is that what they call fatherhood in your day?” Bobby yells, guttural and raw and condemning.

“Oh, you deserved it." Ed's answer was quick. "Believe me. You were nothing but ungrateful.”

“I was a kid!" Bobby shouts, stepping forward, lips trembling and nostrils flaring from all the rage buried inside him. "Kids ain't supposed to be grateful! They're supposed to eat your food and break your heart, you selfish dick!" He inhales and bares his teeth again, adding, "You died, and I was still so afraid I'd turn into you I never even had kids of my own.”

“Good." Ed whispered, then he grew loud, like he always did. "You break everything you touch.”

“Uh-huh. Well, as fate would have it, I adopted two boys, and they grew up great." Bobby answers, voice strong as a tornado, Bobby the eye of the storm. "They grew up heroes." He announces, then he yells, meaning every word, "So you can go to Hell!”

“I'm sorry. I said that I'm… I'm sorry.” Marilyn sobs out, harder now, still crouched on the floor as the memory resumes into what it was.

“Yeah, yeah, you say that every time.” Ed answers, dismissive, intent on what he was always going to do, one way or another.

“Please just stop.” Marilyn whispers.

“No!" Ed yells, and Marilyn flinches and lets out a whimper, as he keeps going, a finger pointed in her face, "This time, you listen!”

“Stop it.” Bobby said, loud enough.

He holds the rifle in his hand and fidgets with the trigger.

Ed laughs, a gasping sound in his throat, all whistling air until it becomes a throaty, condescending chuckle as he keeps the smile plastered to his face.

“You're kidding, right?" He growls, stepping closer as he turns towards his son. "You're not half enough man to use that thing." He adds, eyeing Bobby up and down before continuing, voice turning serious and flat as Bobby stares him down, "You leave the adults to sort this out..." He says, hand so close to Marilyn, not a fist yet, but so close to her face, as he points with his other hand, "And I will deal with you later.”

Then he grabs Marilyn and drags her to her knees by the back of her neck as she screams, pulling at his arm to get it off without any results, "Bobby, just go. Do what he says. Just go.”

“No." Bobby answers, cocking the gun and levelling it to Ed's face. "Leave her alone.”

He shoots.

Marilyn screams.

Ed falls to the floor. Dead.

Marilyn shudders to her feet, jumping back.

Bobby can't stop staring at his dead Father, forever unable to lay a hand on him or his mom again.

“Bobby, what did you do?" Marilyn's choked whisper makes him look up at her, at the blood still running from her nose, and he stands then, gun loose in his hand, still in shock, and she adds, so certain, "God is gonna punish you.”

All the fear never left her eyes, not even after the bastard was buried six feet under.

\--

That's the memory Lucifer uses to send the adrenaline back into Bobby's system.

What brings him back online, though, is memories of Sam and Dean running through his junkyard, young children free of a father more focused on revenge than parenting.

When Bobby jolts awake, Lucifer smiles at him.

Bobby looks pale and socks him in the face.

"A thank you would be more appropriate." Lucifer corrects, fake-massaging his jaw.

Bobby clutches his knuckles, all the memories of being dead lighting through his brain, everything he's seen go down while in Heaven flooding his system.

Of what's been done.

And Sam, God, Sam, and Dean and Cas and Jody and Mary and all of them-

"You stay away from my family." He warns.

Lucifer laughs at him, throaty and high-pitched in it's mirth. He slaps his knee, Nick's features relaxed in a way they haven't been for a while.

"Oh, Bobby." Lucifer pinches his cheek. "I'm practically family, by now. What was it? Mi casa es tu casa. You following?"

Then he hauls Bobby to his feet.

"Now clean yourself up. You've got time while I resurrect the rest of these folks." Lucifer gestures, and Bobby sees all the bodies sprawled over the ground. Some faces he knows. Some he doesn't.

Ice lines the floor as he adds, so soft as he crouches back down, poking at Kevin's face, "And I want you all to make a great impression when I gift you back to Sammy, okay?"

\--

**One Year Later, Again**

"Guess I did end up being a nanny, after all." Bobby says over Rufus's grave.

He's visited that a bit, too, when he's gotten moments where no one needs him.

He was a better dad and granddad, though, even if Jack called him Uncle Bobby. Uncle was one of the highest praise you could get from Jack, seeing as it was almost equivalent to Dad, in his book. Sam was on a whole other level of his own, in his mind. His son idolized him.

Cas got relegated to "Uncle," too, when Dean explained to Jack he could be a pseudo-dad, but Uncle worked better due to where Cas stood on the family tree (with him, Dean didn't say, although Jack could gather what he meant), and Jack accepted that, although pre-Lucifer, no one got bothered if he slipped up and called Cas "Father."

Except then he had to, once Lucifer came back. The Devil didn't like not being given a title he thought he deserved, particularly since Sam got Dad, and Lucifer wasn't going to let that slide.

So from then on, Jack kept on calling Cas and Bobby "Uncle," religiously, because it worked, and because Lucifer seemed a bit nicer to Sam and the others when he listened and didn't give Cas the title Lucifer had forbidden.

Lucifer only joked about it once, and that was that Jack must've picked the two people Lucifer possessed because he could feel Lucifer's presence there.

That night, Sam set Lucifer on fire, and everyone heard him, heard the yelling about possession and then Enochian.

For once, Sam didn't care about the consequences.

Then Lucifer nabbed him and no one saw Sam for a week.

\--

One split lip and a black eye and unknown amounts of damage later, Lucifer brings Sam back at two am, both Bobby and Dean awake, waiting, having had Rowena set up a spell to alert them when Sam got moved, and when Lucifer walked off to prepare their room, Sam had whispered it had been worth it. Dean makes Sam food in silence while Bobby tends Sam's wounds. Jack is asleep, and so is Kelly, having read him to sleep to keep him from having nightmares, with Cas and Priscilla keeping watch.

Bobby understands. He weighs giving Sam an ice pack or not, but Sam takes it an puts it on his eye as Bobby re-applies the bandages over Sam's heavily burnt hands where they'd be laid out over a grille, or something. Third-degree burns are no joke.

Sam looks over a millisecond before Lucifer flies back and sits on the counter, face blank as he keeps his focus on Sam and every twitch of his head.

Sam knew he would heal him in a few hours, but for now, he wanted to remind Sam that you get what you dish out.

After months of tension and biting his tongue, Bobby can't just sit there in silence about any of it.

"You know, my dad was a nasty piece of work." He said, aloud, pointedly, and Sam looked up and then between him and Lucifer, nervous, as though saying something might just set him off again, and Bobby almost bit his tongue then and there, if it meant Sam didn't hunch in himself and flinch when Lucifer tilted his head, and he tries not to think of the way his mom would look at him, condemning and accusatory, like he brought it all down on her...

Except Bobby is used to watching micro-expressions. Bobby is used to reading the room, same as Sam, always vigilant. Bobby knows both Sam's tells, and Lucifer's.

He wishes he didn't have to read them, that Sam didn't have this life, that Bobby didn't have that ingrained experience. But whatever keeps Sam safe...

If it would save Sam anything, Bobby would hone that skill, even if it's one he wishes he could swear off forever. 

But by now, he knows how to say this without setting Lucifer off, if Lucifer has had enough of his fill, hopefully, so he will. Bobby continues, very quietly. "He beat me and my mom pretty badly."

Lucifer just walks over and lays a hand on Sam's shoulder, listening but not giving too many signals, just the dread-awe-threat of the hackles-raising hum of an archangel's aura swimming all around them. Problem is, Bobby is used to that, just like Sam, although not to the same degree. He let Lucifer live in his house, after all. He was there when Lucifer tried to play nice and only sometimes kept it together.

He felt it when Lucifer snapped Sam's fingers together and broke his neck.

"Your point?" Lucifer asks, the light musicality of the syllables not reaching his cold, blue eyes.

Sam stares at the stove, facing forward as he cradles the ice pack to his eye, although he's really looking at nothing. Bobby stares at the handprint around his throat, deep and purple.

"And if you told me one day you'd be just like him, I'd have been floored." Bobby adds. He wouldn't have bothered to couch this in a compliment, but he knows outright telling the Devil off is useless, so anything he can make work, if it takes the target off of Sam...

Sam inhales and closes his eyes.

Lucifer looks both thrown and then his jaw clenches in mild annoyance at the backhanded not-quite-a-compliment, but doesn't do anything, otherwise. 

"I don't think your comparison holds much water." Lucifer says, voice still the same casual one that doesn't mean immediate vivisection as he runs a hand through Sam's hair. Sam shivers but keeps quiet. "I'm not hurting him for kicks."

When he lets go and Sam lets out a breath, Bobby takes it as his cue to keep going. If Sam wanted him to stop, right then and there, he would have said something, or given a look that Bobby would know on sight, and he'd back off without any fight. But Sam doesn't. So Bobby has his blessing. Dean eyes them, off to the side, as he waits by the microwave for the food he's making for Sam. Sam's thin as a rail. His clothes hang off him too much. He's amazed anyone can lose than much body mass in a week, except he isn't, because Dean lived in Hell, and even if Sam wasn't there now, his Hell was portable.

"Oh, really? What do you call this, then?" Bobby replies, gesturing to Sam's face and everything else. "I've seen how you look at him. I let you live in my house. You think I'd let you stay if I thought you'd...?" Bobby redirects when he sees Lucifer's chin rise and his eyes light up, and Sam shakes his head. Bobby's voice gets more choked up when he adds, "You said you loved him. You said you'd protect him. You call this love?"

Sam bites his lip and eyes the soup Dean sets on the table next to him. Dean stands there, pacing back and forth from the fridge like he can't sit still. Silent, because he knows saying anything is dangerous, and Sam needs him here. Except...

"Bobby, maybe don't-" Dean says, voice hoarse, but Lucifer glares at him and he immediately shuts up, giving Sam a hopeless look. Sam looks at his hands and then glances up at Dean and then back to his hands.

Lucifer's voice remains quiet, although his eyes are still slits. "I'm not like your father, Bobby. I'm not like mine, either. I don't want to have to hurt him."

"Prove it." Bobby challenges.

Lucifer stares him down, wings around Sam's shoulders.

"Eat." He orders.

Sam turns and his breaths are a bit too shallow and his hands shake trying to eat the soup, but he can't quite grip the spoon, even if he can grit his teeth through the pain and burnt off skin.

Lucifer grabs Sam forehead and heals him, silent. Sam cries, silent but grateful and instead of spooning out spoonfuls, tips the soup bowl down and slurps it, loud, the bowl hiding his face.

Then Lucifer levels a look at Bobby, analytical. Sam keeps his eyes glued to the Devil, side-eyeing him as Dean takes the empty bowl off his hands.

Bobby keeps talking. "Look. We all know your angle. And my guess is, if you want to win Jack and Sam over again, maybe you could try not to be a violent son of a bitch. Be good to them." Bobby argues. He knows its probably useless. But if he can trick the Devil into playing nice...

Sam needs something, here. A break. 

God, anything.

Lucifer sighs and purses his lips as he turns to face Bobby, speaking like he's talking to a three year old, which he normally doesn't, with Bobby.

"I wouldn't have to do this if Sam didn't give me a choice. If I had my way, I'd hurt you, and that one," He points to Dean, and Sam flinches, "And trenchcoat. But Sam wants to take the brunt of it and keeps going to bat for your home values. So he does. And you... You have some nerve."

"Oh?" Bobby asks.

"You tried to take him from me. You and Castiel and Dean. If you didn't..." Lucifer looks at Sam then, still hungry and somehow sad. "He wouldn't have thrown us in. And I wouldn't have had to do any of this."

He loops an arm around Sam's shoulder and rubs Sam's arm as he does.

Sam ducks his head, meeting no one's eyes.

"What do we have to do to make you stop doing this, then?" Bobby asks. He wants to stab the Devil, shoot him, hang him, lock him back up, make him get as far from Sam as possible. He wants to yell and cuss if it wouldn't make Sam cower by proxy and wouldn't set Lucifer off. 

He can't do those things.

But he can make a deal.

"If this is our fault... How do we stop you for making Sam pay for our mistakes?" Bobby asks.

Lucifer regards him, interested. Then he looks back at Sam and strokes his face. Sam looks at Lucifer because the contact is a bit too close to his eyes and mouth and teeth.

"Hmm... I guess a good start would be to tell Sam he can stop fighting so hard." Lucifer muses, voice all velvet. "He doesn't have to pretend so much. Make him stop putting up a front, tell him it's okay to be... Mm, honest, with his feelings, and I might go easy. He's just been so on edge lately. Mostly because you've all been so jumpy. Let him take a load off and stop acting like he has to act like this is a bad thing. Think you can do that?"

Dean makes a strangled noise in his throat.

Lucifer stares him down, and Dean nods, unable to say it, and Bobby answers for the both of them, "Sure."

Lucifer sits back up on the counter, grabbing Sam, setting him in his lap, even if there's not much room to maneuver.

Sam half-hugs himself and draws his knees to his chest, every muscle frozen. Lucifer removes the ice pack he's reapplied to his eye with a sigh and repairs his face.

"Good," Lucifer says, not looking at them, just Sam. Always Sam, really. "Because I was getting real tired of having to hurt him. I mean, sure, Sam made his bed. It is, after all, his fault he hasn't gotten it through his skull that sacrificing himself for other people isn't right. But Sammy here is too good for all of you. He deserves to be loved, not held back by your antediluvian methods. Right, Sammy? You ready to move on and stop fighting me so much as part of some performance? No more false fronts?"

Then a hand trails down Sam's throat, following the ridge of it as he swallows, and then those bruises are gone, too.

Sam doesn't say a word.

Lucifer's hand is back at his side. The fingers flex, tapping the table.

Sam nods once.

Lucifer kisses Sam's forehead, and the moment the contact ends, Sam ducks his head to his knees, hiding from the world.

Lucifer's kind of evil, Bobby muses, is a different kind than Ed's. Same vicinity, sure. But Lucifer knew how to play the long con and was much better at twisting things around in his favor.

The violence wasn't about power or control itself, although he did revel in it.

No, for Lucifer, for the most part, it was is a means to an end.

It kept Sam from fighting back and getting too comfortable, and made it harder for Sam to fight the 'good' when it was offered up, masquerading as kindness and change.

Lucifer wields that weapon like a bludgeon, brute forcing manipulation through false honesty to break Sam's resolve.

Bobby can see it in his eyes.

\--

The Devil makes good on his promise and stops isolating Sam to beat him to a pulp at his leisure for five weeks now and counting. For once, everyone regards that with relief.

Sam still looks out of it and dazed, though.

Bobby can't help but think of the similarities of how Lucifer weaved his manipulations to his own father. He has to, really. He has to keep Jack safe, like Sam needs him to, in all the ways he can't protect Sam, too.

_You break everything you touch. You deserve this._

Bobby only ever head Lucifer whisper those things to Sam at his lowest. Same toolbox as Ed.

But the way he used them...

He hid them in concern and praise, not tearing Sam down, more often than not.

More useful, that way.

"You break everything you touch, Sam. It's not your fault. You were made that way. You just don't know how to take care of yourself. That's all. Nothing to be ashamed of." He'd hear Lucifer whisper near Sam's ear as he held him close, as he cornered him in the hallway or by the pool table or outside, in the trees, when Bobby went walking to think. "That's why I got to take care of you. Stop you from self-destructing."

Or...

"You deserve this, Sammy." He'd say, running hands through Sam's hair, false touches so light Sam can't help but lean into them because he's used to hurting, now, and he's backsliding fast, and because he's got a hair-trigger reaction to appease Lucifer when he says it.

Trigger words, really. Enough to send Sam spiraling the moment Lucifer says them.

The tactics fit both punishments for things Sam never needed to repent for, and for any kindness Lucifer showed him. "You deserved the world. You deserve happiness. Let me give it to you."

Or, if he was hurting him, it was, "You deserve this, Sam, because you asked for it. You asked me to hurt you. I don't want to do this. But you don't give me a choice."

Bobby's glad that's a whisper that's gotten scarce, lately.

He's not sure how much more of it Sam could take.


	153. Playing With Fire

“What is this?” Sam asks, thrown by the large crowd. Dean is lost in a mire of people. Hasn't noticed him yet, or he would have come over by now.

“A betting pool.” Cain’s gruff voice supplies from the other side of the room.

“On what?” Sam asks, hesitant.

“Who is going to win,” Ramiel supplies, tone caustic. He still won’t meet Sam’s eyes, hasn’t since this whole craziness started. Sam idly wonders why.

“And… the categories?” Sam looks at Gabriel for reassurance, points at the various boxes and Venn diagrams.

“Well, I said we should compare your similarities and differences and cross out whatever evens out. Crowley said we should count past precedents and temperament. And uh, that one, over there,” Gabriel points to Metratron, “Said we should count extraneous circumstances and past experiences and individual merits and available weaponry to see the most statistically likely outcome. Castiel said luck and moral directives from God should count, but Lilith laughed in his face and Metatron said that’s not statistically viable.”

“And those?” Sam points to some scribbly lines written on the margins of the white board.

“Oh, those color-coded tallies are the bets." Kevin starts in. "Dean, Castiel, Kelly, Rowena, Mary, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Charlie, Mia, Donna, Jody, Claire, Patience, Kaia, Alex, Eileen, Charlie, Alicia, Max, Mick, Gadreel, and my mom and I bet on you right out the gate. Ramiel is undecided, as are John, Crowley, Benny, Adam, Missouri, Amy, Meg, Lily, Tessa, Hannah, Adina, Daniel, Ambriel, Rebecca, Samandriel, and Raphael, who said he would bet Lucifer but he is honor-bound not to because his older brother is a ‘disgrace and aberration, unworthy of consideration’ and Gabriel said he’d vote for you even if it’s helpless case because Lucifer’s a ‘big bag of dicks who has it coming,’ and that you know who he’s rooting for already. Metraton bet on Lucifer, so did Bela, Ava, Jake, Uriel, Anael, Naomi, Miriam, and uh, a bunch of angels I don’t know…”

“Thaddeus, Tamiel, Jonah, Efram, too, don’t forget them, oh and-” Some angel Sam doesn’t recognize interjects and keeps listing names, but Kevin keeps going.

“So did Pamela, although she ‘didn’t want to,’ and apologized but she’s being ‘realistic’ which is total bull. Anna and Jesse voted for Lucifer, too, and let me tell you, Jesse and Pamela and Kelly and Dean have been arguing about it non-stop since, so don’t go over there right now, we’re all avoiding them. Otherwise, most of the newly resurrected angels whose opinions don’t matter voted Lucifer. So did Ruby, and uh, that one with the fluffy hair, don’t know his name.” Kevin cuts in, pointing.

“That’s Cain.”

“Right. That guy. Well, he bet on Lucifer, too, no surprise there. We haven’t asked the other big-wig demons except for Ramiel (because he and Gabriel started this), and Meg, since the others scare us and we don’t like them and we know how they’ll vote. Especially Abaddon, she keeps staring at us and making faces whenever we try to list Lucifer’s potential weaknesses. But then Dean tried to stab her, so we had to draw a line down the middle of the room and initiate a no-stabbing or otherwise magically attacking people rule so Lilith didn't eviscerate him, and everyone listened after that except for Mary and Azazel because Lucifer made it an official rule while Jack is around. They've been throwing out suggestions despite us ignoring them, though. Otherwise, Mary and Azazel keep facing off and Mary won’t let anyone interfere, and we all listened to her because, well, it’s your Mom and she knows what she’s doing. I think. John tried to help and she told him to go fuck himself, so after that we all just kind of figured it was safest to not get involved.” Kevin continues.

“Anyway, we’re still figuring out the rest once we get all the votes and considerations listed.” Gabriel assures.

“Yeah, what else… Oh!” Kevin interjects, “Billie says she’s been banned from having an opinion but if she could vote for posterity she thinks you know whose side she’s on, ‘not naming names’. Missouri says she wants to get an accurate reading of the future to give you the best advantage and that’s why she’s abstained, but she ‘wholeheartedly believes in you’ from a non-psychic standpoint. We didn’t ask Jack because we didn’t want him to feel, uh… bad or like we were asking him to take sides, and also because when he was here earlier, Lucifer implied he’d do something if we tried because Jack shouldn’t be feeling that kind of ‘pressure’.” Kevin makes some more air quotes and looks down, his face a bit too pale and drawn. He looks back at Sam, adding, “Other than that, Lucifer didn’t say anything, but he did kinda stare at us for a really long time before he left. And I’m not going to lie, I’m really freaked out.”

“Did he do anything?” Sam asks quietly.

“Um, no.”

“Then you’re okay. He’d have done something to hurt you by now if he didn’t find it somewhat amusing.”

Kevin lets out a deep breathe. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Don’t mention it. Really.” Sam’s tone is a bit too biting and his response a bit too quick. He smooths it over, “You holding up okay, uh, considering…”

“Yeah. Thanks for what you did earlier, too. And, are you, are, um-”

“Better not to ask.” Sam admits as Gadreel catches his eye. Gadreel looks away just as quickly. 

Sam isn't really okay right now, no matter how hard he tries.

Kevin lets out a small, sad laugh. “Yeah, I bet.” Then he gets more serious. “That’s the half the reason Gabriel started this, I think. Wants you to know we’re in your corner and that the people who actually matter believe in you.”

A muscle in Sam’s hands quakes. His throat is too tight.

“Thanks, Kevin. And despite the circumstance, I’m really, really glad you’re okay. And… and alive.” Sam looks away again.

A hand clasps over his arm. “Me, too. And Sam… don’t you dare blame yourself. It wasn’t… I know it wasn’t you. Don’t let that hang over you. Please. You’ve got enough on your plate as it is.”

Sam takes in a shaky breath.

Kevin hugs him.

Sam hugs back. Even if he kind of wants to run out of the room again.

But hey, maybe having a cheat sheet of what everyone thinks his strengths and weakness are will help. Couldn’t hurt.

Although, Sam knows Lucifer’s already, and he knows Sam's.

Shouting interrupts the moment.

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK-” Sam hears Dean yell. He looks over just as Dean punches Anna in the face. Kelly is also yelling a few choice obscenities, all while being held back by Castiel so this doesn’t turn into a full on brawl, but she looks ready to throw some punches of her own and kicks her feet out anyway. Mary and Azazel are somewhere on the other side of the room and stop whatever altercation they are having at the ruckus, but resume whatever fight they’re engaged in just as quickly. Bobby keeps everyone else at least ten feet away and pointedly looks away from any demon that gets close, although it looks like Ambriel and Claire and Jody are keeping him company. Donna and Jack are playing Sorry! In the middle of the room with Kaia and Patience, apparently betting nougat as a prize, all of them pointedly ignoring everything else, although with how crazy everything has been Sam’s not surprised they’ve learned to tune it out. The rest of the crowd is still yelling out suggestions at Gabriel and Metraton, who have been reabsorbed into the center of the room and are once again writing furiously with markers. Sam hears Mick, Dagon, Lilith, Ava, Max, Alicia, Crowley, and Amy all talking over one another before it’s all a din of noise.

John pointed looks at no one, off to the side in the shadows away from everyone. Sam sits down next to him, and noting the finished glass bottle of his alcohol of choice, nabs two beers from the cooler next to him and offers one.

Once, he would have done anything to avoid Dad drinking, would run out of the house and hide whenever there was a choice.

Now… Things have changed.

“So.” Sam starts, popping the cap off his own bottle. “No bets from a gambling man?” Sam knows the joke falls flat but has no idea on how to start this conversation at all.

“Sam…” John just looks at him, eyes surveying and expression closed off.

Sam swigs the alcohol. Usually, he wouldn’t. Been avoiding a lot of things lately.

But right now, he needed something to take the edge off.

"Didn't think you'd want my opinion." John grunts out, attempting to be neutral. It doesn't work.

"If you have something you want to say, say it." Sam demands. His mouth twitches, and his eyes blink, but the rage hums in his throat, dusty and worn and old. Sam forgot he could feel that specific kind of anger, kindred with Lucifer's feelings towards his father. Sam thought he had banished it, had made his peace. Mourned with the complicated heartbeats of a child neglected and blamed and scapegoated and kicked down but who still loved his Dad who never saw Sam for who he was, all while being the one who John had a soft-spot for, who pit Sam against his brother because he never saw them the same. Saw Sam as a girl and something to be protected, and saw Dean as a weapon carefully deployed to keep Sam safe.

Sam almost got rid of the rage entirely, moved on, until Jack was in the picture. And now, facing his Father, after being a Dad himself...

There are other things Sam wants answered.

John looks at him from the sides of his eyes and gives him a gruff laugh that isn't a laugh.

"What would be the point?" John asks, holding his side like it pains him. He looks over to Mary and back at Sam like he sees some resemblance.

"Well, for one, it would be nice to know you don't think Lucifer is going to have a fucking field day when the other shoe drops." Sam says, a bit too drily as he stares into the crowd.

"What do you want me to say? I'm not going to lie to your face," John says, throwing caution to the wind. "I don't make bets I don't win."

**You've made plenty.**

"Your vote of confidence is astounding." Sam jests, but there's heat behind it.

"Sammy," John growls, eyes burning, "I don't want this for you. I've never wanted this for you. I fought tooth-and-nail for nothing supernatural to have you. I'm going to tear the Devil apart for what he's done to this family."

 **Good luck with that.** Sam almost means it. Whatever knocks Lucifer down a peg is worth it. Doesn't think it will stick, but the sentiment is the same. Only Sam knows John's tactics and trusts them less than Sam trusts Lucifer's lies.

"But let's not kid ourselves. Every fighter has their limits." John critiques. "And just... Look at yourself."

And John gestures at Sam like it says it all, one unspoken accusation taken to go: _Sam, you're the one who changed. You're the one who let him in._

"Wow. Great talk." Sam makes to get up. "Don't know why I even bothered-"

"Sam." John sighs. "Wait."

Sam waits against his better judgement.

"There's... There's a lot going on, right now. I'm alive again. Mary is alive. You and Dean... You died and came back, more than once. " And John stares off for a moment, both of them thinking of Hell.

Sam suppresses a mirthless laugh as he thinks of John's arms around Azazel, keeping them safe even when he kept making choices for his sons long after he died.

John moves on, adding, "Angels are real. And my two kids, they saved the world, according to everyone I've talked to. Only now the worst evil son-of-a-bitches we tried to take down are alive again. Dean's dating an angel- a male angel. You've still got your... Talents..." John's mouth twists, and Sam can taste the unvoiced fear and hate, the freak things John doesn't know how to handle.

Sam's powers. The freak things John knew about but never talked about, only punished.

But John keeps going, keeps talking, "And you remain in the clutches of the Devil. Hell, I've got a grandson with wings." John adds with a swallow, and Sam tries not to see that bitter look in his eyes, because he hasn't said much to Jack at all. "And Mary..."

John trails off again, but he goes back to the stiff upper lip he's always had drilled in from the military and the same look he's drilled into Dean, hiding pain with self-righteous anger. "Sam. I don't know what you want from me. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Maybe some trust that I know what I'm doing?" Sam asks, with arched eyebrows.

John gives Sam a haunted, albeit cynical, look.

"Can't say I do. Dean and you... You cut corners. Took the easy way out. Now look where we are."

Sam's insides turn to molten metal. "That's not what the real problem is, here." Sam grits out.

The set of Sam's face, always contrary, pisses John off.

"Sure is." John's fists clench. "It's not like you weren't prepared, Sam. You just never listened to what needed to be done. And now you've rubbed off on your brother. But maybe if you did-"

Sam cuts him off, voice a hiss, "If you listened, for once, about anything I ever cared about, and actually respected my opinion, then I wouldn't have been as vulnerable in the first place."

John would argue otherwise, but Sam talks over him, deadly calm. "No, sir. Your way didn't make us any safer or smarter or better. It trained our reflexes, trained obedience. All the rest? You played right into their hands, Michael's and Lucifer's and Azazel's and everyone who ever pulled the strings." Then Sam sighs and rubs his face, trying to stop this from getting worse, "And I wouldn't blame you for that, really. I've lived that. I know how it goes."

 **I'm living it right now. Every single day.** Sam doesn't say.

"But I do blame you for what you could control.' Sam's voice remains level as he stares John down. "The alcoholism. The abuse."

John lets out a sigh and argues, "It wasn't-"

Sam's voice shakes, "What you did to Dean, to me, to keep us down and hide who we are. All the times you kept trying to keep me under your thumb, like a child, without a future or life of my own, with the only the family business and it's hierarchy. That's exactly what it was."

John's nostril's flare.

"It kept you as safe as you ever were going to be-" John starts in again, but Sam doesn't stop.

**That's what Lucifer uses to justify himself, all the time. Keeping me safe. Did you know he used to be like the opposite of you? Did the opposite because he knew I'd eat it all up and believe it and fall right into line? Except Lucifer knows, deep down, he's a liar. You don't.**

"That wasn't safety. That was just another prison." Sam answers.

**Just like every other thing pinning me to the floor.**

John looks away from him again and drinks deeply. A muscle cricks in his neck, and he turns flushed. One more sign of the alcohol setting in, maybe too much, and an old fear does worm its way back into Sam's gut, the child inside too used to what punishments drunk John dishes out, just like the drunk administrations and punches Dean would give out earlier, before he got a handle on things.

Sam keeps talking though. He's not going to be kept quiet. Not again.

"Hunting was just an excuse. That's where I learned how to let things happen to me, through you. Through Dean-"

"That's-"

Sam's voice becomes a knife. "And just because fighting that was how I learned how to get out, well, it doesn't change what you chose to do. But it doesn't matter now. I'm alive. I'm here. I'm not going to ever be what you want me to be. But I learned to grow into the family business, to be a hunter with a conscience, with my own heart, and then I learned what to do along the way with a wayward angel and my brother after he stopped following your lead. We taught ourselves what mattered. And your parenting skills, well. Those speak for themselves. You said it yourself. You acted more like our drill Sargent, not our Dad."

"Sam. You have a kid of your own now. You can't blame me for this. You know what it's like, losing the one you love, and I'm only human. You should understand-"

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't be doing. Raising Jack taught me a lot. And once, I might have forgiven you for enough of what you've done. Once, I would have been charitable. And it would been one of the worst mistakes I ever made."

"I can think of worse." John argues, feet lifting on his heels as he glances towards Sam with meaning.

Sam knows he's talking about Lucifer.

Hell, even Lucifer knows he's talking about him, and he's not even here.

_You know, despite it all, I like to think you still enjoy my company over his._

Sam ignores both of them.

"But once I had Jack?" Sam says, voice steel as he shakes his head, "It taught me I shouldn't forgive you."

John's voice is a bit too biting when he answers, "I don't need forgiveness, Sam, I need you to understand it was the only option we had-"

"I know why you did it."

"Do you?" John asks, a bit too pointed before he continues, "It was necessary." John can play at calm, too. "Do you think you would have gotten this far, despite everything, without it? I mean, I've heard a lot of stories. You think things would have been survivable without the things I taught you? Did you think I taught you to hunt because I thought it would be a cakewalk?"

"I know you didn't want this for us. Not to start with." Sam answers, eyes narrowing a his voice grows cool. "But something changed for you, sir, somewhere down the line. Hunting was your easy way out-"

"Not the word I'd use." John growls.

"A way to drown the grief and the fear and the pain and bury it so you didn't have to process it properly. That's all. You were selfish-"

"You're the one who was selfish, Sam. You turned your back on your family for that!" John hisses under his breath and points at Sam's son like he's a stand-in for his father.

Jack doesn't notice. Cas does, but doesn't approach.

Sam glares at John so hard his face falls and he swallows.

When he speaks, Sam's voice is soft.

"So lying to your kids, avoiding them, running off without a word to fight for your own gain, that's not-"

"I was not going to put you in premature danger-"

"But you did!" Sam exclaims. "You put us both in the line of fire. Hell, you sent Dean out there when he was ten. And you sprung on us that monsters are real. You taught me to pull a trigger when I was five and put a gun in my hand and taught me to kill when I was _eight_ -"

"It prepared you for what was waiting out there. Do you think you got this far without those skills? Are you holding off from teaching your son the same thing?"

"That's not the same. I'm only teaching Jack what he needs to know. I'm not abandoning him and I'm still giving him a childhood, or as much of one he can have, with..." And Sam can't say Lucifer's name. Like it would summon him.

John and Sam both stew in the silence, Sam glancing at his shoulder like he can feel the Devil perched there. Waiting.

Sam inhales and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"And I think... Whatever happened, we would have been outgunned, anyway." Sam finishes, tone flat.

John doesn't disagree there. Sam sips his drink as John asks, voice so heavy, yet withdrawn. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"You could have tried. You could have tried to be an actual Dad. It's not like you didn't try with Adam." Sam accuses.

"Adam wasn't in danger like you." John remains dismissive.

"Not true, but fine." Sam pauses. "Maybe you tried your best, but you know what? Your best hurt like Hell." Sam finishes.

And Sam wouldn't say those words lightly.

Sam knows Hell with every particle carved into his skin. Knows everything Lucifer used to make Sam feel like he was the only one who ever loved him properly. And John was a component of that manipulation, too, one Sam wished that wasn't there, but it still hurts and Lucifer could still use those old wounds as easy as he did back when he was Jess.

"Sam. You were my baby." John chokes out. "My daughter-"

"Your son." Sam corrects, all hunched. His grip tightens over the neck of the beer bottle.

And John meets Sam's gaze head-on. "You might have changed yourself on the outside, but it doesn't change who you are. You were always my little girl. My Samantha."

"No." Sam says, more to himself. But John is rambling and not really listening, so it doesn't matter.

"And they took Mary away, and they corrupted you, turned you into something... Not human, to make you into what they wanted. I tried to stop it. But it never mattered. You were never safe."

"Even so." Sam answers, eyes burning, "But I should have been safe from you."

**You shouldn't have been something I needed protection from, that either Dean and I needed protection from. But you were. And Dean's still dealing with your damage.**

Sam adds, "Just as Dean should have been safe from you."

John doesn't have anything to say to that.

Except one thing.

John's voice is gruff and tired, but his face is only holding back rage and despondent belief in his own cause.

"Maybe you should focus on trying to keep yourself safe from the real monsters out there. The ones you let into your home." John says as Sam watches him get up from the case he was sitting on. Then John eyes Sam sideways, and says on last word as he dismisses himself, his mouth twisting like the very word is poison. "Son."

The last word John says is the farthest thing from kindness it could ever be. A word Sam always hoped to hear, only now it's divorced from it's true meaning because John tried to twist it into something else.

And Sam is so overcome he shakes with rage, but Sam still tries to rise and tries not to swallow when he feels Lucifer fly in, right behind him, wings circling around Sam's back after all the things he's felt Sam fighting.

 _Sam. You need a breather?_ _I can punish him for you, if you like. Unless you're picking fights on purpose?_

Sam doesn't care if John's half-right about the worst of the worst.

John's still wrong. Has always been wrong.

More wrong than Lucifer, and that's a fucking achievement.

_Sam? You really attempting the silent treatment?_

Sam doesn't move, stays frozen except for the ticking muscle in his leg when he feels the hand in his hair and on his shoulder.

Sam watches as John keeps walking away, unchanged.

Sam digs his nails into his palm so hard it bleeds. He barely feels it.

Sam prays only to Cas and Jack to fill them in on a spur of the moment decision he is probably going to regret, and Cas warns the angels they get along with as Sam asks Jack to shield himself and Cas from the stunt he's about to pull, since he can do that, now, and Sam doesn't want to hurt either of them.

Lucifer stiffens when he notices the blood dripping and movement of Sam's hand, but he's closing in on Sam instead of following suit when the other angels jump ship-

And when Sam slams his hand on an angel banishing sigil he has made without a second thought, he pretends, instead, that it is banishing John from his life forever.

**Fuck you.**

Sam thinks, and he's not sure who he feels more angry at, Lucifer or John, as one leaves and the other is forced out of Sam's vicinity, along with every other angel, save Cas himself.

Sam pretends that he's throwing away, and walking out, forever, like Sam once had the strength for, once upon a time.

John doesn't look back when he passes the threshold of the doorway.

But Sam isn't looking at him any longer.

Everyone left in the room stares at him. Quiet. Human or monster or angel or demon.

"Sorry." Sam says to the crowd, a bit too cavalier. "I got careless. Cas, you mind giving the angels we like an apology?"

The words almost sound like laughter, except they aren't.

Not one bit.

Then Sam gives every demon a crooked, mirthless smile and they all can feel the storm brewing and scatter. Sam pushes so hard with his mind, and with so much of Lucifer's grace roiling inside him it barely feels like effort when every demon in the room that hasn't left, (Ramiel and Meg and Crowley among them), fall to the floor, having overstayed their welcome.

Rowena claps and cheers.

Sam doesn't meet her eyes.

Dean, Jack, Cas, and Bobby stare at Sam with the a more personal concern of family when they know something is very wrong.

"Jack. You holding up okay?" Sam asks, too brightly, as he walks towards him.

Jack silently affirms his yes as Sam walks and crouches down. Then Sam is hugging Jack, and Jack hugs back, and Dean is next to Sam, now, and so is Cas, and every ally near another body hugs each other close because don't go through this kind of Hell without losing it a little. You hold on to what you can.

After a beat, Sam asks Jack and Patience and Kaia if they mind if he joins them.

They don't mind. Not one bit.

Everyone re-centers in the middle of the room, drags over chairs and food and a table after making a tight-knit circle, and Dean starts up a hand of poker with Gabriel, Balthazar, and Cas when they fly back in, and keeps his hand on Sam's back, steadying, as Sam tries to remember how to breathe.

Sam doesn't even care when Lucifer flies back in. Just sits there, next to Sam, cross-legged and silent, trying to figure out just in what ways Sam is breaking this time, and how to fill in the gaps with more of himself.

That being said, Sam almost leaves when he shows up, thinking maybe to spare everyone the Devil's company, because he's only here for him.

But Donna sees what he's up to and pulls on his arm and shakes her head and whispers as she hugs him, "You don't go quitting on us now, ya hear me? You're part of the family."

And the sound makes Sam warm again as he sits back down and rejoins everyone.

Throughout it all, Lucifer stays quiet. Blissfully and utterly silent. Doesn't stop Sam from enjoying time with his friends and family even though his eyes never leave him once.

If Sam tries hard enough, he can just pretend he's a ghost of an angel, not really there.

Almost a hallucination, one Sam has practice ignoring, as the Devil curls one arm around Sam's torso.

Throughout it all, Sam keeps playing cards with his son and brother and angelic best friend, one who is kinder than any other angel.

\--

Three hours later, Lucifer still drags Sam out by the end of the night. Still reels Sam in close through the doorway of their room and closes the door as he pushes Sam towards the bed...

But Sam pretends he doesn't.

Because in the moments right before, Sam is holding hands with Jack and Dean, all while Cas, Bobby, Mary, Kelly, Charlie, Rowena, Eileen, Jody, Donna, Ellen, Jo, Adam, Kevin, and Mia and all the rest as everyone heads upstairs to their rooms, new and old and otherwise. The newly resurrected don't exactly have a place to go, otherwise.

Sam might not know how to protect them, or how to fight this, or how to keep it together, but he does know they are alive.

And even if Sam will curse the Devil for all he has done, for all he knows he intends to do with that life, because Sam knows that being alive on Lucifer's whim is anything but mercy...

Sam will thank Lucifer for that small merciful lie, the one that life is going to be okay, all the same.

Because, for once, Sam doesn't regret his life. Even if it's pointless and hopeless and Sam's at the end of the line...

Sam can only think of how much he doesn't want to lose what he has back, how they are all fighting so hard to not to go under, and how if they could just stop Lucifer in his tracks, things just might be good again.


	154. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Three Days Grace

Lucifer flies in and takes Sam and Jack aside an hour after lunch after overseeing the progress his demons have been making on whatever secret project they've been working on. Sam and Jack have been trying to avoid being around them too much, but this time, Lucifer's rounding all the angels and demons up and putting them into one of the emptier, more gym-like rooms that can be used for larger rituals and have long since been cleared out.

"What should we start with? I know!" Lucifer claps his hand together, then materializes his spear out of thin air, brandishing it. "Let's see if you're all out of practice. Can never be too prepared. Will be good for Jack to see, give him some pointers on technique."

The room shudders and changes and expands into something like a modern gladiatorial ring, with jet black walls, Colosseum-like seats all around, the whole room scooped out like a bowl and decked out in familiar red symbols Sam knows as Lucifer sweeps his hand over his assembled demons and the room, the floor rumbling and shuddering like a wave as it is transformed.

Lucifer also summons his throne and perches off-target over it, one leg crossed over the other.

Sam stands frozen at his side.

It's too much like another thing he recognizes, and the muscle memory and all of it sends him into another time, another place...

Lucifer turns to Sam and points, speaking in Enochian this time, voice a bit too low, a bit too much of a rumble, "You know what I want from you, Sammy." 

Sam doesn't budge, still frozen, although his throat bobs once, twice, and his pupils dilate.

"You're going to have him fight all of us at once?" Abaddon specifies, tone skeptical and eyebrows raised.

Lucifer eyes her and tilts his head, eyes flashing. "Do I jest about being prepared, Abby?"

That shuts her up.

Then Lucifer nudges Sam forward, since he still hasn't moved. "Go on. Show them what you're made of."

Sam steps into the cleared out circle as if in a trance. Azazel, Lilith, Dagon, Ramiel, Abaddon, Cain, Alastair, Ruby, Brady, and Meg stare back at him, not sure why Lucifer would have them all fight Sam, alone, against them, not unless Sam really did something to piss him off.

Sam knows the truth. 

They should be afraid of him.

Yet Lucifer isn't angry. Quite the opposite. He's proud, joyful, happy to once again take Sam under his wing again.

And Jack is there, right there, watching...

That's what snaps Sam out of it.

Sam turns back to Lucifer, and finds his voice.

"No." The sounds is too faint, the blood roaring in his ears, but he's not downstairs any more, he doesn't have to do this, not in front of them, or Jack, or Dean, or Cas, or anyone...

**I don't want him to see me like this.**

_He's going to have to learn sometime. And don't act like you don't want some aerobic exercise, Sam. I know how pent up you get. Nothing to be shy about._

**Lucifer, please-**

_Get with the program, or I will run your drills myself, and I won't go easy, even if you're not up to speed yet. You want Jack to see that?_

Sam stares, pleading.

Lucifer eyes Sam with a flat look, no levity there at all. "Fine, you don't want to practice..." Lucifer trails off and snaps, Dean transported to the middle of the ring, out of Castiel's grip, and Cas knows this, is as fearful as Sam, now. "How about I have Dean do the honors? That sound good? He's never been tested, never really got a chance, but I'm sure we can work out all the kinks..."

Dean goes to open his mouth but doesn't when he sees the look on Sam's face, on Lucifer's...

Sam turns to Dean, then Lucifer, then Cas, then back to Lucifer, stricken, and knows he's caught.

"No, I..."

Lucifer's smile is bit too keen as he drawls, "I'm sorry, roomie. You have something you want to say?"

"I'll do it." Sam's voice sounds like he's underwater from here.

"No worries." Lucifer snorts, but then his tone gets an edge as he switches back to Enochian, too gentle, too intent, "Don't fail me."

It's like a switch flips in Sam's head, and he turns back to his target, automatic, hypnotized at the words.

Jack interrupts, surprised at his own daring. "Dad said no." He pipes up, very quiet.

Lucifer eyes him, every limb a bit too loose, a bit too still, then rolls his eyes. "Sam always says no first, Jack. He really doesn't mean it. Hell, it's practically an invitation at this point. Besides, you gotta prod Sam to show off. He's far too modest and hates demonstrating his talents, so he always needs a little extra encouragement." Lucifer snaps! But Sam doesn't wince, just stays frozen, as Dean brought next to him, as is Cas, both next to the throne. Lucifer points down at them, and commands, "Sit."

Cas and Dean sit on the steps because they don't want to chance another mood swing. Jack sits next to them. Cas wraps a wing around them both.

Lucifer lounges like he doesn't have a care in the world, except for the hunger and the anticipation woven in every tiny speck of his body as he looks at Sam.

"Go on, Sam. Step into the ring, not outside it." He points at the markings on the floor.

Sam obeys, shuffling and silent.

"Um, I hate to be a killjoy," Lilith sounds almost tentative and tosses her head, not as bothered as she pretends to be, although Azazel looks nonplussed by her daring, "But how do you expect him to have anything on us? I mean, it's nine on one, and he's human, and back in the day Sam couldn't take me on until after-"

"Lilith, did I ask for your input?" Lucifer's tone is too soft.

"No." Lilith says quietly.

"Do you doubt me?" Lucifer prompts again.

"Never." Lilith pipes up, eyes wide.

"Then worry about yourself." Lucifer warns, voice too even, until it shifts and he's rousing everyone with too much exuberant bloodlust, "So without further ado, let's get this show on the road! Usual rules, you all know the drill. Die, I bring you back. Otherwise... Show us all just what you can do. On my signal..."

Lucifer raises his hand to snap again.

Then his eyes are all on Sam, as he says the right words in Enochian, "Let go."

Sam freezes, a millisecond of time encapsulating thousands of years.

Lucifer snaps.

And Sam flares to life, every bit of rage and hate and violence he's been keeping tamped down unleashed all at once, all pursued by another driving force Sam can't help but be beholden to snapping at his heels.

_Prove you love me more than anything, Sam. Prove it. Show me everything you are._

The demons don't know what hit them.

Sam is blur of snarling teeth and ripping nails and Enochian singing that is half-screaming, sigils burning brightly as he slides against the floor and tears into each and every one of them.

Same way he tore apart Michael.

The way Lucifer taught him, day by day by day.

One by one, they fall, not united, not coordinated, brute force and raw skill failing them because Sam is sharper, faster, stronger, more vicious apex predator than all of them combined. 

He's the last man standing, the whites of his eyes rolling, chest heaving as he pants, and every inch of Sam is covered head to toe in blood, so thick it's like three coatings of paint of his face.

Lucifer calls Sam off with a snap! And once again cradles his favorite person in his lap.

Sam's eyes clear a little after a beat, after he almost remembers when and where he is, but not really. He's not in Hell, he's not, Dean and Cas and Jack are here-

They all look different levels of horrified and anxious. Jack just looks a bit shell-shocked, like he wants to drag Sam out of there and hug him, but can't, and doesn't know how to reconcile the kind, gentle person he knows his Dad is with whatever it is he just saw. He's seen Sam fight before, of course. But not with that raw, animal mix of fear and desperation and like he's fighting for his life. Or he has, once. He saw it when Sam saved him, when Sam thought he was going to get hurt, and he thinks he knows why Sam looks like that, if Dean was going to be offered up instead...

Dean has that hopeless look like he wants to gut Lucifer but can only bite his lip and taste nothing. If Dean were to describe the sight shown to him, it would be soulless Sam on steroids combined with Sam when he needed the demon blood, fixated on it, only worse and more intense than both because he saw the same look in Sam's eyes when he smote those demons before he took Lucifer in, before he said yes the first time, and it was too much like that, too much like the raw devotion Dean saw Sam give the Devil when he was happy, he thought he had changed, and when Sam thought Satan wasn't looking all those years ago.

Cas has his arms out like Sam is going to fall over any moment, as if he could catch him, as if Lucifer doesn't have too tight a hold over him already.

Lucifer kisses Sam on the cheek, and licks the bloody imprints left on his lips clean.

"Not a bad start, although everyone's a bit rusty, wouldn't you say?" He's a bit too gentle, but as he eyes his demons, there's a hardness there, a disappointment, soon followed up with with a fond look a Sam, a loving but patient look, like he just did something expected. Something that still gave Lucifer thrills and chills and almost made the hunger lessen in his eyes, but something expected, nonetheless. "Good warm-up, though."

Sam tries not to lean into his touch, every limb shaking. He's still disoriented, still too far gone. Lucifer rubs his back and his arms, so gentle. Too gentle.

Lucifer waves, and every one of his knights and princes and lackeys are reassembled and brought to life, Lucifer's wings glowing as they radiate out from his vessel.

"Now, let's talk, so all these folks can learn something. What would you say went wrong?" Lucifer addresses his demons first, expression regal, like carved stone, as he twirls his spear in his hand, then pushes Sam back into his chest like it's a safety-bar on a roller-coaster.

Sam almost says something, opens his mouth, still not all there, head swimming-

"Not you, Sam. You did beautifully. So we'll cover your work at the end." Lucifer whispers in his ear in Enochian, then kisses again, this time on the lips. Sam kisses back, then closes his eyes leans into his shoulder, still barely holding on by a thread, the cold dousing every goosebump on his skin, almost freezing the blood caked on him.

"We underestimated him." Meg chimes in after a beat, pointing at Sam. Lucifer smiles at her, but his eyes are still flat as he regards his earlier creations.

"Good. What else?" Lucifer inquires, all business.

"We didn't coordinate or work with one another as a unit?" Ramiel's voice is a bit gruffer, but he does shoot a considering look at Sam, then Dagon and Abbadon. Abaddon nods with him, Dagon looking down at her nails.

"Perceptive. Lilith? Anything you would like to share with the class?"

Lilith pouts, fuming, but then her face falls in frustration. "We acted like he was any run of the mill human, and not yours."

"True. Azazel? You look like your gears are turning." Lucifer taps his head with the free hand that isn't now wrapped around Sam's waist, holding him up.

"We weren't creative or intuitive. We thought we could work off of brute force alone, that Sam's human reflexes would work against him, without considering other factors." Azazel says slowly, then blinks and turns to look at Sam like he hasn't really seen him before. Like he can figure out how Lucifer molded him himself, even though he can't quite put the pieces together.

"We didn't watch him." Dagon pipes up. "We didn't assess him. But he did for us. He found his openings and used our proximity, our numbers, against us." Her tone is cutting.

Lucifer nods, then his head tilts to Abaddon when she opens her mouth. "We projected our moments and hesitated at the wrong times, didn't account for him anticipating our next move."

Alastair's tone is reedier, more wheezing, as he massages his throat. "We relied too much on actual weapons, on our own selves and physical bodies, and didn't account for Sam's ties to us through our minds, through his link to you, on his attempts to snuff us out through our non-corporeal selves."

Lucifer smiles at him, although it doesn't meet his eyes. "Exactly. Anyone else?"

Brady eyes Sam, then his eyes dart away as he licks his lips. "I know I got cocky. I thought if I made Sam flinch, he would stumble. But he isn't the same when he fights, it wasn't like when he's hunting, not when he's really... Going for it. I based assessments off his temperament I thought I knew, and not what was right in front of me. Let preconceptions cloud my judgement."

Ruby shrugs and keeps her eyes on her feet when Lucifer's eyes settle on her. "I over-corrected and didn't engage close enough. I thought if I stayed out of range, he wouldn't get close enough. And I was wrong."

Cain's gruff voice wraps up their assessment. "We weren't fast enough. Way too slow."

"Good." Then Lucifer looks down at Sam, and gives him a real smile, this time.

"Now you can go, Sam. Tell them what you noticed." Lucifer's tone is much softer, now. He holds up the spear's hilt to Sam's throat, baring it, bringing his gaze upwards.

Sam looks at him, eyes wide, and licks his lips, throat bobbing and his pulse visible and racing in this throat.

Sam's tone is off, too clinical, too off-key, as he rasps, "Abaddon left her right side open, then over-corrected when I went for her neck. Lilith gets too close, she doesn't account for her own physical limitations, which makes it easier to target her suit's weak points. Dagon doesn't dodge well, which is how I got her fingers, and that let me get in deeper. Um. Cain is too cautious, he hangs back and then tries to overwhelm his targets with pointed attacks, but he broadcasts his movements, so it's easy to track his head. Azazel tries to fake people out, but he likes watching people's reactions too much, likes talking, so he can get thrown to the floor or pinned easy, and then he's useless. Brady got in too close, his eyes were easy targets. Ruby got scared and held back, which made it easy to burn her up." Sam smiles at her, all violence, then he looks back at Lucifer and keeps going. "Alastair let his feelings get in the way, and that made him weak to manipulating his spirit. He likes trying to inflict as much pain without considering what's effective. Meg held her own pretty well, didn't have too many preconceptions, but she wasn't nimble enough, tried to depend on me focusing on all the others to get hits in, and I caught her. Ramiel... He relies on form and balance and tiring out his opponent. He waits too long, and if his opponent doesn't slip... He gets sloppy." Sam twitches, then shivers, hugging himself.

Lucifer's wings wrap around him as he lowers the spear.

"Good, Sammy. Very good. Now tell me." And Lucifer leans in closer, mouth to Sam's ear. "What did you do wrong?"

Sam swallows again and ducks his head down, shaking even more now as his eyes go glassy and blank again.

His voice is so, so soft. "I said no."

And Sam looks back into Lucifer eyes, as if it's a question, gaze only on him, only able to focus on one thing.

Lucifer's lets out an aborted laugh, but it's mostly a sigh. He ruffles Sam's hair. "True. But, hmm, other than that..."

"I said no and I threw us down into Hell and I didn't listen and I gave up." Sam's words jumble together, almost rote, but too desperate.

Lucifer stares Sam down, expression still gentle, but the smile is sharper, now.

Dean doesn't want to see whatever this is, even though he knows what this is, and he looks at Cas, who knows too much.

Jack is lost, but he can pick up on the general gist enough. Sam isn't even aware enough to look at him, right now.

"I mean today, Sam." Lucifer corrects, stroking Sam's chin.

Sam's eyes regain some clarity, and his voice grows a bit stronger. He pokes at his punctured collarbone and looks at his bruised and bloody knuckles as if seeing them for the first time. His knee is a bit skinned, too, although it's shallow. He might have a fractured ankle, or it's just twisted. Sam can't quite feel it, with the buzzing in his head and the ringing in his jaw and the taste of blood and ashes and metal on his tongue.

"I let them get a hit on me." Sam closes his eyes and licks his lips.

"More specific, please."

"I left my face arms and legs uncovered. I didn't shield my left side. I crouched too much. And I wasn't fast or controlled enough. I slipped."

"Right. And what are you going to do about that?"

Sam looks back at him, but not in the eyes.

"Be faster. Not get hit." He says dully.

"And what are you going to do to make sure that doesn't happen?"

"Be better."

"How?"

"By being what you made me."

"And why do you need to do that, Sam?"

"Because even if you are there, I need to be able to defend everything. I have to take care of myself." Sam recites. "I must treat my body like it matters. Because it's important. Like a temple."

"Right, Sammy. Exactly right. And why's that?"

Lucifer hugs Sam closer, and this time, Sam flinches, like he finally remembers where and when he is.

"Because it's mine and I'm yours and the only body I have."

Lucifer kisses his forehead and heals Sam's injuries with two fingers to Sam's head.

Sam winces, but otherwise remains quiet.

They both rise as Lucifer helps Sam back to his feet, Lucifer patting Sam's cheek. "And you're all aces."

Sam doesn't stop looking at Lucifer once, hyper-aware of every movement. A tendon in his leg shakes. Lucifer stops him from stumbling.

Lucifer keeps talking, too animated yet too casual as he keeps rubbing Sam's arms. "Now, you've got some leeway on your schedule. So, we can either get you cleaned up and we'll resume tomorrow, or we can patch up some of your weak spots now and practice more. Or we can see what other skills need brushing up. Like stealth. You can even bring company, and after that we'll all have dinner. So. What's your preference?"

All the stillness Sam has been holding himself with crumples at the very mention of stealth, and Sam looks at Dean and looks like he'd like nothing more than to melt out of his skin or bolt from the room. His eyes glance at Jack and then away, looking down.

Castiel looks like he wants to tackle Lucifer, to cut off his hands, but he doesn't.

"I... I don't want to fight." Sam murmurs, because he's not allowed to run, and Lucifer won't stop holding his hand.

"Well, that's out." Lucifer replies with cheer. "Jack's seen enough today, anyway. Enough to get the basic idea of where he has to start. Two options left."

Sam scratches some of the dried blood on his face, but he can't get clean now, because he knows where that goes, what Lucifer will do. That's his favorite option.

"I'll hide." Sam decides quickly, although it's not much of a decision.

"Alright. Ten minutes, Bunk Buddy. Don't leave the bunker, and bring as many friends as you please." Lucifer directs, a bit too knowing as he winks.

The second his hand leaves Sam's, Sam bolts, dragging Dean and Jack out of the room as fast as his feet will carry him.

Cas follows.

He knows this game, too.

\--

"Sam, Sam, what's going on?" Dean finally finds his voice as he tries not to get in the way, Sam basically barricading on the doors with every piece of furniture he can find as he moves it with his mind.

Jack helps, although he can only get flashes of feeling, of raw panic, of thoughts that only amount to, **no** , and **need to find better cover, that's not good enough** , and **did we hide the footprints?**

Sam turns in a frenzy as he looks back. "Cas, the footprints-" His voice is shrill.

Castiel's voice is solemn. "I hid them."

Sam looks like he's going to cry with relief.

"How long?" Sam asks. Dean sees Sam weave in between him and Cas, still pulling Jack along hand in hand.

"Three minutes down." Cas answers.

"Cas, what is this?" Dean asks, as he follows Sam's lead and starts moving the lamp and bedside table.

"We're playing hide and seek." Cas explains, less than helpful. The way he says it isn't reassuring, and there's a weight there, a warning.

"Um, why?" Dean tries not to scoff. Mostly out of associated fear, because if Sam's acting like this, it's not a good thing.

"Because you hide." Sam answers, still not all there. "So he doesn't find you. And then when he finds you..."

Sam trails off, eyes wide and breaths labored and he looks like he's going to pass out.

"We have to find cover and then ward the area, Dean." Cas supplies. "We try to keep him out."

"And if we win?" Dean asks, looking between them.

Cas and Sam don't say anything. Sam drags them under three beds he's tossed together and starts scratching out Enochian, Cas having messed up the other rooms with more abandon so Lucifer doesn't find them from the chaos alone.

"I mean, if he doesn't find us..." Dean trails off.

"He always finds me." Sam whispers. And then he's cradling Jack, hugging him, before he starts drawing more again.

Jack still looks lost but determined to help. "I could shield us a little. With my powers"

Dean pats him on the shoulder.

Sam shakes his head at his son. "He'll still feel me. Would only be a waste of energy. Better to draw the most sigils."

They all start drawing symbols, Cas and Sam directing, paying particular attention as he helps Jack, keeps his body so it shields him from the door at all times. Dean also knows some from Sam's older lessons and draws those on his own.

"What happens once he finds us?" Jack asks quietly.

Sam goes still. Cas pats his hand, and then Priscilla wriggles under the bed and leaps on top of all of them, licking Sam's face. She'd been trying to get over there for ages, but Lucifer had ordered her to sit and stay outside earlier that day. She came from the other side of the room, the bathroom. The effect grounds Sam immediately, because that's Priscilla's job.

Dean locks that door and then heads back under the bed.

Sam's voice shakes, but he looks at Jack with newfound clarity, voice stronger. The only light is the wards carved into the underside of the wood.

"Then we stay really still and really quiet, until we have to use the wards to keep him out. You'll know when." Sam looks back down, then pulls down the blankets used to hide the symbols after everyone is mushed together under their fortress.

"And if he gets in?"

Sam bites his lip until he draws blood. "I think the rules are different, this time. He doesn't usually let me hide with other people. I think... I think he just takes me to get cleaned up, and then we all walk away and eat."

There's an omission, there.

Cas knows it. Dean can guess. Jack is blissfully unaware.

Seven minutes pass.

"READY OR NOT, I'M COMING!" They all flinch at Lucifer's yell.

Sam ducks down under their miniature hiding spot, everyone following until Priscilla and Jack are wedged against his chest, and the back of Sam's head digs into Dean's shoulder, and Castiel's wings surround them all halfway as Dean leans against Castiel's torso, head cricked against Castiel's neck.

Sam shudders and tilts his head when footsteps stop outside the door, then he leans back into Dean.

Dean hugs Sam closer.

Priscilla keeps her head shoved against Jack's neck, belly up, as Jack keeps his head against Sam's shoulder.

When the door opens, Sam covers both Dean and Jack's mouths to muffle their breathing, Cas covering Sam's. He knows how this plays out.

Lucifer whistles, then hums. He checks under other things, moved some stuff. Checks the bathroom.

They all know he feels them (feels Sam), when he stops, feet visible from under the cover.

"Nice job covering your tracks. Eight minutes. Not bad at all." Lucifer says, and then pulls back the sheets hiding the small entrance from view, and he leans down and lays on the floor.

Red eyes meet Sam's as the Devil props up his own face, elbows to the floor.

Sam claps both his hands over his mouth to stop the whine from being audible.

"And I mean, normally, I'd test your warding." Lucifer adds, then leans out a hand. There's a sizzle and a crack! As his hand burns, three inches from Sam's ankle, even though Sam is curled in on himself as much as he can.

"But no need to go that far today, I don't think. You did good, kiddo. Kept yourself sharp. Taught Dean and Jack more things they didn't know. Perfect demonstration."

"So we can leave now?" Jack asks.

Cas claps a hand over his mouth, half-unthinking.

Sam just shakes more.

"Yep." Lucifer assures, the word popping out too brightly. "Come on out, Jack. Cas. I want to speak to Sam."

Jack obeys. He knows better not to. Sam almost tries to stop him, because you don't go out when Lucifer says you can, that's how he gets you, it's breaking the rules. But the rules aren't the same for them, Jack will be fine, he's fine, it's fine...

Priscilla licks Sam's face again.

Jack crawls out from under the bed, Cas following behind.

Cas almost suffered the same panic attack, seeing as he's seen everything Sam has, even if it was muted, but Lucifer waves them on to the kitchen to eat. He does wink at Cas as Cas looks back at him, hand around Jack's back, and Cas stumbles, then catches himself, as he directs them out into the well-lit hallway.

Now it's just Lucifer, Sam, Dean, and the dog.

Lucifer says a command in Enochian and Priscilla whines but obeys, following Jack to the table.

Now it's just Lucifer and Sam and Dean.

Lucifer closes the door and locks it with a flick of the wrist. It slams shut.

Sam jumps.

"So. Bunk Buddy. You want to come on out," Lucifer wiggles closer, on his stomach, like a snake, as he keeps going, "Or you gonna fight me?"

 **I don't know what you want.** Sam finally wails a prayer. **I don't know if the rules changed.**

"Deep breaths, Sam. This isn't the Cage. I'm not mad at you." Lucifer is too assuring. "The rules are only the main three. All the rest... Not there unless I say so. Okay? But you gotta give me a direction."

Sam shudders and hides against Dean's arm.

Dean swallows.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" He finally asks, all the raw rage that's been building and building leeching out. "What the fuck-"

"Dean, don't take that tone with me. I let you stay with him as a favor, to calm Sam down. I can make you leave." Lucifer warns, tone changing on a dime as his eyes narrow.

Sam tries to make himself even smaller.

He tries to speak, muffled against Dean's arm, but no words come out.

Lucifer sees his jaw move, sees the motion. He smiles. This time, his voice is airy and shallow. "Sam. Can't talk, I get it. But you don't want to fight, clearly. Otherwise you'd be singing pretty for me. So. Break the warding. I promise, this will be different. Everything is going to be better now. No need to live in the past."

Sam whines and curls into fetal position.

Any silence Dean decided to have out of self-preservation and to protect Sam is lost the moment Sam loses it, and Dean's voice is deep and growling enough to make Sam wince.

"Lucifer. What did you do to my brother?"

Lucifer rolls his eyes and cuts him off, although his expression is dead serious, his eyes flat, his mouth twisted in that way Dean can tell is sour and sure and not playing around. "What do you think I did?"

Dean doesn't know how to say the word, not with Sam right there, but Lucifer doesn't wait for his answer. Just keeps going like he always does. "I fucked him, Dean. I dragged him out of every single place he ever tried to hide and I fucked him until all he remembered was my name. And then I tortured him a little. But most of the time, I just reminded him just who he belongs to. And Sam enjoyed it, when I wanted him to. I made sure. I mean, what kind of lover would I be, if I didn't?"

Sam keeps himself quiet, now. Doesn't move an inch.

Lucifer runs a finger over the warding on the wood of the bedframe again, the movement slow, deliberate. His hand sparks, fingers burning and blackening as he looks at Sam.

The wards start to melt and fail.

Dean knows Sam knows, because Sam twitches against him. He can see Lucifer's wings almost extend, see the light of his true form reaching out from beyond Lucifer's skin, an echo not fully there.

Dean's shoulder gets wet.

"Just leave him be." Dean begs, because he wants to get angry. Wants to say so many other things. But that won't save Sam. Nothing has saved Sam for the past six years. So he'll beg for him, if he has to. "He's doing what you want. Why... Why do you have to beat him down all the time, even after he does what you ask him to? Hell, he fucking says he loves you whenever you bring it up. Just stop hurting him. Stop punishing him for the things you think he did to you. He didn't mean it. He never wanted to hurt you. He loved you." 

"Loves." Lucifer corrects.

"Then how can you keep doing this to him?" Then Dean starts crying. "Don't. Don't touch him. Punish me, if you have to. You hate me. Not him. Please."

"No!" Sam's muffled voice cries out, as he undoes his own playing-dead response and untangles himself so he's looking at Lucifer. Dean looks at Sam, thrown, tries to stop him from crawling out of there, because he can't go out there, he can't-

Lucifer lets Dean break. But he does melt the warding into nothing. And he grabs Sam by the ankle and drags him out from under the bed, his fingers clenched too tight while Sam keeps twitching, half wanting to fight Lucifer off and claw the floorboards, and half wanting to let him do what he wants if it means Dean is safe. Sam settles on both at the same time, half-limp and nails scratching so hard they break off and bleed.

Sam's mouth bleeds, too. He bit his damn tongue too hard. The wailing noise he's making through closed lips changes after that.

Dean tries to lean forward and grab Sam's hand to stop him from being pulled away, but Lucifer keeps him frozen in place, in half-suspended movement.

Lucifer presses Sam's head against the floor, hand splayed over Sam's skull, as Lucifer crawls, half on top of Sam, Sam's checkered flannel shirt riding up as Lucifer's white t-shirt slides against Sam's back, but Lucifer doesn't do anything else.

Sam goes silent.

The Devil tilts his head as he looks at Dean, fingers still stroking Sam's hair.

Lucifer starts in, voice a rumble in his chest, "Dean. For all that you understand your brother, you've always been so very blind and selfish. Sam prefers me hurting him. Doesn't mind being on the receiving end. Better him than anyone else, that's what's going on in his grapefruit. He's so fucking submissive, too. He'd get into it if I fucked him right here. Right in front of you. But you make a good point, Dean. Sam does love me. And he never wanted to hurt me. But he does. He keeps fighting me when he should just give up." And then Lucifer shoots Sam a glare, but he only heals his swelling tongue that was half bitten in two back to normal.

Sam closes his eyes and lays his head as close to the floor as he possibly can. Lucifer keeps his own head a fraction above his, but still close enough for Sam to feel skin on skin. There's still a layer of dried blood in between them, but the freezing cold of the Devil makes it crack and tighten and flake.

Everything smells like blood and metal and Sam's nose burns, the skin of his face and hands and shoulders raw from the cold and the caked on blood.

Tears slide down Sam's face like an afterthought, even though those almost freeze, too.

Lucifer licks his lips, adding, "And instead of letting me make him pay his dues, so he learns, so Sam stops being so blind to his own needs, so he stops sacrificing his own welfare to do what's best for everyone else... He just keeps saying no. He won't _stop_ saying no."

Lucifer looks back at Dean, teeth bared, and his voice becomes a hiss. "And that's your fault. It's his, too, because Sam chooses to say it, but you know what? You made him think he had to leave me after I won him over, fair and square, after I was going to give him everything. You drilled that no into him. You beat him down first with your fists and your words and your doubt, and he's never forgotten it. He still is more scared of you hating him than he ever is of me." Lucifer does an impromptu imitation of Dean's voice. "'Don't say yes to the Devil, Sammy. He doesn't have your best interests in mind.'" Then Lucifer's voice goes back to normal, stops his head from bobbing side to side. "You're the problem here, Dean. If he didn't believe you, if he didn't let you call the shots, if Sam could just get over himself and let me make the calls for him... He'd be happy. But he doesn't let things go. He's like me, that way. So you're right. You are the problem, Dean. But Sam still has to pay the price, because he wants it- chose it- to be that way."

Lucifer pauses, then snaps! And the room is cleaned up, and Dean is unfrozen, deposited on the bed while Lucifer moves himself so he's completely on top of Sam, keeps stroking Sam's neck and back and under his shirt as he dry humps him.

"You know... I am showing restraint here. I'd have torn you apart ages ago. But that hurts Sam more than anything. I mean, you should have seen the Cage, Dean. I did so much to him, I remade Sam into something better and stronger and brought out everything he's ever been. But when I hurt him, when he gave me no choice... You know what hurt him most, aside from being alone or on fire?" Lucifer's voice grows softer. "When he thought I was hurting you, and he could do nothing about it."

Then Lucifer's eyes are glittering, and he stares at Sam trembling underneath him, pressing a kiss to the underside of Sam's jaw while he moves both his arms over Sam's own, lacing their fingers hand in hand.

"Isn't that right, Sammy?" Lucifer whispers in his ear.

Sam nods.

Lucifer sits back up, cross-legged, and he kisses Sam's closed eyelids as he pulls Sam up into his arms, Sam's head lolling as it lists against Lucifer's shoulder as Lucifer adds, "And you don't even deserve an ounce of the consideration Sam gives you. But he keeps giving and giving."

"You've hurt him worse than me every single day." Dean hisses, hands balling into fists, trying to grab Sam out of the Devil's arms, but he still can't move beyond the bed.

"I only did the things I did because Sam gives me no other option." Lucifer answers, eyes narrowing. "And that's not true, Dean. Gadreel was the worst violation someone else ever inflicted on him because Sam had no idea it was happening and it all happened after everything he went through with me. And you said you would do it again, Dean. Sam never expected you to do that, to go that far to keep him alive and rent him out against his will, against everything he wanted, without even him knowing about it."

"That's not true, you vile, disgusting-"

"Let's not kid ourselves." Lucifer's tone is flat. "Sam has only ever suffered me inside him because he loves me. He's never cared about being a true vessel. And I promise you, Dean, not even me fucking him and having him carry our child hurt him more than what you did to him with Gadreel."

Sam does let out a garbled sob and tries to claw Lucifer's eyes out and his face off and his heart out, but Lucifer shushes him and holds his hands still and then turns Sam so he's once again facing forwards, facing Dean, as Lucifer resumes grinding against him, his eyes never once leaving Sam's face. 

"I mean, sure, he was scared to death of what I did and he felt awful inside his old body. He hated it. Even I wish it didn't have to be that way, but we didn't have other options if we were going to have a child. I made the entire process as painless as it possibly could be, given the circumstances. Did I punish Sam for not giving in to what he felt or for disobeying me? Yes. But those are the rules, and he knows that, and he still felt it, even with all the pain and the hate and the fear. Hell. He still feels it right now. It's all there. Easy to read."

Lucifer undoes Sam's belt with one hand, then the zipper, and Sam goes rigid and then goes limp, all the fight leaving him at once. His eyes almost roll back in his head, but they don't, because the grace pours over him, so much Dean can almost see it freezing Sam out.

"Don't-" Dean sobs, but Lucifer keeps talking over him, even and measured, as if this is a casual conversation.

Dean closes his eyes. A flutter of wings, and Lucifer makes him open them.

But Lucifer doesn't feel Sam up or go further. Just keeps his hand on Sam's bare stomach where his shirt rides up and his high-waisted jeans part, both of them remaining entirely motionless except for tiny circles Lucifer draws with the edge of his thumb.

"And I think the evidence speaks for itself. We all see how Jack grew on him. The only major kinks were when I had to leave him alone. That was the worst of it, for Sam. I didn't want to, but Sam made me, and sometimes it was unavoidable if I wanted to keep him, because you kept sniffing around... So what if Sam felt helpless and completely at my mercy? Sam's always been that with me, even before we started having disagreements. And he knows what I will do to him. He knows our terms. He knows how much he wants me to take care of him."

Lucifer claps one hand over Sam's mouth, and then he does push Sam down against the floor, spine against wood.

Lucifer climbs back on top of Sam, and Sam makes some noise against his hand, but Lucifer just keeps petting Sam's hair, not doing anything else, just lying there on top of him, Sam's green eyes too wide.

"He knows I can do anything I want to him. He knows that I'll keep telling him everything I'm going to do to him, because that's always how it's been, and I don't lie. But you don't have the same criteria to meet, because Sam didn't give you permission. But he lets me. Because he gave me permission. Forever. Like right now, if I wanted to. But I won't."

Lucifer kisses Sam's forehead.

Sam keeps staring at the ceiling.

_But once we're all alone, you will take anything I offer like the little slut you are. I promise I'll make it feel good. So good, everything I did this morning will feel like a bad dream._

Sam's eyes close.

Dean's voice is frantic. "No. No he doesn't. And you hurt Sam the most. You. Because he loved you. He fucking loved you, and he still does, and he hates himself for it. And all you do is violate that love and trust over and over. All you do is control and torture him until he's too afraid to do anything else except what you want, because if he has to survive you, that's the only choice he has." Dean says, scared to admit it but saying the words he has known have been true for years. "And you don't get to pretend you do anything to him because of me. You do it to him because you want to and because you think you have the right. Because you get off on hurting him just because you know he loves you and you're afraid of the truth. That if you ever loved him back you would have never done any of the things you did, not one. Nothing more. Nothing less. And one day... One day Sammy's going to kick your ass and he's going to live his life free of you and he'll move on and he'll love someone else and he'll be happier than he ever was with you. One day he's going to throw you down and he's going to win." Dean challenges, and he turns his head more towards Sam, and Dean keeps on crying because there isn't anything else he can do or say. "Sam. Sammy, I'm sorry I can't do anything. I'm sorry I can't help you, not when it counts. I'm sorry I failed you so bad and that I made you feel like you can't trust anything. I was wrong. But you have to know... You've always been the best of us. Even if you think you're broken... You aren't, Sam. He can't break you. Not with all the good inside you."

Lucifer turns and looks at Sam, who opens his eyes, and is allowed to sit back up. Sam swallows and licks his lips.

No one says anything.

"Doesn't matter." Sam rasps. "None of it fucking matters anymore."

**Not today.**

"Just let Dean go." Sam begs, turning to Lucifer, and he kisses him, long and drawn out and so far beyond fear he almost feels scooped out, like there's nothing inside him.

Lucifer kisses Sam back and waves his hand as an afterthought.

The door unlocks, and Dean is unfrozen, transported to the doorway.

Lucifer hauls Sam to his feet and flies them both to the bathroom.

From the kitchen, all anyone hears is the sound of running water.

No sounds or sign of struggle.

\--

Lucifer scrubs off all the blood that covers Sam head to toe.

He doesn't do anything else except kiss Sam's lips and jaw. Remains clothed.

Sam prays and prays and prays Lucifer not to fuck him in any form.

Lucifer listens, with one caveat.

"Say it." He orders.

"I love you."

Lucifer's tone softens, and he hugs Sam and doesn't let go.

"I love you too, Sam. And I know you do. I know."

\--

Lucifer makes the shower shorter than usual.

Dresses Sam in clothes right out of the damn dryer, warm and soft and light.

Bends Sam face-first over the edge of the bed and kisses his neck, hands twined once again with Sam's own.

That's it.

Then he flies Sam down to dinner, sits him down next to Cas and Jack.

The Devil takes out the vegetable lasagna he's made and been keeping warm from the oven.

Serves it.

Sam eats, although his throat burns.

Lucifer rubs his back and smiles encouragingly.

_You did good today. You made me proud._

Sam tries not to gag or choke and chews very slowly.

Then he swallows his entire glass of water down until it's empty and then he's lurching out of his chair to get more...

Lucifer catches him and refills it before he can leave the damn table.

_You just let me handle everything, Sam. You don't need to exert yourself._

Sam accidentally breaks all the glasses again with his mind.

It gets in the food.

Lucifer fixes it, but still.

Sam wishes he could choke the glass down if it means Lucifer will stop making him feel anything at all.


	155. Candy Store

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song from heathers

In one of the cleared out rooms of the Bunker, most of Lucifer's demons work on their appointed tasks, and some take their break-time, although Alastair is back in Hell managing something on his own and Azazel is out on an errand, so they miss out on all the action.

"See, you three need to see if you can climb the corporate ladder." Lilith considers, then blows some bubblegum until it pops.

"Expand your horizons." Abbadon adds on, arms arching over her head to illustrate her point. She draws more of the ritual diagram she's been developing with Lilith's oversight, Ramiel providing more ingredients to get the ball rolling on their prototype by her elbow.

Meg is skeptical. "If we weren't already on top, we wouldn't have been resurrected." She points out.

Ruby looks between them, quiet. Behind her Dagon keeps working on whatever algorithm Ash has been threatened into helping her with, half standing out of the swivel chair she's marked as her own as they stare at two glowing screens.

"True. But we were brought back through our proximity to the Winchesters. That doesn't mean we aren't seen as expendable." Brady is considerate, then turns to Abaddon and Lilith. "What would you suggest?"

"What they always suggest," Ramiel's voice is gruff and bleeds dry laughter. "A cut-throat competition to climb to the top. Over other people's bodies." He clinks glasses with Cain, who mirrors the moment but doesn't say anything, just drinks.

Ruby silently makes her move, but feigns confusion. "You want the three of us to fight each other to join your ranks?"

Lilith smiles and claps her hand together, still chewing. "Right on, sweetheart. And maybe kill some more people. Like... a contest. To see if you're eligible for a bonus."

Ruby tries to back-stab Brady, who sees it coming and feints. They stand and face off with each other, careful not to wreck anything important.

Meg doesn't move. She ain't thrilled, despite her proclivity for violence, "Not that I'm not for breaking the glass ceiling, but I'm not sure I buy it. See, way I see it, this is more personal..."

That stops everyone in their tracks. Dagon looks up, interested, Asmodeus mirroring her movement. Ramiel keeps working, while Cain is apathetic as ever.

"What do you mean?" Abbadon asks, turning towards her.

"Lemme see. Well, back in the day, Brady was all handling Sam, right? And then he fucked up and got ganked, and then Ruby here was conspiring with you," Meg points to Lilith, "And doing a good job of it, if you don't count our Father's wrath and displeasure after the fact. At the end of the day, she overplayed her hand, and succeeded, but still fucked up all the same. And you," Meg points to Abaddon. "You got royally screwed, while that one," Meg points to Asmodeus, who looks pissed, "Pissed our Father off trying to outplay him. And you two..." She waves at Ramiel and Cain, "Let's be real, it's not like you're in Lucifer's good books, either. You both fucked off. And Azazel, much as I love him, took way too much leeway with his orders and still isn't hearing the end of it." Meg steals Ramiel's abandoned beer and gives a swig.

"What about you?" Ruby objects, "You went and made friends with an angel and became buddies with the Winchesters. And you hurt Sam, yourself."

"Which I did because I was fighting Crowley, who we all know is getting his dues. And I safeguarded Father's vaults, didn't ransack them like those two." Meg nods at Asmodeus and Ramiel. "Otherwise.. don't make me laugh. I haven't hurt Sam nearly as much as bad as some of you, since my fuck-ups were all earlier on and I already paid my dues, Alastair made that very clear. So, way I see it, I got no ladder to climb. Aside from Abaddon, Dagon, and Alastair, I'm fourth in the running for the favorite, even higher up that Azazel now. Plus, Sam actually tolerates me thanks to the other angel on his shoulder, which means I have leverage none of you have. So I think I'll pass." Meg scrunches up her face in a mocking smile.

Brady almost looks grudgingly impressed at the bravado, while Ruby is taken aback, although her expression soon turns insulted.

Abaddon raises her eyebrows and smiles, looking at Dagon conspiratorially before she's eyeing Lilith.

Lilith's temper flares to life. "That so?"

Meg nods.

"Listen here, you little bitch," And then Lilith is standing tall over Meg's brown-haired container, the blonde demon's whites of her eyes showing. "I died for him. You can't claim seniority over me. I came first."

"Believe I just did. And uh, that's not really an achievement. So you were the prototype. And uh, if you were slated to die from the get-go, wouldn't that make you the least favorite? Minus Crowley, since he's got that honor." Meg needles.

Even Ramiel looks up at that, actually interested now. Ash keeps typing.

"We still got him out." Ruby answers, backing Lilith up as they both start in closer, ready to reign down some punishment.

"Oh, yes. And your methods... They worked, yeah, but they didn't help the cause overall." Meg shrugs and keeps smiling, even with both demons advancing on her. "And you still get sidetracked so easily."

"Lucifer wouldn't want us in-fighting." Cain reminds glumly, eyeing the way this is going. 

"He said nothing _excessive_." Abaddon corrects, ready to see this whole thing blow up as she and Ramiel keep working. "One little tiff ain't gonna ruffle his feathers."

"How are you even listening to her?" Lilith hisses back at Abaddon.

Abaddon shrugs, voice dry, "She's got balls, and that's sometimes all you need to get ahead. I like enterprising ladies."

She winks at Meg.

Meg gives her finger-guns.

"I am going to make you wish you were nothing more than a smudge on the wall," Lilith threatens. "So last chance to take it all back." She tries for flippancy, nails clicking against each other as her manicured fingers flex.

"I'll pass." Meg answers, too sure.

Lilith prepares something nasty to fling at her, but before she can, Rowena flies in with Castiel.

"Meg." Cas starts in, "We need you upstairs."

"That's my cue!" Meg gushes with fake enthusiasm, then claps Cas on the shoulder. "As if I'd ever let you down, Clarence. What's this one doing with you, by the by?"

"Supply run." Rowena supplies before Cas can say anything.

"You don't think I'm actually letting you walk out of here?" Lilith asks, actually thrown. "You think this pipsqueak of an angel and a witch take precedence?"

Rowena gives her a look like she'd like to challenge that assertion, but she isn't quite sure if he powers from the grimoire Sam lent her would put her on the same level, and even if it did... She didn't want to be more on Lucifer's radar.

Meg shrugs and answers with a toss of her head, "Well, see, pipsqueak usually ain't taking orders from anyone except you-know-who. And he ain't exactly alone."

Rowena holds up her hands, tone so full of sarcastic annoyance it overflows. "Leave me out of this, dear." Then she turns brusque, all business, "You have the ingredients?" She asks, holding out a hand to Cain. Cain obliges what she needs, seeing as he knows who she's been forced to work for.

"Didn't mean you." Meg clarifies as they make their exchange, nodding the other direction.

Sam is outside the doorway. For once, Lucifer isn't shadowing him.

Everyone goes really still except for Meg, who dips her head. "Hey, Oh-Great-And-Illustrious King of Hell. If you had to guess, who would say's in your good graces most these days?"

"Pass." Sam answers, too tired to care. "And don't call me that."

"But it's your title." Brady interjects, a bit too smug. Sam glares at him like he's considering smiting him, then decides it's not worth it. Ruby backs up, still not meeting Sam's eyes because she knows her orders. Lucifer doesn't want her so much as breathing at Sam in the wrong way for everything she's done. Only reason he brought her back was when she was needed to remind Sam of things he doesn't want to be reminded of, and to use as leverage when he's training Jack and Sam up for whatever his plans.

"Don't care." Sam answers, voice flat.

Then Cas gives Sam a look, and Sam obliges, because whatever this is important for some reason he doesn't know about and doesn't want to know. He sighs, looking back at Meg. "You, I guess, although honestly I still hate your guts and only tolerate you because of what you did for Cas. Ramiel comes second, since he's the least annoying on a day-to-day basis, although he loses points for trying to kill Cas."

Ramiel shrugs and answers, "I gave you the option not to steal from me."

"Yeah, well, we didn't know Mom did, and you still stabbed him." Sam answers, beyond done.

"Fair." Ramiel concedes.

"Told ya." Meg answers, pointing.

"Shut up." Sam argues. "You've killed a ton of people, possessed me, killed Bobby's dog, and killed Ellen and Jo. Honestly, you all still should just stay dead, but since that's not happening..."

"See, you take this whole haughty king thing like a fish takes to water." Meg encourages.

"Does that mean I shouldn't threaten to smite you all just because I can?" Sam asks, too tired not to.

"Probably not." Meg jokes back.

Lilith mutters at her, nostrils flaring. "Doesn't mean I'm not _his_ favorite."

"Abaddon and Dagon are the current favorites, if that's what you're asking." Sam answers, eyeing her just to twist the knife a little deeper. "Not that he gives a damn either way."

Lilith's tongue looks cloven too her mouth, face like she ate a whole lemon. "What do we owe the pleasure of your company?" She finally directs at Sam now, wanting to be less reverent but knowing the rules.

Sam doesn't answer her and hands Rowena a plate of cake. "Jack didn't want you to forget your piece, since he knows you got... distracted." 

Silent communication passes between them, and Rowena nods, some of the tension lessening in Sam's frame.

"Same with you, Ash, since you couldn't make it." Sam says gently, floating another piece over. Ash takes it with a thumbs up and a genuine but rushed thanks, still frantically working out whatever has him distracted. Doesn't want to be seen as slacking off, not when the Devil himself is keeping tabs on your work.

Without further ado, Castiel pats Sam on the shoulder and then flies Rowena and Meg upstairs.

And then there's another flutter of wings, and Lucifer's arm are once again looped over Sam's shoulders.

"How's holding the fort going?" Lucifer asks, too cheery, and everyone starts to their feet, immediately looking down, except for Sam, who just goes still.

"Fine." Sam answers, like he's got cotton stuffed in his mouth.

Lucifer's grip tightens, but he takes the answer for what it is. "Rest of you. Where are we at?"

"Close, boss." Abbadon answers with emphasis, and points at the schematics. "Once Dagon and that one get the full algorithm going, we should be ready to start testing."

"Good. We're ahead of schedule. So, that means you can all join the party, even you two once you finish, long as Sam doesn't think it's a bad idea."

"Don't think Donna will care." Sam answers, pointedly neutral.

Lucifer smiles at him, then rubs his back. "There you go." Then Lucifer snaps, and Sam flinches, and everyone else doesn't move. "Rest of you can go and do whatever it is you do in your free time while we wait. Come on, Sam. Still got a lot to do today. Busy bees, all that."

Sam is flown away again.

After the coast is clear, Abbadon snickers and Ramiel high-fives her, Lilith looking more than pissed.

"Seems we got that sorted." Cain says, a bit too deadpan, and then all the demons that are not Dagon head out to paint the town red, bickering and laughing and debating, or in Cain's case, going off alone tend to his beehives. He still kept that hobby, in between all the training and murder he's ordered to carry out.

"Thank Hell they've left." Dagon mutters under her breath. She prefers the quiet, and Ash isn't exactly chatty while he with her.

They keep working at their breakneck pace, failure not being an option.


	156. Marble House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by the knife
> 
> also there was supposed to be multiple kelly pov chapters, one of which had her attempting to set lucifer on fire, and that did not happen but I want it to cooperate with me
> 
> there was also supposed to be a bobby babysitting jack chapter that never happened either so that's one of the other things I'd like to write one day

Sam knew staying in his room was a mistake the moment Lucifer waltzes back in. Knows it from the expression on Lucifer's face, too blank, too empty. 

Sam still doesn't leave, though. He can't stomach facing anyone today... Although, if Jack needed him, Sam would be there. He'd do it for anyone else who needed it, too, but everyone else could mostly handle themselves and Jack needed Sam in a different way than everyone else did because Sam was his parent and Jack knew he could just show up and Sam would drop everything and that's just how things were some days.

Just like Sam can't stomach company, some days.

Sam rises from laying on his back, though. No point tempting the Devil and making his life easier.

He hugs his knees to his chest, but Lucifer just looks at him, hands in his pockets, not saying anything for a moment. Then he's taking one stride forward, two, then more, until he's close enough to pluck out Sam's eyeballs if he wanted to.

(He doesn't. Sam knows that. He's in a good mood and Sam can't stand that, either.)

Lucifer bends down and kisses Sam on the forehead. Sam remains motionless and keeps watching the thunderstorm raging outside and the interrupting branches of the tree-limbs hitting the windowpane. The leaves and the twigs make thwacking noises that reminds Sam of whips. The whistling of the wind almost sounds like baleful screams.

The bed shifts as Lucifer sits down on the far corner of it.

Sam does move, then, kicks his legs out, perpendicular to on the edge of the bed as he gives and involuntary gulp of air.

"Bad day today?" Lucifer asks. He sounds serious for once as he asks. Like he gives a damn.

Sam bites his lip and closes his eyes and ignores him, still one foot away on the bed, which is better than nothing.

"Hey, I get it. We all have our moments." Lucifer answers his own question, and Sam flinches when Lucifer slides hair out of his eyes.

_Was it something I did? Recent events got you down?_

Sam shakes his head no, but then the laughter bubbles up anyway and Sam holds his sides and he can't stop as the tears keep streaming down his face.

**Did you do something. That's a good one.**

_Want me to make it better?_

**There's no answer I can give you that won't end badly.**

Lucifer is all calculation and eyes Sam like he's a puzzle. Maybe today, he is. Sam doesn't really know what's going on in his own head, so maybe Lucifer will have a harder time of it...

"You can't stay holed up in here forever. I know you don't really want to, either, so I don't see the point of why you keep insisting..." Lucifer starts in, but at Sam's expression, he takes in a breath he doesn't need and runs a hand over his face, then changes tact midway.

"Look, I need you, Sam. Maybe you don't hear it enough?" Lucifer asks, voice altogether too gentle as he sidles up next to him. Then there’s a hand making contact with Sam's shoulder until it slides lower and touches down on the sensitive skin of inside of Sam's arm where his joint crooks past the elbow. Instead of facing him, Lucifer keeps sitting on the bed parallel with Sam’s body at the end of the bed, both of them eyeing the window.

Sam’s eyes go back to being glued to the rain outside, seeing nothing as red eyes glance over at him with too much want and calm almost-kindness that Sam doesn’t want to feel seared on the side of his face, like a proximity burn.

 _So friendly little reminder: I love you_.

 **You’ve got a funny way of showing it**.

There's a dull thud over Sam’s eyelids and he can feel the frantic pounding of blood against his chest and throat and navel. This isn’t an angry Lucifer he has to weather, or an aroused Lucifer that wants to make Sam scream, although he’s always hungry, it’s always there, below the surface of whatever too-fitting mask he wears like a glove.

It’s worse.

Lucifer watches Sam’s lips, not meeting his eyes as a muscle jumps in Sam’s jaw. His voice is low and his expression tender as he places two fingers under Sam's chin. They hover there, then press Sam's gaze upwards to meet his gaze sidelong. The contact is so light it's like the contact of a moth's wing glancing against Sam's skin.

“Don’t be like that.” Lucifer laments. He has the gall to look heartbroken against the hollowed-out feelings always present, always scratching the inside of Sam's throat.

_You are made for me. Just as I was made to be with you. If you'd just stop making this so difficult..._

"Come on, Sammy. I don’t want there to be all these hang-ups between us. We can make this better." Lucifer tries, and a small half-smile that is altogether too much like Jess flashes over his face. Sam blinks slowly again, determined to ignore Lucifer's face and his eyes and his voice that's too raw and breathy as he adds, "I meant what I said. I want to make you happy. I’ve always wanted that, and it’s high time for it to happen already."

**You don't get to schedule my feelings, thanks.**

"Just throw me a bone." Lucifer's voice becomes plaintive, wound up with a fragile gentleness that hides pure ambition and sharp need as he stops touching Sam, only to once again reach out without touching him, hand hovering there like Sam has to meet him halfway, and Sam tracks the moment with his eyes as Lucifer keeps talking. "I want to build something new with you. I want to see you creating our new world right alongside me and to have you enthusiastically on board, Sammy. It's no fun when I have to force you into everything."

Sam stares him down.

"Then you could stop doing it." His voice is icier than Lucifer could ever be or ever would be again.

**Blackmail. Violence. Coercion. Rape. Take your pick.**

“I’m not too good at stopping, truth be told.” Lucifer admits too easily. A knee dips to press into Sam's own.

Sam flinches, but the contact doesn't stop.

_And don't pretend you don't like it. You hate having to make the hard calls, Sammy. That's what you have me for. See, if I force you into things I know you like? Gives you all the plausible deniability you crave without forcing you to give up the fact that you want it._

Rage rises in Sam's throat and stays lodged there, burning so hot Sam feels like the feeling will strike him dumb on the spot.

**That's not what this is and you know it.**

_Isn't it? Come on, Sammy. I feel can everything inside you. Sure, you've got your hang-ups, but for the most part, I can make you feel so good, it makes you forget all the bad. And let's face it. If I wasn't determined to keep you alive the best way I was able, permanently... Hell, if I was good at hitting the brakes, way back when, I would have killed Michael, stayed with you at Bobby's, and thrown the Apocalypse to the wolves. Not that it worked out like that, and it’s on you that wouldn’t let me keep you in Hell while everything blew over, although I tried... But it wasn't enough. Still, Sam. You wouldn't love me if I wasn't myself. Hesitation is your gig, not mine. We balance each other out._

Sam blinks his eyelids closed and inhales sharply as Lucifer starts playing with his hair, and then Sam finds courage he thought he'd left on the cutting room floor weeks and weeks ago.

**I beg to differ.**

Lucifer fingers stop stroking him, but his knee is still leaning into Sam, a constant pressure.

_How so?_

**There is no way I balance you out.**

_Not true._

Then there's two hands holding each side of Sam's face, calloused and still so very, very tentative, like Lucifer isn't playing the same game he always does.

**I’m less than a torn sandbag in your way these days.**

_Need I remind you, we don’t need to be in opposition 24/7, Sam._

**You’re right.** Sam's mouth twitches into an almost-snarl for a second before he schools his expression back into it's formerly impassive, zombie-like haze, expression dull and lifeless as the grey sky, with only rage and other feelings to light his features like lightning across the sky ( _like the Cage,_ Sam doesn't think, only he does) every once in a while when he couldn't school his features anymore. **You could stop being a son-of-a-bitch at any time.**

Lucifer turns to face Sam head-on. His fingers trail over the curve of Sam's throat, bobbing Adam's apple and all.

Sam turns back to the window.

_That’s not the issue here._

**Isn’t it?**

_I’m not lying, Sammy. You know what I want. Whether you’re willing to give us what we need is not contingent on us getting our just desserts. And you can make me stop at any time._

Sam can't help but turn back to look at Lucifer with that one, teeth gritted together and eyes wide.

**Like I believe that. The only way I’ve ever stopped you is by allowing myself to be torn apart. And you can’t ask me to be happy when you’re always hurting me-**

Lucifer expression becomes too patient. Betrays the thing behind the skin so Sam can't help but feel a clammy shiver up his spine.

_You don’t give me much choice. You're only hurting yourself, like always. If you wanted it to stop, Sam, you would just give yourself to me. But you don’t, because you won’t let yourself be happy. You want this pain. You want me to punish you. So I hurt you. Big deal. You ask for it, and I take such good care of you otherwise. It’s not like I need to ask permission anymore, Sam. You’ve already given yourself up to me. I’ll take what I can get. I’ll always take whatever you’re ready and able to give._

Sam's hands ball into fists.

**I'm not giving you anything. You're always hurting me, always taking, and just because I can’t stop you-**

Lucifer palms fall over his hands and the tension of his fists releases into a forced openness, into fake intimacy as Lucifer squeezes Sam's hand in his, because Sam knows a different threat when he sees it. The Devil is still too serene, and it's still not the serenity that promises pain, and Sam can't handle one drop of it.

_No, you just don’t want to. Deep down, you let me do it all, because you want to let me handle things. You don't mind the pain I put you through, because you know I'll make it all better and save you from the rest of it, worse pain that I can't ease. You want me, Sammy, you always do, but you’re too prideful and grudging to admit it. Why do you think we’re where we are now? You don’t give ground. Neither do I. But no amount of scorched earth beneath our feet is going to jeopardize our future. We’ve already started to build something beautiful together. Let's not stop now._

There's a beat as they look at each other, and then Sam blinks and turns back to the window. Lucifer follows the movement and keeps his body parallel to Sam again, one arm looping around Sam's shoulders.

Lucifer changes the subject like it's a mercy. (It's not. It never is. Nothing Lucifer could ever do is merciful.)

“I’ll let you in on a secret. While I might like playing God every now and again,” Lucifer's head tilts as the Devil leans against Sam’s shoulder, body language for once pure blankness except for too much ease and relaxed understanding as he continues, “I’m no good at creating things.”

 **Big surprise.** Sam doesn’t even know why he bothers to challenge Lucifer with bait he won’t take anyway, but he retreats into the feeling because not doing so hurts more and would be more of a betrayal of the frail bits of self Sam's managed to keep duct-taped together inside his patchwork collage of soul.

Lucifer grants Sam a rueful look as he keeps going.

“I was made to destroy.” He adds, voice too soft as he rolls his shoulders.

 **I didn’t notice**.

Sam remains still as a statue. Doesn't think of sandcastles stomped underfoot as they laughed, in a lifetime so far from this one, for too long.

“But you’re the one who truly makes things. You might break the world without even trying, because you’re still mine,” Lucifer says before he trails off. An open palm settles on Sam’s lower back now, and his fingers dip ever-so-slightly below Sam’s waistline, digits tapping like a spider inching along Sam’s spine as the Devil continues, “But when it comes down to it, you’re the one with all the potential. You and your glorious self, Sam, make things alive.”

Fear closes around Sam’s throat. Lucifer remains at ease, and understanding, patient ease is the most dangerous thing Lucifer can be, because that's when Lucifer gets under Sam's skin the most. That’s when he makes Sam feel the want and the love he hates himself for that would light him up from the inside out even when he didn't want to feel. It's when Lucifer is so gentle and so exacting and so certain and exactly like he's always been since the beginning that Sam almost wants to surrender if it means it will last this time, that things could be good again, even though he knows better and his pride demands that he never grant Lucifer the undeserved mercy. But Sam doesn’t have much pride left, truth be told. Lucifer has long since wrung it out of him and stomped over Sam's attempts to be less than a limp dishrag by now.

Sam just wants to stop feeling so goddamn afraid. Like he can't win something. Doesn't want to let the perversion of an old, abandoned false hope burst forth, like a poison apple from the poison tree of the same conditioning he's been fighting since Lucifer held him down and kept him in a room for almost a full year and made Sam feel things he didn't want to feel to stay sane. Sam's been fighting the aftereffects for too long now, from long before that, from the Apocalypse, even from Jess, and it always shows.

But Sam doesn't care if he hides it or not. Lucifer has seen it all before. What's the point of being discreet when they're alone? As long as Sam digs his heels in and grits his teeth... Doesn't matter if Lucifer reads him like an open book. Doesn't matter if he feels every single feeling.

Sam will remain himself either way.

_I might throw you in the deep end, give you a push, a shove… But when it comes down to it, you’re the one who helps me build something new. I'm an unstoppable force, and you're an immovable object. We complete each other. Life. Death. Just look at Jack, Sammy. Our kid is so kind and so sweet he’s almost an annoyance, almost too good for me to stomach. But that’s all on you. You did that. And look at everything you’ve done with me helping you along. Look at us, at everything we are. We’re like fire and gasoline. I’m the catalyst, and you’re the reaction. You take what I give, and all the while, you love me and challenge me and contort me into something new. And when you need the raw materials to become the perfect man I know you be..._

Lucifer's face is calm. Too tranquil.

Reverent.

_You let me in, and I fill you up..._

He lays a hand on Sam’s chest over his heart.

"And then you make things grow." Lucifer adds, voice still too quiet and low and honest.

The physical words awaken something inside Sam, and there's a scrabbling thing underneath his ribcage, like an animal trying to claw its way out.

Sam turns his face away and keeps staring out at the window being splattered with rain.

"Not you." Sam says quietly.

The rain sounds like rocks pelting against the glass. Clear liquid dribbles down in rivulets.

Thousands of years hang in the silence.

**I failed with you.**

And Sam pretends its not the one thing he wishes was different, even after all this time, because if it had worked, if things were different...

None of this would have happened at all.

But you can't make someone change if they were never what you thought they were to begin with.

Lucifer stops touching Sam as he remains close but not on top of him. Not even a knee rocks against Sam's own, nor a single toe brushes Sam's ankle.

_Sammy. I have grown. Maybe not in a way you expected, but still..._

**I don't care.**

_We both know, deep down, there is nothing I have done to you that you won’t forgive me for._

**Doesn’t matter.**

_But it does, Sam. You still love me. That’s all that really matters, in the end._

And Lucifer turns to face Sam and leans forward, has his fingers interweave with Sam's own, and then he pulls Sam’s arm up and presses a kiss to the inside of Sam’s wrist, lips brushing skin too lightly as they feel the jump of Sam’s pulse.

**Fuck what I feel or what you feel or think or what you want or any of it. You have no right to any part of me and you never did and you never will. I don't condone any of this, and I promise, I'm still going to rip your heart out, I will-**

Sam wrenches himself out of Lucifer's grip, and Lucifer turns all statue, all poised claws and teeth and eyes that want to burrow inside Sam and never leave, and Sam's almost grateful for it, because it almost snaps him out of what Lucifer was trying all over again. 

_And I'll eat yours, if you make me. Sam, for fuck's sake-_

The calm breaks for a moment, Lucifer all jagged edges and creeping needles of ice, but the moment passes, and Sam's back in too-frozen waters all over again as Lucifer's expression smooths over and his wings close around Sam like a wet rag and the Devil goes back to placid too-opaque patience. Both of his hands grasping Sam's arms too lightly again.

They stare at each other.

Sam's throat is so raw it hurts to inhale, but he can't get enough air unless he's breathing from his mouth right now, so he endures it.

Familiarity breeds a special kind of contempt for the both of them, but not the kind that hurts less.

Sam takes one breath.

Two.

Three.

Lucifer's voice remains low and soft,and it hacks at the silence like a wood-chipper grinding up wood. "You're too good at getting under my skin. You know that?" Lucifer sighs as he releases his grip on Sam's arms only to grab one hand as he rises to his feet and lets out a small laugh, adding, “Come with me, Sammy. I want to show you something.”

Sam swallows.

**Why?**

Sam rises, and Lucifer keeps hauling Sam along.

_Because I’m going to prove you wrong. And then we're going to have a good, completely innocent time where you bring out the best in me. And I'm going to remind you just why you love me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--
> 
> (fireflies and Jack)
> 
> (Heaven)
> 
> (Cage discussion)
> 
> (Things go south)


	157. Cradles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by sub urban

"Let's not beat around the bush, Sammy, burning or otherwise." Lucifer murmurs. "You know the truth. You know that if I really wanted to break you, there are many other lines I could have crossed. But I haven't, and I won't. I just want you to accept what we used to have- what we still have- and the things I had to do to get us there."

The look Lucifer gives Sam is different from the many multitudes he is used to.

There's something new there, new and terrifying and nameless in a way Sam doesn't like, in a way he doesn't understand even beyond the endless unknowable things he's become used to after housing and being stuck with the Archangel- and it's embalmed in the same kind of quiet patience Sam thought Lucifer had long since thrown to the wayside, which only makes Sam wonder if this whole setup can really get any worse, when he'd thought he'd long since hit rock bottom already.

The idea that Lucifer is holding back, is exercising restraint on a level Sam hasn't factored in...

It shouldn't be like this. Sam knows him inside and out, too well, better than his own mind sometimes.

And he's already taken everything. He's already hurt Sam enough, hurt Sam more than he can quantify.

If this is what he thinks of as kindness...

Sam doesn't know what he can do. He never really has, not when it came to the twisted things that never quite ceased, not when it came to Jessica, not when it came to Jack or anything concerning his welfare and what his life might turn into now, not when it came to anything the Devil ever promised and then did or did not follow through on-

Not when it came to his body and the wars that have been waged over and underneath his skin.

"And what is it I'm supposed to be accepting? The fact you want me to forgive you? The fact you'd do it again and you want me to love you anyway?"

Lucifer does not fidget when he crosses his leg and sits, too calm, allowing a distance Sam is surprised at. Only then he levels that fond look that Sam finds he can't fear this time, because at least it is predictable, just as he knows the space is all an illusion. Just another act to hide how he's going to wriggle in close and take what he wants because that's what he always does.

But at least Sam has some way to fight that familiarity and what it means- and all that he hates- if it means he can recognize the weapons used against him.

"Sammy, why do you think I never answered your prayers as a child?"

That makes the words die in Sam's throat. 

It is like the floor has given way beneath his feet, even though Sam is still, spine straight and standing tall, grounded in all the ways he isn't.

He doesn't want to know the answers. Not really.

Lucifer is going to tell him, anyway. Just as he's going to somehow make this Sam's fault and Sam can't quite take the false-blame game and run with it. Not when there's no way to get a scratch in, no way to fight or run or anything-

And there's too many things Lucifer knows. Too many things they had long ago agreed to never examine, to never talk about, even after Hell, after the Cage, after the room and all the time Sam was trapped inside it-

There were still some false boundary-lines they had both silently agreed to, in some kind of sick acceptance of what had once been and what little remained save for obsession and understanding- that same silence on what both kept them entangled in the web even when trying to rip themselves out of the other and escape to freedom when they felt too tied together, felt suffocated by the fact there was no getting away.

Sam, for once, takes the chance to look away from the Devil, when it has been so long now that he's almost forgotten how, barring the ways he'd ignore the hallucination or the ways Lucifer would demand deference. Not when he has to remain vigilant, to keep Lucifer from taking too much ground or catching everyone else by surprise. There's always that level of assessing the threat of the room, and Lucifer has always been the greatest one (save, maybe, for God- but he'd never been quite as personal about things, or as intentionally malicious).

Lucifer settles back in the armrest, following Sam's gaze out the cloudy, not-quite-frosted over window to the outside that may as well be a thousand miles away.

"You know I could have. Walked up with Jess right to your doorstep, helped you run from the life you never wanted and kept you with me until the end of days. You were so miserable, Sam, trying so hard to be someone you weren't, trying so hard to make your mark and stake your claim to your body and your life. You would've taken any life jacket provided it felt real enough to save you. And you know we would've been drawn together, just as we always are. We were already friends of a sort. It would have been easy."

"God forbid you don't give yourself a challenge." Sam's teeth grind into his lips, and Sam picks at his skin, scratches at his arm as if it will deflect the truth of things.

Lucifer, somber as he is, doesn't even pretend to crack a joke, or say, _don't take my father's name in vain, even if he's old news,_ like he would on any other off day.

Today, there is little left of the smokescreen that masks all of what Sam does not want to see.

And Lucifer only let's the cruel levity of the truth settle and do it's dirty work for him, rancid and thick in Sam's throat, humming through his veins like all the things that have marked him, like all the things Sam has tried to burn out and use and rip inside himself and outside it, only for the pure light of the one he'd only loved half as a way to break the ways he could not love himself-

Only to crack himself open and make him feel clean and used and broken and impure from all the ways Lucifer had always coveted him, kept him, all the ways Sam was not allowed to be anything but what he wanted even if he had to stitch him back together, piece by piece, with all the eternal attention in the cosmos.

"I didn't, though. Surely you wondered- you know I can wait, Sam, but how I hate it. You know how much I wanted to reach you. Touch you, hold you, keep you-"

That does make Sam shift, makes him turn on his heels and stare Lucifer down even as he remains sitting, too comfortable, every word he says always ripping the fake bandaid he pretended was there off as if it had never even existed.

"-Just as I know how you've wondered why I didn't let you keep your real body to bring life to our son."

Sam pretends he can't hear him even though he can't move, can't look away, can't feel like anything but carven stone so he doesn't feel like a marionette on a string he'd been trying to untangle himself from all along, only for new strings to tangle him further just to make him dance again.

"Ask me, Sam." Lucifer orders. "Ask me for the answers and I will grant them. Isn't that what you always want? The truth? To see things as they are so at least you can make sense of things? You've always needed to know. To figure things out, even the hard truths. It's how you live. And we both know you want to have the answers, even when you don't, because if you didn't spend every waking second trying to wrest yourself away from me and my plans, then you wouldn't be the only one able to survive and withstand me. Go on, Samuel. Ask." Lucifer holds his arms wide. "And ye shall receive."

"No." Sam says. It's quiet. A quiet but strong word that once meant something even if it didn't any more.

Lucifer stands. Does not reach out. Does not wring his hands. Does not touch Sam's head, or shoulder, or the small of his back.

He just lingers. A peripheral on the edge of Sam's vision.

Sam damns the silence. Lucifer so rarely ever is, and Sam feels the need to fill the gaping hole of what might just devour him just by being unsaid, even if he knows he's playing into Lucifer's hands.

When isn't he, after all. Even when he wins, he loses, but that's just the price you pay.

The way his chest would ache when Lucifer held his soul in his claws and hands and rummaged around hits like a phantom pain, even if Lucifer is keeping his hands to himself today.

"If you are going to claim it was mercy-" Sam finds himself unable to finish his sentence. Doesn't understand why it still hurts. 

Lucifer laughs. For once, it sounds quiet and real in a way it hasn't been, in the way it has been an angry, violent prelude to worse things.

"We both know I am anything but that, Sammy."

Then the mask is back, wrinkled nose and hooded eyelids and fingertips-threaded-through-the-beltloops of his jeans with it, all the false camaraderie and human joviality Lucifer so often wears with the cynicism on his sleeve. "But hey, you want to play twenty questions instead of letting me explain, that's your prerogative, don't let me rain on your parade-"

Disgust. That's all Sam can manage right now. There's too much suffocating him, too many cliffs to drop off the moment this new mood turns into the same familiar black hole it always is.

"Just get it over with, then. We both know you will whether I ask or not." Sam breathes.

Maybe it is another white flag thrown down. But it is not a true surrender.

Even if Lucifer slips his hand in Sam's, bumps shoulders, and Sam takes a breath and flinches but knows that with the glint in Lucifer's eye, in the curl of his fingers and the way he weaves Sam's in his own, that if he steps away it will only make this unbearable.

The contact feels more like a cage, like a room with no windows, than any of the real thing ever was.

"It wasn't mercy, Sam. But it was an attempt at mitigating the damage. A kindness in something that could never be kind, and as necessary as the arrangements were... I know how much you barely held it together. How do you think you'd be able to function, if I took that away from you?" Lucifer asks.

Sam doesn't have to ask what he means.

Keeps his tone clinical and flat in all the ways his heart beats too fast, in all the ways his eyes are brimming and his throat hurts and he wants to beat his hand against the window and the reflection of them both inside it until he bleeds, until it shatters-

"If you are invoking pragmatism, saying what you did was only a way to preserve my sanity-"

"Please, Sam, your sanity can be rebuilt along with all the rest of you. No, Sam. I was looking out for your heart. How could you love yourself, or love what grew inside you, if it took the last thing that I let belong to you and only you away? Your old body may have been a cage. But it was kinder to make a temporary sacrifice, than to stain your entire sense of self irreparably forever. I may be cruel, but I do love you. And you already hate yourself enough that you don't even hate the world, or me, or anyone else properly. Look me in the eye, Sam, and tell me that you already don't want to rip yourself apart even now. Why would I add to that, when you can hate who you were forced to be, forced to be seen as, instead of who you truly are when all else is stripped away?"

There are too many things Sam wants to yell in answer. Too many horrible things he wants to break Lucifer, in all the ways he pretended he wasn't doing the very same to Sam every single hour since he'd destroyed what they used to have, and what he couldn't let go of.

Sam says none of them. He wants to say something- anything- even just to tell Lucifer he could never pretend that he didn't do it except for his own gain.

But what good would it do?

And deep down, Sam is scared Lucifer is right. Not because he is- he never is, even when he's not entirely wrong- but because Sam is sometimes too scared and tired and hurt that he might let Lucifer make Sam think he is, if only so Sam can breathe and pretend he can make it through when he never really has made it out unscathed.

"That's why I didn't make contact and spirit you away from the hunting life before you were old enough by human standards. I wanted to- but I know my own limits, just like I knew yours. And I am demanding, and hungry, and pure in my devotions- and you hadn't quite settled into who you were yet. It would be unfair to sway you- and to keep you- until you fought your own battles and came out the other side knowing who and what you stand for. What you will not compromise on. We are both rebels, both fighters, both ready to stick our necks out for what we believe in, Sam."

"And yet you still want to change me. Want to make me fall into line, do what you want-"

"Sammy, that's because it's the only way to keep you from self-destructing into the same box you've been trying to hack yourself into the moment you decided the world was worth more than you. Give me some credit, here. I'm only fighting for the dream you really wanted- one big family reunited and unshakable, house with the picket fence without any lies or need to pretend the supernatural isn't very much alive and kicking, and us together until the end, even if we've both said and done some things that hurt and festered. This is compromise, Samuel. If we did things my way, the world would already be washed clean, and it would just be me and you and Jack for all of eternity. Accept that I'm meeting you in the middle, here, and maybe we can make some progress. All you gotta do is accept what kindness I am giving you, and let yourself deal with the rest. We both hurt each other, after all. I'd consider the punishments I serve back only an extension of my magnanimity- you broke my heart, I broke yours, and now we can patch each other back up again. That's what you do, when you don't give up on each other."


	158. Handlebars (DRAFT)

“Look, I know past extenuating circumstances made the whole “public education” option a wash, but given the chance and proper safety precautions, how would you feel about Jack going to school?” Lucifer asks. A bit too pointedly, even if his tone is as airy as can be.

Sam isn’t entirely sure how to respond to the absurdity of the fact that Lucifer, of all people, is asking that question, particularly when home-schooling has been not only necessary for Jack's development but also the only option on the table at this point. However, suspicion and curiosity win out, even if Sam still isn’t sure if this is some kind of new, creative trap borne out of Lucifer’s omnipresent boredom. Which means his main job is making sure Jack doesn't bear the brunt of that boredom, in any way, shape or form.

“Where are you going with this?”

“What, I can’t even bring it up without you looking at me like that?”

“You’re the one who wants Jack to help you corrupt and destroy all of humanity, so forgive me for not finding you sudden interest in human socialization and academic progress alarming.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sam. How many times do I have to remind you that the apocalypse isn’t on the itinerary? Do I need to leave daily notes in your lunchbox- ‘hey, the end of the world is no longer on my to-do list for the foreseeable future,’ seeing as our main focus is raising our son, and when we get that precious alone time, you’re more a focus of that to-do list. Speaking of, you look very sharp today. Loving the red flannel- you don’t often go for bright colors in this weather.”

Sam doesn’t deign that with anything other than a glare and by accidentally breaking his coffee cup by holding it a little too hard.

Lucifer snaps, and the blood on Sam’s hand disappears along with the sliced up skin. Sam doesn’t even flinch much- Lucifer’s too giddy that any sudden movements are both too much effort and too likely to distract him.

Lucifer clasps his hands behind his back, and leans closer without stepping in Sam’s space. A rarity, but a concession Sam recognizes. Lucifer’s in a good mood, one that might not go south provided Sam doesn’t rock the boat on his terms. And Sam really doesn’t want to deal with more of Lucifer’s games, but if it’s between novel boredom and more violent boredom, he’ll play along with the least threatening option.

“Okay, fine. I get that it’s a sore subject, and even if it wasn’t, I know you haven’t really had a chance to even consider the option. Between protecting Jack, hiding him from all the supernatural threats that could get to him, training him so he doesn’t hurt people by accident, and the fact he’s still young enough for human daycare by human standards meant you didn’t really want to let him out of your sight. But the playing field is different, now, and while our days of reminiscing about what kind of education our kids might have now is drastically different territory then what we discussed back in college, that doesn’t mean we can’t make allowances once in a while. And you’re the one going on and on about Jack having friends his age and proper socialization. So. You willing to give it a shot?”

“Doesn’t explain why you care. But okay- let’s say I’ll bite. What’s your angle?”

“What if I told you I found us a case, and Jack going incognito will help us figure out something big, with the added bonus of Jack finally gets to socialize with other humans?”

“Something big being?”

“Well, those British Men of Letters who were trying to wipe out all the hunters in other countries- what if I told you they were working for a monster cult that may or may not be sponsoring a few schools in the area.”

Sam reads between the lines.

“To what aim?”

(Sam can guess well enough, but seeing as Lucifer likes talking at him more often than not, it'll at least give Sam a chance to breathe and figure out whatever he isn't saying. They can pretend at peace more easily now, which is worrying, but Sam has to be objective about this. A calm Lucifer that isn't jonesing for another distraction or hyperfocusing on Sam or his loved ones is easier to deal with than one that isn't. That, and Sam wants to eat in peace, and letting him talk allows for that action to be uninterrupted by unwanted contact if Sam plays his cards right.)

Lucifer sweeps a hand towards Sam's breakfast, illustrating the words the way he can't quite help, and Sam finds himself hunching over it protectively before forcing himself into relaxing. (Everything can always be taken away, be transient, but even just seeing the conditioning might make Lucifer a bit kinder if he's pretending at nice today.)

“Food conservation, and consolidating what power they can. See, while the Leviathans got served by you and Dean, there’s still a shaky connection with Purgatory that never fully stopped once that doorway got used- and the reapers, well they are breaking rules left and right, and with Jack ripping holes in the universe, things got a little… unbalanced. Brought on the attentions of other Purgatories, other Heaven’s- not unlike our little jaunt to days of future past in the world of the Apocalypse that was Not. And to add insult to injury, not all the Leviathans of our world got out when Cas sprung them free. The older ones, the dangerous ones- proto-Leviathans, if you will- these days, they’re getting more antsy with all that dimensional instability. Reaching out like so many other cosmic horrors you stalk in the night. And well, monsters can’t really compete with that. They have a shelf-life on what they can withstand- heartier than humans but still so often carbon-based and fragile. So, enter social engineering. Get enough people in the system like the Leviathans did, hole them up together, unite them into tight knit communities... If they can isolate and infiltrate their food source and counteract whatever new plan the Leviathans are going to try to do and fatten humanity up, then it’s only in their best interests to try any and all options available to them. Large institutions, school lunches, you following my lead…? Then they can try to beef up their food source and their own offspring even if many monsters are lone wolves. After all, Eve has left the building, after everything else you and your brother have done and let loose, and after my new and improved gig taking over, they’re all swarming into packs and communities for safety more often than not. The smart ones, that is.”

Sam thinks of all the monsters Clive alluded to, once, all the ones he wasn’t sure really got off the radar, all the ones with usernames who used auctions for human parts that remained the only distraction Sam had while trapped in that same room with Lucifer, facing yet another session of evisceration and whatever else Lucifer deemed appropriate punishment. All the ones with internet connections and semi-normal lives once you strip away the murder and bloodshed and hunger…

And then Sam stops thinking about that, because in some ways it’s become a little too close to what his life has turned into.

“So, what, you’re telling me a monster cult was trying to counteract the Leviathans stealing their food source by sponsoring a bunch of schools and infiltrating them and then keeping that prey isolated enough to start genetically engineering it?”

“Maybe. We can’t know until we enroll Jack. And I mean, we can send those other ones he’s so fond of. The girl and zombie boy and foxie. Lilith can make no one treats them badly.”

“One, they have names-“

“Whatever, you should care that I don’t care enough for them to be on my radar-“

“-And if you think I’m letting Lilith near school children, even monster school children-”

“Hey, you don’t get to make that call. She’s been chomping at the bit, lately, and I’d rather redirect her at the school board than let her loose at the local hospital. And fact is, I’m tired of having your pet zanna and Gabe and Bobby babysitting all the time when we do go out, and it’s high time you had a chance to stretch your legs. And what better way to utilize Jack’s sunny personality and penchant for kicking monster butt, Dean’s unfortunate aptitude for teaching gym class, your new and improved hunter network, Rowena’s red-headed squeeze’s new monster database with facial recognition, and Lilith’s boundless energy by having them all work seamlessly together? Let’s go on a hunting field trip, Sammy, it’ll be fun-“

“And what were you planning on having us doing in the meantime? Ganking any monsters off to the side, or…”

“We’re going to join the PTA and infiltrate their ranks.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes at Sam’s disbelieving expression. “I’m as involved in Jack’s continued education as you are, Sam. If we need to go to a few parent-teacher conferences and bake a casserole, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

There are very few things that can give Sam nightmares compared to things he’s suffered and endured.

But having to deal with Lucifer playing house and invoking the same petty dramas he did as Jess while pretending to be a soccer mom until he snaps- or, if he stayed Nick, playing at a happy-go-lucky father who is too unassuming until all the violent cynicism gives way to whatever kind of punishment he’s going to mete out at anyone unlucky enough to be in the crossfire- that the cognitive dissonance both makes Sam want to bitterly laugh, or just bemoan the fact he’s going to have to deal with all of Lucifer’s typical bullshit while pretending at middle-class horrors being the least of his concerns.

Babysitting Lucifer is a full time job, and while Sam is unfortunately stuck doing that on every single hunt or interaction, having to manage any murderous rampages Lucifer will likely pretend is not on the schedule is going to be just as exhausting as having to manage Lucifer’s moods and Sam doesn’t really want to have to subject a school to this kind of damage control, even if it is some kind of secret twisted monster daycare grooming young monsters right along with the humans unlucky to be caught in whatever net this ends up being.

On the other hand…

If it keeps Lucifer entertained and occupied and Jack out of his line of sight, then it might just be the opening Sam needs to figure out a new plan on how to get Jack and everyone out from Lucifer’s thumb. Even if he has to endure Lucifer not-quite joking about maybe peeling all the parent's faces off the moment they annoy him enough and the polite facade gives way.

But Sam thinks he knows Lucifer’s real aims, here. It’s not like school and moving and getting acclimated with new kids is easy- and it’s not like they are always kind to outsiders when kids have enough on their plate and so often don’t realize how social norms skew towards them all tearing each other apart.

No, this is just another excuse to sow chaos and then use it to hide how he’s trying to distance Jack from humanity, and if Sam is going to salvage this, he’s just going to have to play along.

Sam knows all the ways Lucifer tried to isolate him before. It’s only a matter of time before he tries the same tactics with people who could be Jack’s peers, even if it’s a mixed bag with how kids treat the odd one out, so many having learned the same from their families.

So Sam will humor this new twisted game.

If the experiment fails, then they all at least will have some kind of hunt and so long as Lucifer still gets to smite someone, then at least he’s taking it out on monsters and Sam can mitigate the fallout for everyone else.

That, and if Sam says no, he knows Lucifer will just take Jack and Lilith and wreak vengeance on the public school system through brute force.

\--

“I guess I’ll bring the pie.” Dean mumbles, if only to maybe distract Lucifer long enough that his handprints stop leaving bruises where they dig into Sam’s arm.

\--

“What’s stopping her from eating the kids?”

“I eat infants, thank you very much. Although, I might munch on some of the substitute teachers. You never know when one could be a leviathan in disguise.”

\--

“Crowley, why are you a janitor?”

“Just shut up before someone sees, moron, and guard this with your life.”

“You have exactly three seconds before I call Abaddon and her dogs, Crowley. Use your precious seconds well.”

“Meg-“

“Don’t ‘Meg’ me, Sam. Or do you want Lucifer to find out your precious secret? No? Didn’t think so. So if you don’t want any of my elder siblings to catch on, then follow my lead. I mean, I don’t know about you, but if Lilith finds out I didn’t chase Crowley down or disclose what I just saw? Yeah, not taking my chances. So I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”


	159. Dog Days Are Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Florence and the Machine

Sam crouches so he's level with Jack, whose expression is too serious, shoulders too slumped and heavy with a weight Sam never asked or wanted him to carry.

"Jack, look." Sam sighs, running a hand over his chin before he thinks better of it and rubs the side of Jack's sleeve, trying to be comforting but knowing there is not much that will fix any of this. "You are not me, and you're not Cas, or Dean." Sam adds, looking Jack in the eye, voice so gentle but so sure. "And you sure as Hell aren't Lucifer. I'm your Dad, sure. But your parents, your family... They don't define you, or what your future holds. You can be whoever and whatever you choose to be, and I will fight for your choices. If there is anything I can do, anything I can do to help you fight for that... I'm there, and that's what will happen. Okay? You don't... Don't ever feel like you have to be someone else, or like you have to be afraid of yourself. You're Jack Kline Winchester and no one can say who you are except you. What do you say?"

"Okay..." Jack says, so quietly, like it's still a question, although he's still hugging himself. Sam lets him decide if he wants to get closer, and Jack hangs back, although all he wants is to hug Jack close and erase all the fear and uncertainty from him. But this is something Jack has to assert for himself, and honestly, Sam is pretty beat up from the werewolves earlier, and he knows hugging Jack too tightly might hurt his still fractured-ribs, a price he'd gladly and easily pay- except Jack had asked him to take care of himself, and hugging him would upset him on account of that's not-taking-care-of yourself despite the fact Sam can take it, the pain would be negligible compared to what he's lived, but he doesn't want to do anything to make Jack even more unsteady than he already is, and right now...

Right now Sam is too scared to get close, really, because if he gets hurt any more Lucifer will come in like a hurricane and take Sam away and Sam can't handle that right now. He can never handle it, truth be told, no matter how much he endures.

God, Sam's life is a mess.

But he can't let it be.

Jack... Jack is falling apart because Sam hasn't been there enough, and he needs to fix this.

He just doesn't know how.

Some things... Things like this, guilt, fear, self-hate...

That's not something you fix easy. It takes time, and Sam's not sure how much time they have...

Unless he pulls strings.

If he begs Lucifer enough.... Maybe that...

Except Sam can't think that far. He is beyond scared when it comes to giving more ground. That might make Lucifer worse, or more bold, or aggressive in promoting whatever facsimile of not-normal domesticity he's been so attached to ever since he trapped Sam in that room-

And that doesn't end well for Jack, either.

"Dad..." Jack finally decides to speak, and his brow furrows, and Sam laser-focuses back on what matters, seeing as he's been going in circles for so long-

"What if the problem isn't that everyone thinks I'm like you, or Father... But that I'm just..." Jack chokes off and struggles with the words, picking at the skin of his wrist.

Sam recognizes the signs and knows he has to do something more, but he doesn't know what-

"What if I'm just..." Jack inhales, and his voice shakes, "Wrong, all the time? What if I can't do anything right?" Jack asks, and he looks at Sam, so full of pain and doubt and fear, fear of himself, and he adds, "What if I just keep hurting people, because I'm... wrong, like they say I am-"

"Whoa, whoa. Breathe. Jack, look at me," And Sam holds Jack's shoulders as he re-centers. "Jack, even if you make mistakes, it doesn't mean you're wrong-"

"People say Father's a monster, that I'm a monster-" Jack sniffs, eyes watering, holding everything back so hard he shakes from the exertion.

Sam hugs him close and doesn't let go, hairline fracture ribs be fucked to all eternity.

"Jack. What people say you are isn't always the truth-"

"Dad, I feel like all I do is mess things up." And Jack sobs then, everything released like a biblical flood.

He feels things so deeply, and Sam's heart gives a pang, because he's felt what Jack felt, and never wanted this for him, for him to feel the same thing, but more than that, because Sam doesn't know how to protect Jack from himself, because Sam never has won that war, has only ever waited it out and prayed for a moment to breathe-

"Hey. Hey, it's okay. Jack. You don't mess everything up. You don't, I promise, and whatever is making you feel that way- we can figure it out. And even if you did mess up, Jack- although you don't, I promise you don't - I love you. I'm here. I'll always be here for you." Sam whispers soothingly, and he goes on, to continue, but stops when Jack opens his mouth-

"But I feel wrong." Jack whimpers. "Maybe I don't ruin everything but I feel wrong all the time, Dad," and Jack hiccups, throat raw from the crying. "How do I make it stop?"

Sam pauses and looks Jack in the eye again, dabbing the tears from Jack's face with the edge of his flannel cuff. Jack wipes his nose on his sleeve, wings slumped and dragging on the ground.

Sam's words are solemn, and honest, but he's not going to give Jack false assurances.

"I don't know, Jack. I wish I did. But even adults don't have all the answers. But that doesn't mean there's something wrong with you, Jack. And it doesn't mean we can't make the feeling turn into something else. We just gotta try some things to see what we can do. And if there's anything I've learned, after all these years in the business, it's that our emotions and impressions of who we are doesn't dictate who we really are. Sometimes our emotions like to trick us because we're growing older or because of outside factors or the way we dealt with something that day. But it doesn't mean that feeling is forever, or that there's no way to make things better. We aren't our emotions. Our emotions just reflect our situation, and help us figure out if something else is wrong. Okay? Does that help?" Sam asks softly but with a ragged perseverance, knowing he has to give Jack something even though he doesn't know if this is the right thing to say.

Jack nods, and looks up at Sam like he wants him to keep going, and he hugs his head closer to Sam's chest, because hearing Sam's voice is calming and reassuring and Jack feels Sam being near him.

Sam lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and smooths over Jack's stray hairs sticking up from the static electricity atop his head. His feathers always get ruffled (and Sam still wonders how strands made of light and space and waves and particles and vibrations can still fold over into physical feathers, even now, even though he's seen the physical properties of wings morph from soft to hard to sharp to ice and back, to gentle down), and Jack's hair always stands on end when he gets really agitated. His breathing goes slower than a humans would, heartbeat barely a tic per minute when he's calm and at rest, and that's just another physiological detail Sam has picked up on over time and learning how to raise his son, one day at a time.

Jack is hard to figure out sometimes, even for him. He's so young, and Sam doesn't know what markers mean Jack should have certain talks, or with what level of detail yet, since his emotional development and awareness doesn't always match with his intellect or ability to soak up information like a sponge.

Hell, Jack is three. He's three and he's helped fight a damn war against and archangel and is stuck with Lucifer, just like Sam is, all the time-

Sam refuses to let that thought percolate in his brain a second longer and instead continues, more sure, "Jack, listen. Even if people get hurt... Don't get me wrong. It's important to recognize the impact and consequences of our actions. But everyone messes up. The fact you want to help people, that you care- That matters. You care, Jack. And that makes all the difference. The fact that you want to help, to make people feel better- you're halfway there to figuring out how to make things better. And I know you, Jack. I know how kind and thoughtful and good you are, and even if you make mistakes- everyone makes mistakes, Jack. All we can do is learn from them. But hurting yourself? Holding yourself to higher standards than you'd hold other people? I get it. I struggle with that, too. But we have to believe in ourselves, and believe in our own worth, and find healthy ways to live in the here and now without thinking we screwed up. And it isn't easy. It doesn't always go away. But you gotta believe in yourself and give yourself some credit. You think that's something we can strive for? Together?"

Jack nods again and hugs Sam close, and Sam forces himself not to wince.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam catches Lucifer leaning against the doorway, nonchalant, as if summoned by the phantom pain he can feel radiating off of Sam-

And Sam hugs Jack tighter and prays Lucifer doesn't fucking come in here and upend everything by stealing Sam or...

Truth is, Sam's not sure what to pray for except some clemency and consideration.

Lucifer being involved is an unmitigated nightmare.

Lucifer being absent, or neglectful- all things considered, not the worst outcome for Jack himself, even if that means Sam is stolen from him by proxy.

"You two okay?" Lucifer interrupts as if thrown, like he can't read the fucking room. Sam bites down on his anger, and Jack stiffens, but they don't let go, and over Jack's shoulder Sam sees how Lucifer's glance remains a bit too intent even though his tone is casual-as-can-be.

Sam resists the urge to march over there and punch him just for existing.

"We're just working some things out." Sam answers, voice a bit high from the strain of not sounding enraged by the intrusion. "Talking and stuff."

"Yeah." Jack's voice is muffled in Sam's shirt, and his grace flickers, sharp and burnt tasting against the frigid air against Sam's throat. "Dad's handling it. Nothing you need to worry about."

Message clear as day.

**Please go away please-**

And Sam's not sure if that's Jack or him, now, praying.

Lucifer's grace seeps in, so cold, and Sam can feel the warning there, partial distrust and partial hurt from being left out and partial strain from the idea of anyone keeping him uninvolved, and Sam tacks on, for extra insurance, to make this blow over, anything, really-

Jack lets go of Sam as if burned.

"Thanks for checking." The words taste like blood in Sam's mouth. Might be because he bit his tongue from the exertion of having to engage Lucifer head on without snapping again. Sam isn't entirely sure any more. Anything to take the heat off of Jack, though. It doesn't happen often, but when Lucifer does get displeased, Sam has to divert his attention any way possible.

He can't risk it. For all his talk, Lucifer is altogether too much like his Father, and Sam hates him for that, too.

Lucifer's body language eases, and the cold chill leeches away ever-so-slightly, more a thin draft now than brewing tundra, as Lucifer asks, still too gentle, "You two want a glass of water or something?"

"I'm fine." Sam wheezes, trying to keep his muscles from seizing up and freezing him in place.

Lucifer makes a noncommittal noise and steps farther into the room, no longer lounging against the door-frame. He looks at Jack, and adds, insistent, "What about you, Jack? Tea? With honey, something for your throat?"

"Yeah." Jack answers, voice like a ghost. "Yeah, green tea is good."

Lucifer starts brewing some in the kettle on the far side of the room, and Jack pops up on a stool by the counter, not looking at anyone, although he scritches Priscilla's ears until her foot tics.

There's a long, pregnant pause as they all wait for the water to boil.

Lucifer taps his foot, then crosses his arms, shifting his weight, eyes flicking back between Sam and his son.

"It's a good thing you stopped when you did, Jack." Lucifer starts in, although there's little heat behind it as he points in Sam's direction. "You hug Sam any tighter and his ribs were gonna split. Wouldn't want to hurt him, after all-"

There's a migraine building up in the middle of Sam's head already.

Lucifer keeps going.

"-Speaking of, if you want me to patch up those fractures, just say the word, kiddo. Your ribs have a standing appointment with yours truly, so-"

Sam makes a snap decision and exhales.

"Look, we're not really in the mood right now." Sam grits out, surprised at his daring.

**For fuck's sake please just stop talking.**

"That heavy of a conversation, huh?" Lucifer holds up his hands. "Alright, I get it. You gonna keep me in the dark, or...?"

"Dad helped me handle it. And I... I don't want to talk about it any more." Jack mumbles, but by the end, his words are bitten off and he's glaring Lucifer down before his expression smooths over, much like Lucifer's mask would slot into place, or Sam's, even, and his eyes flash gold despite himself.

"Alright, son. Whatever floats your boat. I'll leave you two to it..." Lucifer trails off and gives Sam a glass of water anyway, which Sam takes, the glass ice-cold to the touch, and Sam wonders if he's going to get the riot act read to him for turning their son against him again. It's never really mattered even when it was a hot-button issue, seeing as Lucifer hasn't held that one over Sam's head for a while, but he hates it when Jack's distance from his re-surges, even though Lucifer did that all on his own, too...

Once the tea is steeped and doused in honey, Lucifer slides it over to Jack, who holds the mug so tight his hand cramps, and Sam dares to walk into Lucifer's vicinity to open the freezer. He grabs and then drops an ice cube in Jack's mug so Jack doesn't burn his tongue with scalding liquid.

Not wanting to turn the generosity down and unsure of how to defuse the minefield that rears it's ugly head every now and then when Lucifer and Sam are navigating parental concerns, Jack takes a sip. He makes a small noise of gratitude in the back of his throat and scrapes out, "Thanks, Father." And doesn't let it sound half-hearted because then Lucifer might get scary like he sometimes does, or he'll drag Sam away, since he likes having Sam to himself, or he might make them all go somewhere together, and Jack doesn't have the energy to deal with that right now without throwing a tantrum, and if he throws a tantrum Sam will definitely get taken away and all he wants is some time and space to be with his Dad without his Father hanging overhead and hovering there, like a vulture, circling everything-

The silence stretches, and when no one says anything else, Lucifer assesses his priorities, then takes that as his cue to stalk. back over to the doorway. Sam reminds himself to be as accommodating and grateful as possible in his prayers as Lucifer finally leaves the room, in case it will stop him from coming back.

Both Sam and Jack exhale, bone-tired on more than one level.


	160. White Lilies, White Lies (DRAFT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Angel Haze

"Why don't you go up there and demonstrate, Sam? No skin off your back. Just your shirt. Ooh, plus you could go and help that one with her form. It's horrible, she's liable to get like nasty fracture or something the way she's been dancing, I know you noticed. You'd be doing her a favor."

"No." The refusal is automatic and slips out before Sam can stop it.

"Sam, let me rephrase." Lucifer sighs with a notably pinched look, then growls, "Go up there and strut your stuff, or I'll drag everyone on this block down to Hell and you can watch as Alastair has his way with them." Lucifer crosses his arms. No one looks happy with the prospect.

_Not like you're out of practice or don't have the muscle mass for it._

Sam stares Lucifer down, then blinks and looks away.

**Have it your way, asshole.**

"Fine." Sam concedes and walks over to the bartender, every step wooden, then leans all his weight on the counter as he asks, "What is the strongest whiskey you have?"

The bartender starts to grab the bottle and sets it on the table to grab a glass, dutifully terrified of the Devil in their midst, but Sam nabs the bottle and chugs as much as he can in one gulp before setting it back down and heading back towards the stage.

He turns back to Lucifer, every word dripping with gritted hatred and fear and everything else. "You expect me to strip completely, or...?"

"Shirt's fine." Lucifer purrs with a wink, and shrugs his shoulders. "Unless you want to get fancy. Less is more, though. Let's me keep the rest of you for myself."

_After all, you're for my eyes, only._

Sam rolls his eyes, then softens his expression at Lindsey, who looks even more terrified now.

"Not quite the same as bartending." Sam wryly jests as he sets up the sound system to the side to try and lessen the tension.

Lindsey shrugs.

"Whatever pays rent." There's more feeling and weight and fear there behind the words, more nervous skittering glances that don't quite meet Lucifer's form, "Just started out last month."

Sam heads back to the pole and gives her a hidden look of concern Lucifer can't see, Sam's back to the Devil as he whispers, "You holding up okay?"

"I could ask you the same thing, _Keith_."

"Yeah, let's just say he's even less friendly than last time." Sam mutters out of the corner of his mouth as he dusts his hands to keep a grip on the pole.

"He still stalking you?" Lindsey asks with raised eyebrows, mouth twitching with fear.

"No need." Sam grits out, but his voice is hoarser than he likes.

_You gonna chitchat all night like I can't hear you?_

**You want me to do this, I'm doing it my way. Calms me down. Don't want to tear something, after all, would ruin your fucking show.**

_Whatever keeps you chipper, Sammy. Just don't take too long._

Sam kicks off his shoes and tears off his socks with as much ferocity as he is able, because that's one thing he can't avoid if he's going to do this.

"Now, uh, when you swing on the pole vertical like you were before, you want to do it like this," Sam demonstrates proper technique, trying not to pay attention to anyone else except Lindsey, because Dean is there, as is Cas, and to Sam's knowledge, Dean never knew about Sam's... extracurricular activities he'd done to try and save his own funds for Stanford and his transition, and this was probably the worst way to find out. He bet if he'd look over, he'd see that same sickening realization of just why Sam wasn't into Dean's whole womanizing and devaluation of their work whenever he did go to strip clubs, why Sam was so intent on helping them out of the life, why Sam avoids lapdances like the plague, but Sam isn't going to look, because tonight has already proven hard enough. "Don't use your wrists or roll your ankles, it's too much of a chance you'll rip a tendon or hurt yourself and lessens your grip on the pole."

Lindsey nods at the demonstration.

Then Lucifer starts tapping his foot, and Sam inhales, strips off his shirt deliberately as he stares Lucifer down and throws it to the side of the stage, then heads back to the pole as Lindsey retreats into the crowd.

"You mind hitting the music?" Sam looks over to Lindsey, who mans the remote. She nods, and the bass flares to life.

Sam lets himself get absorbed into the dancing partially out of technique, old muscle memory, and the need to block all this out.

It's easier done than expected, except that he still can't shake the constant feeling of Lucifer's eyes on him. That, and knows Lucifer made Dean stay, even though Dean would rather not be a part of his, and he hears his brother's intake of breath as Sam does some tricks he's fairly certain even his brother hasn't seen, halfway horizontal against the pole and doing some spins and kicks and twists Sam hasn't done since the Cage, which he adamantly does not think about. 

Sam keeps dancing, anyway. It's almost tolerable. He's not stripping. He's just dancing. That's all this is.

He catches Cas looking down at his feet and then checking the exits during one rotation and almost stumbles, but he catches himself.

The song fades.

Lucifer claps when it's over, and Sam doesn't look at anyone when he goes to recover his shirt.

Only Lucifer snaps! And Sam flinches, and then it's in Lucifer's fucking hands, and Sam has to go near him to get it now.

_Why don't I hold on to this?_

**You do whatever you fucking want, Lucifer. I'm done.**

_Mm. I like the aggression. Not always, but tonight, it's endearing. Nice warm-up for later._

**Fuck you.**

_Ooh, someone's impatient._

**That's not what I meant and you know it.**

_True. But I'll take it. I'll take everything you have to offer. Speaking of-_

Sam swallows as Lucifer runs a hand down Sam's chest and draws a line with two fingers, but Sam still tries to lunge for his shirt anyway. Lucifer jerks his other arm away, and the hand on Sam's chest retreats into an almost-snapping configuration.

Sam freezes despite himself.

Lucifer lowers the threatening fingers, shoves Sam's shirt in his pocket, half the fabric spilling out, and instead uses his newly freed fingers to pat Sam's jaw. Lucifer's expression is too fond and his eyes too hungry, with Sam's own sweat smelling of salt and too warm and wet against his skin.

Then the contact ends and Lucifer licks his two fingers absently, and Sam exhales, shoulders hunching, although he winces again as Lucifer says a bit loudly, eyes glancing back at Dean and Cas before looking back to Sam, who is being directed by a hand against his chin to look back up again, "Let's get this show on the road. Now that you've got your little case solved, I've got some things for you to learn, Sam. Responsibilities for you to handle."

Sam swallows and let's Lucifer's arms snake around him, one hand settling over his abdomen and dipping ever so slightly against the rim of his jeans, the other holding Sam tight against Lucifer's chest so his back practically digs into the Devil's ribcage.

"So, to business."

There's the unmistakable smell of sulfur and sweet rot as Lucifer's a segment of Lucifer's posse joins them in the bar, no one else able to enter or leave.

Abaddon looks half-bored and half-antsy, Crowley is on his knees at her feet, bloodied and beaten, a metal leash around his neck and a gag in his mouth. Azazel is right behind them.


	161. A Stab of Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by alias conrad coldwood
> 
> i'm also pretty sure i just kept this part in for the last section

For the next case, the family business and all it's current entourage all end up at some carnival amusement park combo, a two-for one haunted pitstop where the name of the game is blend in and have fun until nightfall hits, and then all the monsters come out to play, having buried themselves in the woodwork and the carnival staff. Easily spread out in the crowd of patrons when the sun shines, because the sun is the purview of Light, and you are, after all, the Lightbringer, and no one is going to challenge neutral territory in a setup like this. Not when all the monsters are competing for prey and an advantage but have to keep some semblance of "rules." They're at war with each other just as much as they are at war with you, even if no one is talking about it.

Then again, it's not every day the Winchesters and their angel and witch tag-alongs and their hunter buddies moonlight in a festival for 'fun' only to know they're being slowly surrounded by a net of monsters and other creatures that aren't too keen on hunters or angels. But it's neutral territory in the daytime, and research is research, and it's not like the monsters here don't know they are luring you in like you are pretending to let them.

As for the venue: this singular jumped up Halloween festival ends up being a hub of activity for humans and monsters and demons and other things, bigtime and smalltime hits, innocent or otherwise. Zanna, or Fae types, witches, lesser Gods, ghosts and shapeshifters and other, older things, things that slip between cracks in reality.

But rendering God and Death obsolete has consequences, and so do Lucifer's many extracurriculars with all his poking at souls and Heaven and the fabric of creation he's been keeping under raps, albeit clumsily, at least from the people not too close to the situation. His enemies and deepest fears he's kept close to the chest, so close they can't see the forest for the trees and can't get a handle on Lucifer's true angle because he's hanging them slow, with a tight-fitted coiled noose of his own closeness. That claustrophobia is enough of a distraction on it's own.

But for anything distant enough not in the Winchester's immediate vicinity, well...

Everything on earth and outside it reels from what Lucifer has been doing for years now, testing the waters, pushing the envelope further and further while he holds up his smokescreen of "Don't look here, at an old dog with an old trick. I'm a washed out, petty homemaker on a mission. Nothing much left for people to see." Like the Apocalypse of another sort isn't on backburner, waiting to be unleashed.

They know how the chips fall. Not much stands in the path of an Archangel, period. And not much hinders the vision and finesse of a creative Archangel when he's trying to destroy to create.

But some of the older things- other things, patient things- aren't quite ready to take that truth lying down. They've been here longer than humanity, even if they aren't as old as a reaper or an angel of one of the God's first Four.

And they want to play Lucifer and Lucifer's newfound toys just as much as Lucifer wants to smear every one of these nothings into bloodstains fallowing the ground.

Otherwise, it's not like the Mayhap Hallows Eve Fair by Lake Erie wasn't scheduled, seeing as every one-hundred-fortieth Samhain does bring all the ritual types out to play. How else would esoteric types barter for ingredients or secrets or gossip or sacrifices, if they didn't have a hub of some sort? It's not like the older, creakier things use the internet. Not like they get reception in Avalon, either.

Lucifer knows that, and he's going to capitalize on the opportunity to take some names, even if no one in his newfound captive family knows the name of his game, yet. Sam needs a chance to spread his wings, under Lucifer's supervision, with all the raw power he still doesn't wield with the entitlement of the King he's always been, the crown that Lucifer forged for him. 

It is mighty convenient, though, that Jack found the flier and wanted to go check this place out without any external, subtle prompting. Same with Sam picking up on infernal and supernatural signs that rang of things not of this world, with Cas chomping at the bit from the feeling in his bones.

A bit too convenient, if one thinks about it.

Nonetheless, not even Rowena filling them in on the Fair's deal, or at least what she knows of it from having gone before, is enough for them to anticipate just what this whole setup really is.

\--

And you know there's no point looking gifthorses in the mouth.Today's the day Jack and Sam and you, plus Sam's hackneyed unfortunate hanger-on leeches, the ones you tolerate to keep Sam on his toes, can accompany you and all have a grand time today, all pretending normalcy and real cases while you give them some space and let yourself get down and dirty with the nitty-gritty details.

That, and if you clean up this place quick, you can all go check out that lighthouse that caught Sam's eye. Sam's always liked those, and after dusk, you're pretty sure you can find some privacy behind slanted shadows and closed doors and a view of the sunset to woo him with. Historical landmarks are chock full of all sorts of nooks and crannies to hide in, in all sorts of compromising positions...

But now is the time for business, not play. And as far as eldritch or mysterious monsters go, or angels from other dimensions waging war...

You're the only one allowed to walk into other dimensions and level the place after chewing the scenery and spitting it back out. The fact that other Archangels in other universes are catching on to your plan is inconvenient. It's you whose got the backstage VIP pass, the same one you yoinked from the Keeper of Creation that Dad owed you a hundredtimes over. It's your golden ticket to Paradise, again, literally and figuratively, and nothing else is going to rub its filthy hands all over it.

No. They don't get to pull the same stunt. This is your Kingdom, your budding Empire, and it pays to have some damage control, even if Sam and Jack don't quite know what this specific hunt is about.

Yet even for an Archangel on top of the world ready to give this place a new paint job, well...

Waiting in line is a drag. You made Sam and Dean and Jack and Cas and Gabriel and Rowena go in last, after everyone else in their own little groups. Mary is already inside with Bobby, Donna, Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Patience, while Eileen, Lily, Kelly, Mia, Adam, Alex, Jo, and Ellen are in another group, and Charlie, Kevin, Garth, Balthazar, Meg, Mrs. Tran, and Donatello are in another. The Knights of Hell and Princes of Hell are doing their own thing, while Metatron, Crowley, Gadreel, Jesse, Bela, John, and Anna are all being watched by Anael and Uriel. And you wouldn't care about naming names, except Sam gets more attentive when you do.

So you aren't alone. You're waiting with Sam and Jack and the whole entourage, a bit bored, but the patient kind.

You spin Nick's ring around your finger as you watch the other apes all milling about, before focusing on what's always been more important.

Today, you started off with distance. Didn't lean on Sam in the car, or touch his bubble of personal space that he pretends matters. Didn't even curl your wings around Sam that morning when he stood on the porch with a hot cup of coffee and the cold chill of not-yet-daylight froze him out, uncomfortable in its dampness. From then to now, you let Sam breath a little, so his skin stops prickling and he doesn't get too complacent. Gotta make sure he feels it when you initiate, after all, and constant contact doesn't do that.

Sam is suspicious, but doesn't let it show. Doesn't want to chance his break being cut short.

In line, Jack and Sam chat. They're both matching, both wearing flannel button downs, while you are in your typical unchanging jacket and hoodie and jeans, sans a belt, since it's not needed. Gets in the way.

Sam is wearing that older-than-dirt cream-and-orange flannel today. He tends to wear that when he's jumpy. It's been burned and bloody so often, but you got the stains out and the rips mended. Had to go through all of Sam's clothes before you went shopping, mostly for Jack, since he's growing like a weed, and Sam wasn't getting off the hook. A changing of the wardrobe was long overdue. But you let Sam pick out and keep his favorites. You can permit some nostalgia, after all. It's a healthy emotion as any.

You still burned the blue and teal flannel you both wore down to Hell the first time, though. That one... That one was just old news. Not part of the future.

A plane whines overhead, loud and annoying, as the sun beats on the back of everyone's fleshy necks. You take it in with your wings, refracting the light under your own tailor-made skin.

Waiting in line isn't all that bad, really. Of course, it is, it really, really is, because you are timeless and immediate and the world is yours.

But you have Jack. And Sam is there. That makes up for it.

You step closer. Sam's not shrugging off your hand looped around his waist, and is instead opting for pointedly not acknowledging the two fingers you've curled around his beltloop.

He's cute. Always is, when he's trying, even when he knows it's a lost cause. 

His chin juts out, and his spine goes so still, and his green eyes gaze out beyond the skyline like you aren't there. He does a pretty good job of playing stoic, too, until you curl the other arm around his chest and press up on your toes for a height advantage only to fake him out and bend your neck to press a kiss below his ear. Then Sam flinches and corrects himself and looks right at you. He glares, like he isn't both horny and scared shitless.

Isn't that a riot. Like you don't know exactly what strings of his soul to pluck.

Like you don't own every fucking inch of him.

Still hot, though.

His heartbeat drums against your angelic senses. Mesmerizing. Heavens above, Sam knows how to get you going. A tease, even when he isn't trying.

Sammy looks down when you squeeze his arm and whisper, "Beautiful day. Not as beautiful as you, but I'll take it." Then you pat him on the shoulder, and when you kiss him again, you slide up and back down, teeth grazing his ear. "What do you think, Sammy? Think we're gonna get a storm later? The clouds have been pretty patchy, but the winds been howling something awful."

Sam talks, because it might stop you. You do reward cooperation, after all. Not as much as Sam would prefer, but enough.

"Not yet." Sam manages, looking up. He can't quite smell the storm out. You're a bit too close, crackling with ozone.

And then you're kissing him on the lips and pulling him closer with fistfuls of fabric so Sam's chest is right against yours. Sam smells like pine and rust and sweat and whatever conditioner you got for him. The one he likes.

That, and fear. So much perfect, perfect fear, topped off with begrudging, well-worn love (love you know he doesn't want to feel, but has learned to hold on to, because he has to, you'll make sure) and sharp need so heady you're surprised he still has the strength to fight back.

Then again, love's what made Sam bold in the first place. You can't really find fault with that.

"Hey, Rocky Horror, mind toning down the PDA in front of the kid?" Dean says, his nails-on-chalkboard gruffness enough to make your feathers ruffle, and your real mouths snap, teething and wanting to crush him like the bug he is. But you don't look at him. Only Sam. Although you do see movement out of the corner of your eye, tracking Cas as he stands in front of Dean, wings not out but still shielding like that would do anything. Even you can't help but see that bedraggled Castiel is really overdue for some preening, considering the state of his wings. It's unhygienic, is what it is. And you wouldn't spare them any attention, but waiting in line is boring, and engaging with them gets Sam all flustered, seeing as he's used to bearing the brunt of your attention. So what if Dean and his angel-in-a-trenchcoat might have grown on you like a lesion, or an unwanted fungus... Mostly like a moldy old sock, really, sentimental in a sad human kind of way. But it's a useful sentimentality, with all the pressure you can put on Sam when you keep them around. Human. Like Sammy asked you to be. Not how he envisioned it, but still. You did go for it, and Sam deserves what you dish out.

 **Dean isn't a fungus.** Sam's prayers are always so full of feeling, even when he tries his best to be curt.

_He's a poisonous toadstool and he smells like one._

"He's my kid, Dean. You don't get to lecture me on my parenting decisions. And it's just kissing. I wouldn't say it's over the top. Not like we're eating each other's faces like those two..." You say with a grimace, making a point to waggle a finger in the direction of a young couple making out a few feet ahead of you. You rock back on your heels, giving Sam a measuring look through lidded eyes on purpose, just to see Sam's Adam's apple dip and rise. Hypnotic, really. But Sam's always been delectable, even when he's not quite singing your tune. "I don't know, Sammy. We've got more class. Want to give them a run for their money and prove just whose even more head-over-heels?"

_You craving some A-grade tonsil hockey?_

Even now, Sam is cursing out the line and the fact you can't just fly them all in there if it means you'll stop. But you gotta maintain deep cover. You're taking this seriously, after all. You stress the point.

_Blending in, Sam. You asked me to act normal. I am. Don't want to blow our cover on the case._

**If I... If I give you more one-on-one time tonight, will you stop doing this in front of everyone?**

_Does my grace deceive me? You know, Sam. It's been so long since you've come to me all on your lonesome. I might just swoon._

**Is that a yes?**

_Isn't that my line?_

**Lucifer.**

_Kiss me like you mean it and you'll find out._

Sam knows the obvious omission there. You linger on the taste of his slippery liver-tinged consideration, all the weighing if it's worth the price. 

You sweeten the pot.

_Give me a few snuggles per hour, and I'll keeps my hands to myself while we have company. Pinky swear._

He doesn't really give as much of a fuck about the usual routine of all this, seeing as you've been inundating him with intimacy ever since day one. He does, of course. He always does. There's a reason you latch on so much. But it's a screaming siren in his head blaring all the time, and Sam's good at ignoring his chronic issues. No, it's when the routine gets shaken up that he falters.

It's killing him that you're bored and defaulting to your usual-anti-boredom tactics. Sam is an easy cure. Enough to even make the second stint in the Cage bearable, even if that's on him, too.

Sam kisses you first. Definitely an A on the tongue action. You pull the back of his head down and kiss back, hands tangled in his hair while you make Sam lean into your weight. And true to form, you disengage, all slithering closeness, all smothering constrictor-self backing off so Sam has to grab back on to you to right himself, and he almost stops himself but you're too good at this game and anticipate his play so he can't quite compensate for the slip-up.

You smile innocently, all sugar-spun sweetness.

Sam's thoughts are all lightning and tinfoil and shaken animal arousal. He can't help it. You just do things to him, like he does to you. Part of the package deal.

Sam pulls out of your grip to stand by Rowena and Jack and Gabriel.

You let him.

Waiting in line goes faster after that.

Sam's thoughts are a gorgeous mess. You can still taste him, all salt and spice and heat.

Can still feel the imprint of his warmth in your mouth.

Even so... The hunger of the hollowed out parts inside you never really lets up.

It's always been so empty without him in here.

\--

Sam notices the changelings at the balloon-booth. Notices a vampire manning the apple-bobbing pit. Catches the eye of Vesta when she's making stuff in the food truck, one burning eye staring back at him for a bit too long. He knows it's her from the insignia and Lucifer's too-snide comments, and Sam wonders exactly what they got themselves into.

So he asks Lucifer what the fuck this is really about against his better judgement, under hushed, calculated breaths, when Lucifer has him alone by the far side of a building behind the security tape and Cas is cheering Jack and Dean on while they try to win a lifetime supply of pie and a stuffed rabbit in a triathlon of one chili-eating contest, darts, and a two-legged race.

"What do you think, Sammy?" The Devil asks, all brushed up against Sam's throat, words a heated caress, cold but burning with that lust, that want. "Any lucky guesses?"

Sam closes his eyes and his breath hitches as Lucifer's hands cup his ass, cold even against the Sam's jeans, the box of his phone gone because Lucifer lifted that already. Stubble and a split-wet pressure licks between the seam of his lips, and then there's hands on the wings of his hips, and Sam tries not to think about all the times Lucifer cornered him in abandoned parts of public places and the woods and sucked him off until he had to hold Sam up so he didn't fall to his knees.

Lucifer doesn't do that, though. He just kisses Sam's throat and lets go.

Sam takes in a shaky breath and heads back to the others, and keeps mapping out the place and the hidden signs and inscriptions Lucifer told him to look out for under awnings and tables and inside buildings.

\--

He makes the same excuses he's been making the past few hours when he wants to get Sam alone.

Still, once every hour beats constantly dealing with him.

Sam will take all the fake compromises he can get.

\--

For the most part, after that, Lucifer makes good on his promise. He keeps his hands off otherwise.

Even bothers the others more than Sam, for once, as they make their way through the park. 

Lucifer watches as Sam takes Jack to the petting zoo with Cas, and then splits off on his own for a while.

Sam and Jack and Cas enjoy petting sheep. Dean watches them, quiet, off to the side, knowing they aren't going to get too many breaks. He keeps watch, though, seeing as there's so many monsters around, and it takes all his willpower not to start something.

It doesn't feel right, pretending everything is fine.

Then again, things haven't felt fine or right and they've all been pretending anyway.

\--

When Lucifer comes back from his errand, he's all ease sauntering back to the group.

"I come bearing gifts," He starts in, and Sam stops short, and Rowena walks into him, and Gabe throws a horseshoe a little too hard, misses the peg completely. The force hits hard enough to dent the stall where the water-dunking pit is and send it shooting out to hit a crowd of people. Apparently, it's full of holy water, which is a scandal for the demon caught in the cross-hairs.

Gabriel thinks fast as security comes rushing in and a small mob tries to figure out of he broke the fragile truce on purpose, the kelpie stall manager having cut and run with another mob hunting him down. Gabriel does try to pin it on him, but they think he might be an accomplice. Tough crowd.

Lucifer idly observes his brother dig himself out of his own mess with a few bets, some cards, and a coin trick, and otherwise hands out a candied apple for Jack, Sam, Castiel, and himself. He also bought back a blackberry pie for Dean, and fried dough for Gabriel, once he's not in deep water.

When Lucifer isn't looking, Dean chucks the pie in the trash, even though he lost the contest, earlier. Not worth it.

Cas is forced to take the apple as Lucifer instructs. "Look, indulge that sweet-tooth, Carmen Santiago, and watch Jack for a few while I take Sam and your boytoy on a field trip."

Then Sam's hand is being gripped tight, and Lucifer is pulling him along.

Dean follows, not willing to leave Sam alone.

\--

"What is it?" Dean snarls, holding back as Sam is steered up a hill towards rows of barns.

Dean keeps on following.

Sam bites his tongue.

"See that building?" Lucifer points out a shady, dilapidated barn on the far edge, past the farmer's market and a clown-themed funhouse Sam steers clear from. "The one with the distinctly not cheery-carnival vibe and the Greek and Sumerian script?"

"Yeah. I have eyes." Dean answers, even though from this far away the script looks like barely-discernible scribble on the waterlogged wood paneling.

"Don't go in it." Lucifer orders, serious, for once.

"Why?" Dean grunts, surprised.

"Because it's dangerous even in the daytime, and I don't feel like fishing your souls out of that filthy cesspit while Jack cries over your temporarily-dead bodies. Obviously, don't let him go in there, either."

"Why would we want to bother?" Dean asks.

"Because come nightfall, Red is going to want to go in there, and you're going to have to stop her. That, and it looks like a monster lair. You hunt those. And you seek out stupidly dangerous things just by existing. And when the clock strikes midnight, that shack is going to be a red hot bed of activity. Figured I should warn you, in case you get separated from Sam and me. And Sam... I honestly just wanted to drag you somewhere else after this, but you definitely need to steer clear."

"Why? What's inside?" Sam asks.

"A chained up Pagan goddess, her jailer, a really bad tempered crone with some cursed cattle and a penchant for deals, and some very rare ingredients." Lucifer answers. Doesn't even quip.

And Sam can feel the solemnity there. Lucifer isn't saying this just to throw them off their game. He is genuinely bothered by it.

"That's it?" Dean asks, thrown. Crones are small fry compared to other things. Pagan Goddesses, less so, but not insurmountable.

"And there's some fear-based entities you do not want to tangle with." Lucifer adds. He shakes his head. "Trust me. It's not worth it. Just a headache you do not need. And I know you two don't like listening. But in this case, my priorities are your priorities."

"Is there a reason you didn't plan on killing the Goddess?" Sam inquires in low tones. Lucifer isn't one to hold back with that.

Lucifer frowns, but it's the angry kind, and then he answers, a bit too coolly, "I will, eventually. But it's not worth it while all this is going on. Too many other things take precedence."

"Why didn't you give Jack the same instructions as us?" Dean asks.

"Please." Lucifer's sighs and rolls his eyes. "Dean, I'm not going to give my son nightmares from looking at that eyesore. And if I tell Jack not to go inside the creepiest building here, he'll listen. It's you two I have to worry about. Cas will follow your lead, while Red is more likely to listen to Sam, and Gabriel isn't stupid enough to go in the first place. Just know that nothing in that shack can get out as along as a human doesn't step foot inside. Got it?" Lucifer finishes as he stares Sam down.

"Okay." Sam answers, because not answering means Lucifer is going to drag him off somewhere alone for sure, whereas if he does, Lucifer might hold off for now. 50/50 shot.

Dean gives a nod.

"Good." Lucifer says, all light on his feet as he turns them around.

They head back.

If Dean didn't know better, he would ask, "How much do you wanna bet Lucifer told us not to go in to make us go in?"

Except he can read Sam.

And he knows Lucifer is dead serious about this all from how Sam reacted to him.

\--

By the time they've returned, Gabriel has been vindicated from being implicated, the kelpie stall-owner with the holy water has been dragged off by "security" to be eaten in a hidden location, per the hidden rules of the establishment, and Gabriel's made quite a killing on card tricks and one improvised fake human magic show and is packing up.

Jack is sipping a slushie with Cas while he waits in line for a roller coaster. Dean and Sam join them, while Rowena waits off to the side, keeping as much distance from Lucifer as possible without ditching. Ditching the buddy system wasn't allowed.

"Gabe. You feeling more at home? These were the kind of haunts you frequented when you decided to become a transient, right?" Lucifer asks. "Or did you just straight up join the circus?"

Gabriel frowns and his eyebrows slant, wings hunched in balled-up frustration. Lucifer knows that look. He'd always get it before a tantrum.

Then Gabriel sees the look on Lucifer's face, the patient memory of it, tinged with the hard bitterness of being cast out and abandoned, and his expression smooths over.

"Excuse you." Gabriel answers, deadpan. "I ran the circus." 

Lucifer raises his eyebrows and says, "My mistake."

_Maybe you can show Jack some tricks, sometime. They the same ones I taught you, way back when?_

There's a lot unsaid, there.

And the untapped rage from Hell, from everything, from what happened to God and Michael and Raphael, all burst out of Gabriel in a single moment. He hadn't processed it for a long time. He still hasn't really processed it.

Hey, assclown. You turned into a real shitty brother, you know that?

_Gabe, no need to take a gentle ribbing so seriously. But if you want to throw stones... There's enough to go around._

Lucifer's grace nicks against his brother's, still bitter.

Gabriel stalks off towards Rowena. Not engaging.

Lucifer watches his son and Sam on the ride, all distance, hands in his pockets.

He needs to keep Gabe distracted with what's been going down and what he's been up to. He's the only one with the pep to catch on at the moment.

\--

After lunch, they're walking through to find the Ferris Wheel and spinning cups, and after passing a Halloween-themed stall full of ingredients hidden behind the front of a candied peanut-vendor.

Sam is still pissed he nearly walked into a clown, and Lucifer made a comment, then Dean had the gall to argue, and now Lucifer isn't letting the subject go.

"Okay, let's get this out of the way. I have three lines I won't cross, ever, and tormenting Sam with clowns is one of them. Well, unless it's a Halloween costume. Because, I mean, let's face it, Sam would make a good Batman, all stoic and resourceful, and I'd make a decent Joker or Harley Quinn, seeing as I'm certainly cheerful-" Lucifer starts in, boredom making him chattier. He considers killing some of the park residents on the side when Jack isn't watching, and Sam senses it, sees his fingers waggle and then retreat, because he doesn't have plausible deniability around their son at the moment.

 **And violent.** Sam's thoughts blurt out. 

Lucifer almost reaches out to touch Sam, but reconsiders midway, hand heading back down to his side instead or reaching out to reel Sam closer. He's still full of pep as he ever is when he gets like this. Something's got the Devil in too good a mood. Sam wishes he knew what.

"Or blond enough, and on Halloween you're supposed to be scared... Then again, we both could make a decent Poison Ivy, he's got the glossy hair and the legs for it, and I do enjoy Ivy's motives..." Lucifer continues. Dean looks unimpressed and uncomfortable and Cas grimaces behind Lucifer's back, sticking out his tongue. Jack keeps his face carefully blank, although Sam sees his face twitch in almost-laughter for a split second. That shuts Lucifer up as he tilts his head, looking between Sam and Jack and back at Cas, who has to shuffle forward.

"What are your other two lines?" Dean tries to derail wherever this fucked up conversation is headed and can see Sam checking out from a mile away from even before Lucifer said the word "Halloween" and "Costume" in the same sentence. Mostly at the word clowns in conjunction with the Devil himself.

Dean tries not to blame Jack too much for getting them all invested in DC and Marvel. It's not his fault Lucifer ruins everything... Even Batman.

"Not now. We've moved on." Lucifer then turns back to Sam with that same shit-eating grin. "I dunno, Sam, thoughts?"

"I don't like costumes. You know that." Sam answers very quietly.

Lucifer ruffles his hair. "I know. And trust me, I don't mind. I really don't. But not even for our son, Sam? Not even to give him a proper Halloween as a family?"

Sam doesn't deign that with a response.

"Although, maybe you could be a male Harley Quinn instead? Try getting over your phobia that's entirely unnecessary? It's not like you can't empathize with her or haven't faced worse things than clowns. Plus, you'd look good in leather. Oh, and then we could do a family costume and Jack could be Robin... Or Spider-man, Thor, Quicksilver, or Captain Marvel since he loves her so much. Then you could be Phoenix if Red or her gal-pal don't steal the redheaded ones from you, and I could be Magneto. And Cas would make a good Superman or Wonderwoman, he's got the deadly stare and need for truth to play the part convincingly-"

"Have you considered you'd make a better Venom?" Dean scoffs. If he can't get Lucifer to stop talking about it he could at least take him down a peg.

"Not a bad idea, honestly, but then I'd have to put on Sam to be inclusive, and something tells me he wouldn't be on board with that. What about you, Dean, would you go for a couples costume with Cas or would you do something else? 'Cause I can see you giving off a Wolverine vibe, and I know you'd love Batman if Sam didn't claim it-"

"Lucifer. What do I have to do to get you to stop talking about this?" Sam asks through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pointed looks Lucifer is giving him and his body again.

Lucifer puts his hand in his pockets, pouts for a second, thoughtful, then taps Sam's shoulder.

"Kiss me?" He tries, head tilting.

Sam calculates his odds, inhales, and gives Lucifer the quickest peck on the cheek he can manage.

Lucifer face twitches, but he still shuts up.

Sam cooperated. He might have found a way around what Lucifer wanted, as usual. But he still cooperated.

Sam is just grateful the subject has moved on to something else. Like the weather. Or where they are going in this damn amusement park now that one case has been settled. Or if Jack wants to go to an observatory or if the merits of angelic flight and space travel means he'd rather fly to Mars or something.

Anything that isn't Halloween or Jess or costumes or fire or jibes at out-of-control psychic abilities or clowns or Lucifer being a clown or Lucifer making Jess a clown.

Sam hates this carnival and he hates the popcorn vendors and he hates the dusty roads and he hates the ferris wheel and every single thing inside this place.

And he hates the House of Mirrors Lucifer has dragged him into.

Aside from the clowns, he hates that the most.

\--

Sam does end up going on the Ferris Wheel alone with Jack. Lucifer found fit to indulge their son when he begs him to let Sam go on.

Jack pleads, "Please, Father, please?" Then he promises, too brightly, but not forced, "I'll go with you, too!"

And Lucifer laughs, gives him a smile, then shoots Sam a wry look, and Sam ducks his head before Jack takes his hand. It helps that Jack is enthusiastic, and pointedly always obedient when Lucifer is around more often than not.

Lucifer likes it, when Jack pays attention and listens and when his chatter and presence keeps Sam from checking out when they're all together. It might be acting, of a sort, since all of them know Jack doesn't really feel comfortable around Lucifer still, but Jack knows on some level that Lucifer will be nice to him and the others more if Jack is himself and interested. Lucifer is proud of his son, when he's not getting in the way. And Jack knows he's mostly safe, provided he doesn't challenge Lucifer about Sam in any way, because Lucifer always takes Sam away more when he does that. Otherwise... Lucifer prefers the almost-lie so long as he's getting what he wants, because he knows Jack will come around once he sees how things are supposed to be, and because he knows Jack is trying to compensate for Sam, which makes Sam more agreeable because he's looking out for Jack, and because Lucifer's priority has always been Sam.

Jack serves as the perfect leverage.

That, and the Devil and his Vessel both know Sam is going to be forced to go up with him one-on-one as a trade-off, so Sam isn't getting away so easily.

Sam isn't looking forward to that.

Still. Jack takes precedence.

"Follow me, Dad." Jack tugs Sam along by the hand, smiling, insistent, but there's a melancholy look in his eyes he doesn't shake, and he flinches when they get in line and sees the movement of Lucifer waving at them. He's been doing so around Lucifer more often than not, even though Lucifer has barely touched him, has only given hugs or patted Jack on the head, or the shoulder, or directed him when teaching him how to use his grace, and Sam has watched him like a hawk. But it's not punching, or a kick to the ribs, or a hand around his throat, because that's reserved for Sam, just as a fist through the heart or snapping is reserved for lesser humans and creatures Lucifer deems below him and Sam and Jack. Nor has Lucifer let him see the worst of it all, seeing as he never uses his True Voice or ditches his fleshsuit when Jack is home or where anyone can see, and Lucifer heals Sam before Jack is even around see the damage, usually, since Donna and Jody and Cas and Dean and Rowena and Gabriel alternate babysitting when Sam knows Lucifer wants time for the two of them. Sam is afforded that fragile smokescreen, even if he knows it isn't foolproof, not by a longshot.

Nonetheless, Jack has seen Cas, or Dean, or Rowena helping Sam with a bruised eye after he's come back from being out, when Lucifer is out of the room but nearby, always a room away, except when he isn't. And everyone, Jack included, has seen the handprints bruising Sam's neck or under rolled-up sleeves when Sam doesn't realize he's being watched by now.

Lucifer isn't mentioned. But Jack knows he's the one doing it, even if everyone plays it off as hunting or an accident or Sam being clumsy when Sam realizes it's out in the open.

Sam isn't clumsy.

And Jack's has seen Sam pressed against the wall enough, with Lucifer's face so close as his voice hisses, hands level with Sam's throat even if his fingers aren't wrapped around him, even if he let's go and puts an arm around the back of Sam's shoulder the moment Jack enters the room. And Jack has heard snatches of whispered conversations that are aborted the moment he's near the door, of Cas and Dean and Rowena and Mary and Gabriel all talking about what they can do, the silences when someone asks where Sam is and Lucifer and him are nowhere to be found...

Silences like that last. That say more in their artificial quiet, like they know there is noise they just can't hear warded and walled off. And it infects the Bunker, a heaviness in the air, even if Jack hasn't heard anything from Lucifer or Sam. Their door is always quiet when it's locked, and in other rooms or hallways, they break off their discussions before Jack can hear, because they sense him getting close beforehand.

Still. Jack can read between the lines.

So right now, Jack soaks up the sun with his Dad as they take a breather from the constant closeness of Lucifer.

And Jack leans against Sam's chest, head crooked against Sam's shoulder. He's had a haircut recently, one Cas gave him, hair still wavy, and he's wearing blue and white flannel he picked out with Sam when they went shopping with Lucifer and Gabriel and Dean, both for supplies and other things. The pattern is almost like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, since Jack is really attached to that movie these past few months. Has been watching it on Sam's laptop on the road.

He's gushed about it to anyone who will listen, saying it reminds him of October and he likes the songs. Sam and Dean can't help but think of Charlie when he does.

Jack keeps looking out past the skyline, watching the clouds that drift by in the gusts of wind, looks at the red and yellow leaves and points out shapes in the clouds to Sam, and Sam listens and keeps his eyes on his son except for when Jack points out something he wants Sam to see.

Then the Ferris Wheel gets stuck at the top and freezes, Sam and Jack at the top apex, higher than every. The carnival sprawls out below them, streaming colors and distance pumpkins and lights and bright carnival stands sticking out against the lawn.

Sam cherishes the quiet and holds his son's hand.

"Jack... How are you doing?" Sam finally asks, eyes darting to meet Jack's. It's the first time in a long time he's been able to talk to his son one on one without Lucifer breathing down his neck.

Sam would be surprised, really, since he knows Lucifer wants to watch any interactions Sam has with Jack for anything Sam might let slip. But he knows Sam won't say anything too incriminating about the two of them: Sam can't Jack get hurt by that, no matter what. No, Lucifer is just afraid that Sam might challenge his principles and further co-opt Jack's morality. Jack is a child, and capable of being molded, and he already loves Sam so much. And Lucifer knows he's the underdog, when it comes to earning Jack's goodwill, even with all his attempts otherwise.

Jack fidgets, and stops looking at the world below them to look at Sam.

"I'm okay." Jack answers, a bit too cheery. A bit too much like Sam's consistent litanies of "I'm fine." Then he asks, a bit too keenly, "Are you?"

Sam's breath whooshes in and out. And he squeezes Jack's hand and looks at him, not a liar, but not at ease.

"I'm..." Sam won't lie, but he won't put this on Jack. He settles on, "I'm holding up as best I can."

But that's a bit too close to other admissions, so Sam concedes, as an afterthought, "Adjusting to change takes time. And Lucifer... He's always been himself. And we've known each other a long time. So I'm... I'm used to it."

Sam hates that truth.

There's a pause as Sam looks at Jack and Jack looks down at his shoes.

"And he's hard to get used to when you don't know him well. He gets very... focused." Sam adds. That's one word for it.

 **You shouldn't have had to get used to him.** Sam's mind screams, but he tamps it down.

"Does it get easier?" Jack finally asks, head tilting. "Being near him? There's so much going on, and he's just so..."

Needy. Possessive. Controlling. Obsessive. Violent. Bright, so very, very bright and loud and close.

"Overwhelming?" Sam supplies, as charitable as possible.

Jack nods. "There's just so much..."

"Yeah..." Sam rasps, looking back at the sky, "He's... He's a handful."

Sam swallows down the feeling of fear and failure and exhaustion, because this is on him, because his best isn't enough to keep Lucifer's violence from leeching in, even muted. Jack's seen enough, and has been too close, so close to it all. Lucifer invests the most time with him and Sam, after all, even if Lucifer grows distant with Jack sometimes because he doesn't know how to parent, or because Sam tries to divert his attention, because Jack deserves that space.

Sam's freedom, traded for Jack's. Sam would make that play, over and over, and will keep making that play. It's not like Sam has been free. He hasn't been free for so long.

And Lucifer knows he can leverage that, too, and does so, and that's why Lucifer treads as carefully as he can around Jack, because he wants to win him over, and because he has other targets he can lash out at, when he's in a mood. And because it keeps Sam right where he wants him.

Still. Jack is almost an afterthought when he isn't the focus of his Father's attentions. It's better than the alternative.

Doesn't change the fact Jack's been putting on a brave face and walking on eggshells, too.

"Jack," Sam answers gently, haltingly, as he puts a hand on Jack's shoulder. "If there's anything else... You know you don't have to pretend to be okay if something is bothering you. I know... I know things aren't what they used to be. At all. And it's been..." Sam sucks in air and doesn't have the words for everything this is. "Different. And it's a big change. And I know you've been taking on a lot of responsibilities. But just because you're good and kind and mature doesn't mean you don't get to be a kid, or that you have to take on things you shouldn't have to. I'm here to look out for you." Sam trails off.

**Even if I'm not good at it, with Lucifer. Even if I've failed...**

"That's..." Sam finds his words again. "I'm the adult here. I'm here for you. I love you. And if you need anything, it's my job to make sure you have what you need. So please... Please talk to me, if you need to. And you don't have to, if you don't want to. You have choices. You have a right to make your own decisions. But if something is wrong... Please let me help fix it. Please. It would mean a lot to me."

Jack furrows his brow and looks back at the sky as he says, "Alright." But there is doubt there. Unfinished, hesitant consideration, like Jack is weighing the cost of being a burden.

Sam hates that.

So Sam keeps talking, gentle, trying to coax it out of Jack as best he can. "And I'll stop talking, if you don't want me to..."

"No, it's okay." Jack interrupts. "I like hearing your voice, and I want to talk. I just... I should be able to take care of myself, and... I don't want to make you worry." Jack answers, trailing off. "You already worry about everyone."

Sam puts a hand on Jack's shoulder and answers. "I know you want to be there for me and try to make everyone happy. You're very perceptive. But, Jack... You don't have to take the burden of everyone's emotions on. It's not your responsibility... And you don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself. But I need to know you are taking care of yourself. So if there's anything on your mind..." Sam trails off. "You don't have to worry about what you want to say. I'll listen. Whatever you need."

Now's the time.

"Dad... Okay." Jack sighs, and Sam looks at him encouragingly as his son admits what's been on his mind. One of the things, anyway. "I just... I miss you. He... He takes up a lot of your time." Jack stutters, picking at his sleeve. "I don't get to be around you as much, and when I do..."

He's always there.

Sam nods, weary with agreement. "I know. And I'll talk to him, Jack. I'll work something out," Sam promises. He can't promise he can fix it. Sometimes it's better for Lucifer to take Sam far away, even if Sam would rather be with his family, because Sam can't suffer Lucifer being too close to people he needs to protect, and Lucifer isn't reasonable or safe when the right conditions hit.

"And you get so quiet, Dad." Jack rasps, words tumbling together. "And... He... I don't like how he looks at people. And... And... I don't like how he looks at you, or how he talks to you, and... And..."

Then Jack's eyes start tearing up and he buries his face in Sam's shirt. His voice is trembles, all muffled, as he blurts out, "I miss how things were."

Sam rubs Jack's back and holds him close.

"I know." Sam whispers, hugging him. Then he admits, so very quietly. "I do, too."

Jack hugs Sam the same time, wings wrapping around him.

"We'll get through this, Jack." Sam says quietly. "Things will get better."

Sam will do whatever he has to make his son more than survive this. If he can get out as unscathed as possible...

Sam would give up more. Whatever it takes, so long as it doesn't destroy the world.

Jack nods and huffs in a few shaky breathes. Then his spine straightens and he composes himself, wiping his eyes.

Then Jack's tone turns steely as he looks back at him, nose scrunching, his brown eyes wide and searching, staring at Sam with the selfsame scrutiny of a child, any child, when faced with an answer they haven't gotten yet. "Why did you make me? If... If he's like this. What made you... Why did you want me?"

Sam's heart stops.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck he knew this question was coming but he hadn't thought of an answer yet.

Jack is four years old.

What the ever-loving fuck is he supposed to say?

"Jack... I love you. I wouldn't trade you for the world. But the truth is: Lucifer wanted a kid." Sam falters. "And I... I wasn't really thinking about it. He caught me by surprise. I've always been scared to be a parent, because of my Dad, and Lucifer knew that. And in order to have you... I was given the wrong body when I was young, and it took me a long time to fix it. And that body was needed to carry you. But I don't feel safe in that skin. I never will. Only Lucifer believed that he could make it work, and he made certain... Promises, and I... I believed him. I know him too well not to."

It's not a lie. But it's not transparency.

"Is that why you were scared of me? Because of him, and your body?" Jack asks.

Sam's heart flatlines until its back to stuttering in his chest.

"What?"

"You were scared of me. When I was inside you." Jack says, voice so soft. "I remember that."

Sam chokes, then makes his voice speak. "That's... Jack... Lucifer doesn't think about choices the same way I do. He thinks that if you feel something it replaces the words, or that if you give permission, you can't take it back. He thinks feeling something gives him the right to do what he wants. And that's not how it works. But Lucifer knows I love him, that I've always loved him, so he thinks it is okay to ignore that. And it doesn't excuse anything he does. I need you to understand that. But it wasn't you. It was never you."

Jack ponders, then asks, "What made you love him?"

"He loved me, and he listened to me, and he... He was everything I had, once. He... He changed." Sam finishes. His throat hurts. "We both did."

He's not sure he should be telling Jack this, but he can't chance Jack feeling guilty for existing.


	162. Mutant Brain (DRAFT)

Sam's head hurts. He can feel blood trickling down his temple from where the clowns and the other-alternate universe Michael and Balthazar attacked.

Beneath Lucifer's flat eyes sits a glittering icestorm. It promises vengeance.

"Arachne. When will you Pagan imps learn your place?" Lucifer goads. Then he looks at Jack and ushers him forward with his wings, because Jack can enter, and he can't, not quite yet, and the Devil is still holding off nouveax-alternate Michael and alternate Balthazar and the host of fear-manifestations all chomping at the bit. There's so many of them, thousands, teeming over the whole field...

"Go on, Jack." Lucifer goads. "Make her scream. Do it for Sammy, before she hurts him again."

"Let me end this." Arachne hisses at Sam. "You die, Lucifer has nothing. Your son will be cared for and safe from him forever, Sam. You have nothing else to live for."

"I have my son." Sam rasps, then slams the back of his head into her forehead. The Enochian bursts out of him, a growl, low and promising. "I have my brother. And they need me."

**Jack, you don't need to protect me. I'll protect you. I'm here.**

Sam rips Arachne apart with his bare hands so his son doesn't have to.

Problem is, it's a distraction.

Balthazar's spell goes off.

Fae are summoned.

There's a bright flash and Lucifer screams in rage as he realizes the deception-

And Jack is stolen away, Sam holding on to his son with no intentions of letting go.


	163. I Follow Rivers (DRAFT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Lykke Li

Lucifer will admit, having your family stolen by fairies of all things isn't something he was anticipating.

Having a werewolf be the one to deal them away also wasn't part of the plan.

Still. It's not Alternate Dean-Michael or alternate Sam-Castiel or alternate Balthazar and the Fates whose plan worked, so he's pretty sure Sam will be okay in the meantime while he figures out how to rip those other problems apart.

Infamy does have it's downsides.

Who knew slaying your alternate universe counterparts would stir up so much drama?

\--

"You weren't supposed to take him." An angry leprechaun starts in, pointing at the heavily concussed Sam on the ground.

The other offending fairy in question shrugs.

"I saw an opportunity and took it. Besides, he wasn't giving the kid up. Maybe we can convince both of them to stay and solve more than one problem."

"We'll have to talk to the Queen about this."

"Duh."

Sam comes to, the voices no longer far away. Jack is unconscious in his arms. Sam doesn't know how they did that between then and now, and the thought terrifies him.

He reaches for rock salt in his pocket.

"Don't you fucking touch my son." Sam snarls.

He throws the salt on the ground, stopping one fairy from mentally knocking Sam out from Lucifer's blood in his system, senses all on high alert.

Both fairies start counting the grains.

Sam books it with Jack in his arms.


	164. Wake the White Queen (DRAFT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by cruxshadows

"What do you mean Sam and Jack been captured by fairies?" Dean demands once the dust has cleared.

Alternate-him and Michael and alternate-Castiel possessed Sam from whatever-other-Hellish-dimension have fled. Their alternate Balthazar is dead at Lucifer's feet.

Lucifer sighs and rubs his bloody hands together, preparing just how to get them back. "Exactly what I fucking said."

"Well, what are we going to do about-"

"You really want to ask the obvious, or you want to help me prepare a spell to get them back?" Lucifer retorts.

Dean doesn't want to help Lucifer with anything. But he's not letting Sam and Jack be at the mercy of fairies.

He hates them too much, too.

Rowena helps set up the spell to track Sam and Jack down.

\--

While his brother is otherwise distracted, Gabriel seeks out Kali. She's hiding in a food truck, lying low.

"Hey, hot stuff." Gabriel starts in lamely. "You got a spot I can steal?"

"Gabriel. You have some nerve-"

"Yeah, I get that a lot. But you're less of a fan of my brother. You want to get the jump on him or not?"

"As much as I'd jump to sever the head from his shoulders... Did you see what he did out there? I'm not suicidal. I can't take him on directly. We tried."

"No, you can't. But we can do something."

"I'm surprised you changed your tune."

Gabriel closes his eyes and opens them. "It's not just about me any more. I'm an uncle now."

"What's the real reason?"

"Lucifer's fighting a war from all sides. This is the best chance we've got. You still have the ingredients to send a line to that other alternate Cas?"

\--

"Look, if we're going to get a chance to seal him away, now's our chance." Anna urges Metatron.

\--

Lucifer looks over his shoulder at the assembled posse.

"Alright, buddy up, everyone. Once we get this rift open, we're going to want to spread out-" Lucifer commands.


	165. Run Through the Jungle

"So why I am with you?" Dean finally asks. "You hate my guts."

"You're killing it tonight, Dean. Keep the comedy train comin'." Lucifer says, not really trying. "But it's like I said to the others. You and Sammy? You're like a pit bull with a homing beacon. If anyone's gonna find him first, it's gonna be us two amigos. So chop chop and stop tripping on tree roots. Your twiggy human legs need to put some effort into this."

They keep trekking through the dense overgrowth, fog obscuring most of this dimension.

Dean is more than on edge. His teeth feel cold against his gums. He picks up the pace.

Lucifer catches him when he trips same place the Mark used to be. He assures him it's just so Sam can't hold it against him. Dean pulls his arm back, triple quick. Lucifer dusts off his hands like a human when they just touched a spider or slug or something.

Then Lucifer goes still and smiles absently, his eyes are faraway as he scans the area, searching. As if there's a blood trail, a scent he can follow, and Dean's hackles rise as he realizes that's exactly what this is. Sam is being hunted down like an animal, by the way Lucifer hones in on his soul.

More hate than Dean thought he had left bubbles in his gut, warring with relief.

They have to get Sam and the kid back. They gotta.

"Okay, but what was the deal back there? Suddenly another Michael wearing me jumps through a portal, which apparently those pop up like hotcakes, now, and their Cas is wearing Sam, and what? They just decided to gate crash until that witch and that goddess teamed up only they bailed and didn't do shit since Sam and Jack got spirited away by faeries first? I don't get it."

"Well, no one said you were the smart one." Lucifer answers, all dry.

Dean forces himself not to sock the Devil in the jaw. No use getting a busted hand.

"Look, Blondie, I get it. We aren't pals. But for Sam's sake, please. Please. I need answers. I know you have them. And I can't protect him-"

"Dean, do you really think I was going to let anything happen to them? They're going to be fine. I mean, they might feel like shit, but if anything gets Sam, I'll find and resurrect him immediately. Kid is resourceful and can handle himself."

"And Jack?"

Lucifer laughs and raises his eyebrows. "You think Sam's gonna let anything happen to him?"

"But Sam-"

"Isn't helpless. Dean. He'll be alright. And we'll get to him triple quick. Don't you worry."

"Fine. But none of this makes any sense." Dean grumbles. "Why are those bastards even after them?"

Lucifer sighs. "Of course it makes sense, Dean. Look. You know there's all those little multitudes of universes out there, right? And I know Cassie must've explained some things, like how time and space curl over each other, yadda yadda, all that slick stuff one says to get inside those pants. I'll never bleach my eyes from his memories. Ick. Anyway, moving on, the important bit is, what do you think remains constant between all the universes?"

"Uh... Death?" Dean answers, racking his brain. He would say God, but he's not sure if that would ruin Lucifer's so-far-accommodating-for-being-the-Devil mood.

"Bingo!" Lucifer turns and pulls them another direction, picking up the pace. Dean jogs to keep up.

"But not just Death." Lucifer adds. Apparently, with Sam not there, Dean's his new protege. Not that that's too far fetched. He was chatty even when he turned Dean into a demon, and after Sam turned him back, too. Lucifer just liked the sound of his voice.

"Our gal Billie has jurisdiction over all of Creation. So, following that, what do you think also spans all the Universes and different dimensions?"

"Erm... Hell? Heaven? Purgatory? The Empty?" Dean makes a wild guess and rolls with it. He still isn't sure where Lucifer is going with this, but he wants his answers, dammit.

"And he hits it outta the park!" Lucifer cheers, but it's all fake. "See, under certain conditions, Heaven, Hell, and The Empty can span all the universes, but they've got safety measures in place keeping them all walled off from each other. Think, like, support beams in a house reinforced by extra nails. Long as you got those in place, the whole house of cards stays stable, even if you do pop 'em open. Thing is, if you do, you got an overabundance of souls leeching in through different dimensions... That causes problems. If you don't have safeguards stopping them from breaching the different newly connected universes, it's like shaking a can of soda and throwing mentos in for good measures. Floodgates open and disaster strikes, unpending the whole echilada of creation. But you get those souls on lockdown: boom. Everything stabilizes. Well, almost everything. See, Purgatory is a special case, thanks to the Leviathans, as are some of the deeper crypts in Hell. The Cage, for instance, has multiple copies across universes, but if you pop a few open and merge them, then there's... Bleedthrough, of a sort. The Cage resonates with itself, expanding to accomodate. And Eden itself, that crisscrosses over everything. Think of it like a main hub, grand central station."

"That's great and all, but none of that tells me why alternate Michaels and Castiels and versions of us and Pagan Gods and faeries are all chomping at the bit to invade our dimension."

"Dean. They view Jack as an inter-dimensional can opener. With access to all of those untapped souls. Like batteries. And they know I'm attached to Sam and my son, so they know who the main threats are in their way, since our Michael is out of commission and Raphael and Gabriel need time to heal from all their baggage. So they're trying to take out the heavyweight champs. Kill the competition before it kills them. That sort of thing."

"So they're trying to take us out because Jack simply exists?"

"That's my best guess." Lucifer shrugs, clearly hiding something.

Dean knows when its best to move on, seeing as Lucifer might be less accommodating if Dean pushes, and Dean needs answers, for Sam's sake.

"There's another thing I don't get. What about alternate versions of us? I mean, how do the same people exist in different universes but then exist in our own at the same time. Like, isn't there a paradox there, when we die, or something? Like antimatter annihilating matter or that Schrodinger's cat thing Cas likes talking about?"

"Nah. You hear that first bit from a movie?" Lucifer hums, rhetorical, then keeps going, brusque and dismissive. "Lucky for you, that would be the case, but everyone's experiences are different. You aren't a carbon copy of alternate you, for instance. And that time Zachariah sent you to interact with that time loop where I killed you and had Sam? That was another offshoot, closer to our dimension because it was closer in extrapolation. But it's still a different me, and different you, and different Sam. The souls themselves resonate on the same frequency and can be used for tracking you down, but it's not like you're the same. They're different flavors of quarks and bosons and all that jazz."

"What?"

"Quantum physics, Dean. Break open a textbook once in awhile so you don't break Shortstack's heart. I swear, the nerve. Moving on. Archangels. Now, we're a different can of worms."

"What do you mean?"

"Dean, angels don't have souls." Lucifer holds a hand to his heart. "We have grace and frequencies. And like all angels, we exist beyond time and space and the limited planes of your mortal understanding. I mean, real talk, we were there at the beginning of it all, making the building blocks of Creation with Dad. We predate Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, the works. We built them. Only thing older than us is God and the old Death you took out of commission. Other than that... The Leviathans came next, then the Shedim, being proto-angels, then regular angels and all the rest, like Eve and her lot. All those little fishes came after us. So you tell me. What keeps the Archangels of each universe separate from each other when we exist beyond spacial limits and all came into being at the same time?"

Dean can't help but mutter, "The size of your ego?"

Lucifer narrows his eyes and then shakes his head. 

"Guess again, Columbo."

Dean knows that tone and gets wise. No point getting injured before they even get to Sam.

"Erm... Frequency?"

Lucifer brightens. "Exactly. We all have different energy outputs that vary from each other, weaving our different folds of the universe in place. Think of it like a tapestry. Each section of the universe has... Territory, basically."

"So what you're telling me is this is turning into an Archangel gang war? Like West Side Story or the Godfather but worse?"

"Eh... Think of it more like a cold war. No one wants to nuke everyone by accident, so you gotta play it safe."

"You were supposed to be protecting him." Dean accuses, even though they all know that protection doesn't extend to Lucifer himself.

"Dean. I have safeguards in place to stop this. But my measures are focused on Archangels themselves, not small fry, which is why they resorted to indirect measures. And indirect, lesser beings are easy to take down. It's just a matter of getting to Sam and kicking their asses. Then it will all work itself out. Besides, Sammy would never forgive me if I micromanaged his life beyond what I've been doing. And I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have a policy, Dean. Talk shit get hit. And if the other archangels don't want to play nice, well, they shouldn't mess with me or mine."

"So you're taking the turf war to them?"

"Basically."

"Great. That's just peachy. When were you going to fill Sam in?"

"When he wouldn't get bent outta shape over it. Now, zip the lips, jabberwocky. We're getting close."

Lucifer turns them down another denser patch of forest, humming under his breath.

Then he stops short, and the Devil crouches down to move some leaves off the ground. Beneath is an Enochian mass of writhing sigils on what looks like a slab of concrete.

The runes swirl and makes the hair on the back of Dean's neck rise.

"What the Hell is that?" He asks.

Lucifer keeps humming "Sympathy for the Devil" under his breath and stops answering questions.


	166. The Greatest Show On Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> return of the monster children because Jack and Magda deserve more supernatural friends who are also literal children and also because we need more of Jody's zombie child and also Sully taking care of young ones and being bad at reigning these ones in
> 
> chapter title a song by creature feature

"Guys..." Sully starts in, tapping his foot nervously. "What's with the circles and the candles? You should all be asleep!"

'We're not letting Lucifer get to Jack and Sam first.' Owen signs to the group, giving a distinctive glare. Then he turns to Jacob and signs with more energy, 'You have the blood?'

Jacob nods and silently keeps drawing the chalk circle, adding some spray paint to correct some more specific wards. Magda was better at those, but they needed her help to get out of Purgatory again, and if Sully tried to stop them she was the first line of defense, seeing as she knew how to bind Zanna, thanks to sneaking a peek at the Book of the Damned when Rowena and Gabriel had been distracted by Raphael and Lucifer and Gabriel. Being young really was a good way to slip by unnoticed and take initiative like that. And more importantly, the sooner they get this done, the sooner his mom comes back. And so does Eileen: she'd promised access to the last records found in Men of Letters Bunker in Ireland, just like she'd promised to help him look for new tools so Claire and Lily could teach him how to take down undead monsters so he can feed on his own without his mom's supervision, (and ever since she lost her newest job at the morgue thanks to a shapeshifter on a hunt gone wrong, food had been tight, because they weren't about to accept handouts from demons and angels and whatever shifty brains they kept lying around. Eileen and the other resurrected hunters actually helped them find game, provided it wasn't human, which at least counts for something, and in the case of dead human vics, well, then they shared with Benny). That, and Pamela was away, too. He missed her wisecracks, even if she caught on the fastest whenever he and Owen tried to sneak out unattended, which would make this plan more difficult. That, and no one would be in a good mood if they died and got resurrected again, if Lucifer even bothered to bring some of them back, which wasn't guaranteed, since Jacob still isn't sure why he brought his mom back, anyway, if he was just proving he could raise monsters or planning on using their resurrected corpses for something. Plus, Owen's his best friend, and Sam's a kind adult who actually treats them all with consideration, even if they don't really see him that much. And Owen would be crushed if Jack didn't come back, and all things considered, Jack's not too bad and doesn't deserve to be trapped in fairy land, even if he's really naive and doesn't always get jokes when you say them and they don't always get along, seeing as Jacob and Owen are much less bothered by violence than Jack is. Jack is sensitive about a lot of things, although Jacob sort of understands why. (Jacob feels a little guilty, too, seeing as he's mentioned they should seriously consider dimension hopping to get away from Lucifer, and now that Jack's been kidnapped, possibly forever... It just doesn't sit right with him.)

That, and the search party took Priscilla with them. Jacob is really attached to that dog, even if her fur always singes his hand.

"You know I can't let you just walk into Avalon!" Sully challenges, hands on his hips.

"You're just going to let Jack be trapped there?" Madga challenges from the corner of the room, still half hidden behind a bookshelf.

"Jack wouldn't want you all in danger, and if they have enough juice to steal him, think of what could happen! Avalon is no place for children, or teenagers, or anyone, myself included-" Sully answers. It's true. Zanna aren't exactly heavy-hitters in Avalon, even if they come from the closest neighboring dimension, in between the liminal dragon lairs and mermaid grottos that are otherwise treacherous, but actually serve as a means for Zanna to stay safe from predation, seeing as mermaids and dragons don't horde or steal kids and focus on eating other prey, particularly other supernatural creatures, and mostly feed on fairies themselves. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement, seeing as Zanna are too insubstantial for them to consider as a meal, and they get free childcare out of it. Otherwise, Zanna are actually fed on by a lot of things in Avalon itself: baby-snatchers and child snatchers have learned to be feed on Zanna on earth, too, seeing as Zanna are always guarding children, and it pays to be able to steal kids and sneak a meal before heading home.

All in all, Sully really doesn't want to consider the fact that this could go horribly wrong. But he can't just let the kids bind him and go alone: that's an even worse option.

Jacob speaks up at the same time. "Even monsters?" He asks. "Or psychics?" Then he gives Owen a look, and looks back at Sully. "Or half-zombies?"

'I told you, I'm not a zombie, I'm half-undead, get it right-' Owen signs and sighs, looking at Magda to finish the ritual. They were setting this off whether Sully wanted them to or not.

And in most situations, Sully would be able to stop them. That's kind of a Zanna's thing: protective magic.

But zannas aren't exactly used to psychic teens, kitsunes, and half-undead kids teaming up on them. Maybe if Benny were here, he could be backup.

But he isn't.

And as he steps further inside, Sully finds himself looking at a reopened door to Purgatory, the same one Abaddon and Ramiel had been experimenting with in the basement for weeks, not that Purgatory was hard to get into now anyway, thanks to how many people have jail-broken in. Once the Leviathans got out, it kinda permanently skewed the metaphysical hinges. And then the Darkness had really done a number on every supernatural infrastructure around, so things were a bit shaky, foundation-wise. Nothing like the damage down in Hell, or the issues in Heaven after all the angels got kicked out, but decent enough damage that everyone is still playing it safe.

Sully knows he's fighting a losing battle now, thanks to a newly summoned and bound Reaper and some incantations Madga definitely levitated off one of the higher shelves of the library.

"You don't have to help us," Magda starts in, motioning to the door. "But if this fails... Owen's a firstborn child, and we'll just summon the fairies here anyway: they're very efficient. And Zanna might be part of Avalon, but-"

'Even you would have trouble if it's three to one with the Unseelie court-' Owen signs and nods sagely, happily backing her up.

"And how does getting captured help?" Sully tries bargaining, the metal on his rainbow suspenders glinting as he shifts from foot to foot. These kids can be a handful on a good day, and on a day like today, when their favorite fourth musketeer is missing...

Let's just say with the present company, he's expecting an actual bloodbath. 

That, and he just noticed the glittery, leafy corpse that was chopped up. The same one Madga had hidden behind the bookshelf and was unsuccessfully poking at with her foot. That explains the explosion of glitter on her sweater, too, and now he sees they've all got matching red christmas sweaters Rowena sewed on inside out, thanks to the lore. Sully would've noticed sooner, but the wards to get the reaper and to crack Purgatory back open muffled a lot of the signal via interference.

Yeah, these kids mean business, and if Sully doesn't chaperone, they're gonna get themselves and other people hurt.

"Fairy magic won't work on Owen." Jacob explains. "He can do the lich thing. We tested it already."

"You tested..." Sully trails off, then pinches the bridge of his nose and gives the Reaper an exhausted look. Lich thing. Sure, just enter a half-comatose state where you can't be affected by mind magic but you chomp down on anything that moves. Because that's safe. 

"Look, I'll have them unbind you. If we're heading through Purgatory, I might as well go with them, and you'll draw even more attention in there."

"Better you than me, mate." The reaper answers with raised eyebrows.

Madga crosses her arms and purses her lips. "You promise not to try and stop us?" She asks, eyeing Sully up and down. Zanna can't break promises.

Sully sighs, and not seeing a way out, particularly with how Jacob and Owen look like they've got some kind of binding for him lined up to, having prepared contingencies, he concedes, "I promise. But no foolish risk-taking! I mean it! And you better have a way to prevent Owen from trying to eat you-"

Madga gives him a pointed look, hands on her hips, then taps her forehead. "I can fling him into a wall if he gets too close." She answers.

Sully sighs again, a bit more wheezing and audibly this time. Then he mumbles, "Ooooh, we are going to get in so much trouble for this, this is horribly irresponsible, this is such a bad idea..."

'Not like you could've stopped us.' Owen signs, bouncing on the soles of his feet, trying not to think about every second wasted being a second Jack and Sam are missing.

Jacob nods, far too enthusiastic to not have had some kind of backup plan Sully isn't sure he wants to know, and Madga follows suit, albeit her sage nod is slower, although she drapes a coat spelled with sigils over Sully's suspenders, adding, "This will keep you safe, big guy." She pats his shoulder, then puts on her own handmade magic hazmat suit for the occasion. Of all the things in purgatory, they'll draw monsters in the most. Except for angels: those draw even more attention, radiating grace like no tomorrow.

The reaper flies off after Madga frees him, visibly amused.

Magda starts chanting Aramaic, the spellwork Alicia's been helping her with really coming in handy. Then she explains the gameplan to Sully.

It's pretty basic, but seems effective. Provided they don't get swarmed, and their attempts to hide under the radar hold up.

'J, I didn't realize you had come up with a name for my skills.' Owen signs, giving Jacob a speculative look as Madga ties a magical chord around them and to the bunkbed so they can unreel it like in the Minotaur myth to have a way back, and just in case something tries to grab them when they all walk through.

Jacob shrugs and links arms with Owen and Magda, now that she's worked her magic to ferry them through the door, although the fairy sacrifices helped ease that along, too. Sully keeps his arms around the three of them as they all walk through the doorway, and Jacob adds, "It's catchy."

Their feet crunch over the leaves of Purgatory, the dark shadows of trees that never stop throwing shadows across the sky hiding all their faces. Owen's and Jacob's retinas glint from the pale light of the tow line they've kept as a guide to head home, Madga sandwiched in between them because she's the one most likely to draw attention to herself. Zombies, even half zombies who only fall into trances while having a pseudo-narcoleptic fit, barely are a blip on the radar, not giving off much energy. Kitsune are more vivacious than other things like werewolves, but by no means a honing beacon.

Then Jacob turns speculative, and his brow crinkles as he challenges, "You know, I'm pretty sure it was a leprechaun that showed up, not a pixie. It smelled like a leprechaun when we staked it. And there were no wings."

'Leprechaun, schleprechaun-' Owen counters, signing even with his small arms interlocked with the others, and he rolls his eyes as Madga pulls out a hatchet, just in case. 'It still is salt-phobic."

"Hey, that affects our battle tactics!" Jacob defends, although he pulls out a loose salt shaker for good measure. They start whispering now, though, seeing as something howls in the distance. But they won't be in Purgatory long. Just long enough to make another circle and door to the other side. Although, with Sully with them, that should be easy as pie.

'I have one battle tactic and that is chow down and run.' Owen counters. They all stay as frivolous as possible on purpose: anything too serious will remind them how actually scared they are, and deep down, Owen really doesn't want to think about what will happen if something gets them and he never sees his moms and Claire and Alex again. Sully's presence settles over him, protective and reassuring, and they all take a deep breath they didn't realize they were holding.

"Yeah, well that's why Magda's coming with us. You can't eat all the fairies." Jacob snorts after a moment. "That's why we stocked up on iron stakes from the campground."

'I bet you I can.'

"Can't."

'Can.' Owen sticks out his tongue. 'I bet their brains taste like candy.'

'I think you're both making Sully nauseous. Wait, Sully, as a Zanna, are you related to stuff like banshees and things?' Madga signs. They all default to that now that they've got to keep quiet, and Eileen and Owen have been giving everyone lessons for almost everyone to be fluent by now.

'We're more related to dragons, although our morphology is very different.' Sully answers, getting nervous the deeper they all go. The kids might not feel all the things lurking in the distance, but Sully can, and steers them clear. That's what Zanna's instincts are for, seeing as protection is the name of the game.

'Cool!' Jacob signs. "Once we get there: you're sticking with Owen, and Jacob stays back at the entrance with me, so we can smuggle you and him and Owen back through. No one goes in alone, and we're not chancing you getting eaten, okay?"

Sully nods, although it's reluctant. He's more concerned with watching the undergrowth, and making sure the vampires a few yards down don't somehow smell them. Sully can dampen their scents to smell like rain, but even any flare of power might set something off here.

Places like Purgatory and Avalon are alive, and tend to have minds of their own. And Sully would've whisked them to Avalon directly if he could, seeing how this was going to go: but Zanna can't take passengers with them, and it's a fraught trip, considering they're basically prey.

A twig snaps.

Shielded under the shadow of the coat Magda made for Sully, Owen's nostrils flare, and his head lolls, mouth gaping open as the first challenger arrives. He's got switching back from being a non-sentient, starving entity to human down to a science now. Owen's discovered through trial and error that epipens can help speed up his recovery from an immediate faux-narcoleptic attack, just like exposure to forces and environments that would kill a normal human immediately flicking the switch and gets his undead instincts front and center. That's why Madga brought the hacket: blunt force trauma to the head usually flicks the switch in Owen's head, too.

Between Magda's sigils and psychic projections Owen doesn't even realize she's there, lunging for the immediate thing with blood and skin and organs, even if they are shriveled out, dry husks. Vampires kinda taste like really dry chicken, after Owen wakes up and there's all the bits in his mouth.


	167. Down Under (DRAFT)

It's hard to stay hydrated in the desert of post-Apocalyptic Arizona. Both Jack and Sam feel it, an ache in their chest, their breathing labored, sweat pouring down their brows.

Jack's wings try to shield them from the elements, but after that last skirmish, he's hobbling, wings clipped. Sam could repair them, given enough time and resources.

But until they get back to their world...

There's no telling what might happen in this desert.

Sam knows it's not their Arizona. There's too many dead things around, too many ghouls, and the town half-back was is so much disrepair, he's not sure what dimension they hopped to.

But the sign for Flagstaff they passed was legitimate. So that's something. Although the geography is fucked, seeing as most of Arizona is supposed to be arid scrub, and not desert.

Jack flew them as far as they could go from one place to another, at least, until the battle ten minutes ago, when he flew them both blindly out of there. He doesn't have the juice for more flying, his wings got hit a bit too much and his arm is still badly mangled, so Sam wants him to play it safe. So they keep stumbling through the desert, holding on to one another.

Sam's leg is still seeping blood into the gauze and keeps bleeding a bit every time he takes a step, hunched over and leaning on Jack for weight.

Jack's nearly spent, too. He's used up a lot of grace facing down that other nephilim and alternate universe Lucifer, those two the only ones getting the better of them after they had hobbled all the other major threats. It will take him a while to recover.

Sam's throat is dry, lips parched, and it's altogether too hot to wear a shirt. Better to keep the flannel to bind their wounds and off his chest, and seeing as the desert sky has enough dust keeping the sun present but not direct, he assumes the chance for sunburn outweighs the risk of bleeding to death.

The sigils he made didn't take. Neither did Jack's grace. They had given it their all.

Then again, Sam was still drugged and spelled pretty heavily from Avalon, and Jack's powers are restricted due to whatever this alternate Gabriel pulled, and neither of them are used to facing off with another nephilim, an archangel, faeries, and three covens of witches at the same time. They did pretty good, all things considered.

Sam trips, dizzy, spots in his eyes. Jack catches him, and Sam's huffs out assurances until Jack says he should save his breath.

He's pretty sure whatever weapon nicked him is poisoning him slow. But at least it's not alternate Michael's lance.

That had hurt worse.

He can still feel the phantom of it in his chest where he drove it in, trying to protect Jack the only way he could.

And he's not spitting up blood or foaming at the mouth, so that's a plus.

If they could just get back to their world...

But they don't have enough grace or ingredients to make a spell.

Sam doesn't want to admit it, but he really hopes something worldbreaking happens, even, if it gets them back.

He can't let these things get to Jack. He can't.

He's made his peace with dying. But he can't abandon Jack here.

There's a cave shimmering in front of them, the heat waves making it hard to see. But there's a canyon, looming, too.

Sam prays they've made it close to somewhere they can rest.

That, and there's got to be something in Flagstaff. Supplies, something useable, something...

When they make it fifty feet, there's shade, thanks to the cave mouth. That isn't a hallucination, thank Heaven.

Except a warning shot rings out, and then Sam sees angelic warding, trapping Jack if not him-

There's a person with a shotgun waiting on the edge, just out of sight.

Jack and Sam would take cover, but with their injuries, and the trap...

They freeze.

The shadowed figure rises and walks into the light, and Sam shields Jack as best he can, angel blade held aloft-

"No one move." The voice warns.

Sam recognizes it and stares into his old face. A face he'd been afraid to see in the mirror. A never-transitioned version of himself, looking about 34 years of age, and that face looks fucking pissed.

"What the fuck is this?" Alternate Sam asks, hefting the gun again. Upon closer inspection, his chest is bound the way Sam used to do it, same bandages, and they must have never got the dough to transition, Sam's brain can't but think, shock setting in, just as his brain can't help but note that other-Sam's hair is buzzed close to his head, and there's a nasty scar on his temple and a handprint Sam recognizes from Lucifer raising him, a mirror-scar, exactly the same. But this Sam is blind, every part of his eyes milky.

Sam can tell it is due to the angels. The question is: which one?

Sam holds up both hands as alternate Sam examines Jack.

"I can explain, please, we just need somewhere to hide and water-" Sam begs.

Alternate Sam shushes them, then seems to listen to the area around them, tilting his head.

The drone of grace hisses around them. Far away, and angry, but far away, and Sam hopes that holds out.

Then other-Sam appears to make a decision and breaks the trap holding Jack still, then ushers them inside quickly, lighting a lantern to light the way inside the pure darkness of the cave. It must have some other use, seeing as Sam doesn't know why this blind Sam would need it.

It takes a second for Sam's eyes to adjust in the darkness.

As they walk midway through, they get accosted with holy water, more sigils, and walked through a devil's trap and an angel trap, respectively.

The person who dumped holy water on their head talks all clinical as she hands them a canteen of water to drink, sipping from it first to show good faith. 

"These are the ones angel radio has been singing pretty about all day. Lucky us." The sarcasm bites, intonations unlike what Sam is used to.

Other-Sam gives a noncommittal noise, drawing more sigils on their skin, shotgun at their side.

"Jess?" Sam asks, thrown. There's something else familiar about her he can't quite place, woozy as he is...

Jessica shakes her head. "She's here, but also not alone, Sam Winchester. How do you know this vessel?" She asks, wings fluffing.

Sam double-takes, recognition finally dawning as the familiar-yet-not grace settles over him.

"Castiel?" Jack interrupts, cautious. The last alternate Castiel they ran into wasn't exactly friendly.

Other-Cas-inside-Jess nods, eyeing them both. "You know us?"

"Yes, well, a version of you." Jack answers.

Sam adds, "Look, it's a long story. But we mean no harm. We just want to go home. We're not from this world-"

"We know. Everyone's been talking about the rifts, and you. You should tread more carefully." Cas inside Jess warns. 

"We can slow the wound from spreading." Other Sam interrupts, examining the extent of Sam's injuries.

Sam looks back at a different version of themselves they aren't quite ready to face.

"Why would you help us?" Jack pipes up.

Other Sam looks at Jack like he's stupid and young. Sam doesn't like it.

"Because we're fighting Lucifer and Michael, too." Other-Sam answers, matter of fact. That gives Sam some relief, although they are all still on edge. "That, and you might be the key to ending our Apocalypse. Or what's left, anyway." Other-Sam adds, bitter. "You saw what it's like out there. Not much left to save."

Sam doesn't know how he feels about that, if only because the look his counterpart gives him is picking him apart, like a butterfly on a corkboard, dissected and ready for display. Suspicious, like he's lacking in something or sees something that unsettles him.

Alternate Sam and Jess give each other a look, then appear to reach silent consensus, both of their shoulders drooping and body language relaxing yet still on edge.

Sam would eavesdrop on the grace conversation he knows it happening, but worries it would just put Jack in danger or help their pursuers pinpoint their location, so he doesn't.

Without further ado, Cas does some routine tests. Silver. Salt. Other sigils. Mostly just to check for outside tampering.

Jack falls to his knees at one but doesn't crumple with one test. Jess helps him back up.

"What about Dean?" Sam asks, scared to hope.

Other-Sam scowls. 

Jessica's eyes flash blue.

"He said yes to Michael." Castiel answers, every word forced. "You don't want to meet him here."

Sam can read the room enough to know they don't want to keep talking about it.

They make their way through heavily warded doors.

Inside, there's enough weapons to call it an armory.

The whole place is decked out in spray pointed and bloody sigils.

There's mat for sleeping on the floor, too, and Other-Sam sits them down, cleaning off some of Sam's minor injuries with some antiseptic and providing new bandages as Sam redresses his own more pressing wounds. Jack helps, although his grace still can't heal Sam for shit, whatever that cause might be.

Castiel hands off something to fight the poison coursing through Sam's leg. Sam recognizes the ingredient. Some distant relative of dreamroot.

"Should dull the pain, too, although, I'd be conservative. Stuff is strong." Jessica warns, and Sam can tell it's Jessica from the different twang of her voice.

So she's alive and conscious inside Cas, then. That's one good thing.

Except Sam can't fight the feeling... 

He never really knew Jess. He just knew Lucifer.

Other-Sam sits down in front of Jack and Sam, looking at them without looking, telegraphing all movement.

The alternate self considers his options, then sighs.

"Why don't you tell us what happened in your world and how you got here, and we'll brainstorm how our dimensions might be different so we can come up with a plan." Other-Sam directs.

Sam inclines his head. "Okay. But first things first. Why are you hiding out here?"

Other-Sam looks haunted and rubs his face. "Because of Michael and Lucifer, of course. They weren't exactly happy I bowed out of the Apocalypse."

"Or that I defected." Cas adds, mouth twitching.

Some things weren't too different, then, despite everything.

Sam absorbs that information and then gets grilled about weapon locations, differences, the way they hopped from one dimension to the other, what happened when Lucifer found them-

"How hasn't he found you?" Sam asks, scared but desperate for an answer.

His Lucifer always found him.

Other-Sam purses their lips, then says, voice flat, "Because I'm soulless."

And that explains everything, but doesn't comfort Sam one bit.

"How?" Jack asks, looking nervous.

Other-Sam stares at him, unamused. "Because Michael ripped my soul out, kid."

Both Sam and Jack don't know what to say to that.

Sam asks, anyway.

"To keep you from being possessed?" Sam asks carefully.

Blind Sam stares him down. The whites of his eyes remind Sam too much of Lilith, and his dry, empty voice doesn't help the comparison much.

"One reason, not all. Look, other me, don't get me wrong, but I'm gonna tell it to you like it is. You? You're a fucking homing beacon. Anything within 200 miles is going to be drawn to all that Archangel grace you and your son are leaking all over the place. So here's the deal: You play bait, and I'll help you get back home. Deal?"

Sam nods.

"Whatever gets Jack home safe." Sam answers. There's a threat there, too: don't you fucking dare hurt my son.

They shake on it.

In some ways, Sam still can't shake the feeling he's made another deal with the Devil. Maybe it's just because he used to looking at himself and seeing Lucifer stare back, but...

Stupid, right?

He knows this blind and bloodied and hunted Other Sam isn't even housing the Devil.

Still, Sam trusts his gut.

And he knows they aren't getting the full story.

That, and he knows himself soulless, and he knows he can't trust that one bit.


	168. Believer (DRAFT)

"Hey, Sammy. Jack. You holding up okay?" Lucifer's voice hisses over the sand, and Sam turns his head despite himself.

Blind Sam and Alternate Jess-Cas follow behind.

With a sinking feeling, Sam sees the truth. Alternate Jess-Castiel and his own doppelganger led him here.

It's not like he doesn't want to get back to his own world.

But Sam knows that look on Lucifer's face, and knows this will end with nothing good.

"Sam. You sold me out." The other Lucifer accuses.

Blind Sam shrugs.

"Better the enemy of my enemy." He answers, definitive. "And whatever gets rid of you is worth it in my book."

"You don't know what you've done-" The other Lucifer accuses.

Blind Sam interrupts, turning to Sam's Lucifer. "You'll uphold the deal. Kill the Archangels, find my soul, and take your family and leave."

"'Course. Always a pleasure doing business." Sam's Lucifer assures.

"There's no reason for us to fight." The other Lucifer warns, keeping the archangel blade to Jack's throat. "I keep my Sam, you keep yours, everyone heads on home. Everyone wins."

Their Lucifer laughs like that's the funniest joke he's heard in a while, and takes a step forward, although he stops when the blade gets closer to Jack's throat and holds up a hand.

"That's a good one." Their Lucifer chuckles, hands settling on his hips. Sam's Lucifer gestures around. "See, someone missed the memo. I'm the new God of everything. And I can't really have anyone getting in the way." He starts circling closer, and the other Lucifer mirrors the movement. "You took what's mine, remember?" Their Lucifer adds with a growl. "And you know what they say. Trust no one, especially not yourself."

The other Lucifer is ripped up on the ground, their Lucifer near invisible as they ripped them to pieces and catches Jack as he staggers, just before he falls to his knees, not waiting a second more. Lucifer licks his alternate's blood from his fingers, absorbing the grace that is alike but not quite with relish.

"And I think one of me is quite enough. What do you say, Sammy? Wouldn't you agree?"

Before Sam can answer, the other Michael inside Dean and the Sam inside Castiel from a dimension that isn't this one. The ones that have been tracking them down this whole time.

"Come at me, bro." Lucifer says. The smile doesn't leave his face, too wide and too bright.

What he doesn't expect is Michael's lance coming at him from behind.

Blind Sam swings and misses only because Lucifer catches the hilt before it digs beneath the skin.

Blind Sam snarls a smile.

"Why get rid of one of you when I can end you forever?" He asks.

Sam looks up from cradling Jack, and meets his double's gaze.

He knows that look, too.

This other Sam may be soulless, but he knows what Lucifer is.

And he's not letting another version of himself suffer the way he otherwise knew he would.

Lucifer tsks.

_Always breaking deals, Sammy. Lies are so unbecoming._


	169. Natural (DRAFT)

Lucifer motions to the other nephilim, alternate Gabriel's kid. Her red hair gleams as she tilts her head, snarling, archangel blade in hand, wings broken at her sides where Lucifer grabbed them and ripped them in two. She's stuck to the sand, back broken.

Lucifer keeps Sam stable on the ground, still pinning this Other Gabriel and Other Cas and Other Michael against the sigils the blind Sam planted in advance.

"Jack, kill her." He orders, more insistent.

Jack looks at her, hunched over, between his Father and his enemy. He doesn't want to murder anyone.

Sam told him he had choices.

And it's true, this kid tried to kill them. But she's defenseless on the ground.

This... This doesn't feel like a choice.

Lucifer notes the hesitation.

"Sam needs you, son." Lucifer says, voice so soft. "And we need her dead if we want to lift the curse. Don't feel bad. She's already tried to kill you. It's self defense. And I would do it, son. I would, to spare you. But someone needs to keep Sam alive, and you aren't skilled enough at healing, yet, so... You gotta make the hard choice here. You understand?"

Jack looks at the girl, at her fiery red hair, and her face, memorizes the grace burning there.

"Sam... Sam wouldn't-" Jack chokes. He looks at Sam, out cold on the ground, and he'd lost so much blood, and...

"It'll be our little secret, son. Sam doesn't have to know." Lucifer promises. "But even if he did... He won't think badly of you. I know he won't."

Jack makes his choice.


	170. Stuck In A Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay so ppl confused there was an arc where faeries stole jack and sam was gonna save him and then they ended up in an alt reality with everyone else gonna try and save them (they are somewhere in the cut sections), but that's the plotline before sam gets amnesia which was gonna be a longer arc and then I just... didn't write it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Blue Foundation

There are a lot of people in the room.

Sam recognizes five of them. Bobby, Dean, Dad, Brady, and someone who looks like Mom from the old pictures of her. Relative, maybe?

Dean and Bobby look way too old, though, even if Brady looks the same.

Sam's head hurts.

Someone in a tie and trenchcoat Sam doesn't know starts asking questions. Sam struggles to answer, and finally caves in admitting he has no clue who he is.

Asks if he's a doctor or something.

"Wait, Sam. What are you saying? You don't know Cas, that doesn't... make sense." Dean trails off at the panic in Sam's eyes.

"Dean. You're... You look... What's going on?" Sam slurs, the light still to blinding and his head still pounding.

"It's possible Sam has temporary amnesia. If it's a spell, or head injury-" Cas posits.

"Dean, I don't understand, who are all these people? Why are you here? Why are we in a hospital?"

"You were in a coma." Bobby supplies.

Sam looks at him, latching on to the familiar face.

"For how long?" Sam asks.

"A few months." Dean answers.

At Sam's panicked look, Dean adds, more insistent, "Sammy? What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam wracks his brain and looks up at him, the tentative lack of confidence sending the warning bells in Dean's head blaring all on their own.

"Spring break at Stanford?" Sam answers, looking at Brady as if in confirmation. Brady looks surprised Sam made eye contact and nods, but there's a hint of a smile there.

Dean intakes a breath.

"What year is it?" Dean asks, and Sam readjusts his attentions back to his brother.

Sam notices the look but is still thrown by how old Dean looks.

"2003?" Sam tries.

"Sam... It's 2022." Dean answers, voice shaking, face slack and every atom inside him not prepared to handle this.

Sam goes still.

To avoid thinking about that and just what it means, Sam glances around the room, then at his hands.

"So I'm..." He asks, shifting uncomfortably before finally looking up again.

"39, give or take." Lucifer supplies. "You've undergone a lot of time-dilation, honestly."

Sam looks at Lucifer, confused.

"Do I know you?" He asks. Not a trace of fear.

"Sure do." Lucifer tilts his head, considering, as if he can latch to whatever is swimming around in Sam's head. Then Lucifer turns into Jess. "Better, kiddo?"

And Sam's eyes go wide and he's more than overwhelmed.

Dean panics.

"Jess, what-" Sam stutters, demanding answers with a familiarity that makes Dean want to send Lucifer through a blender.

Lucifer holds up Jessica's hands, still not smiling. "Long story. Really, really long story. And I mean, I could probably fill you in, but if your mind is shot, right now, probably best just to let you ease into it slowly. Also... Not really Jess, I mean, I am, but I'm not just her..."

Sam feels that truth twang between them. His head feels fuzzy.

"I... I figured." Sam's voice gets a bit higher from confusion.

"Look. You. Me. Outside." Dean growls, and then he's dragging Lucifer out the main door to Sam's room before Sam can say anything else.

Lucifer allows it.

Jack shuffles forward in the interim. Dean hears his muffled voice ask, "So you don't remember me?"

Out of the peripherals of Dean's vision, he sees Sam shakes his head, then stills.

"You feel... Familiar, though?" He tries. "Who are you?"

Jack fidgets.

"I'm your son. Jack." Jack finally blurts out.

Sam stares in shock but recovers relatively quickly.

\--

"I don't know what you're trying to pull-"

"Oh, this isn't something I caused. Trust me." Then Lucifer's voice lowers, and he taps his chin. "Although you should be more than grateful. I can't hold the past against Sam if he can't even remember it."

"Like I trust that for a second." Dean rasps.

"Dean. There is nothing you could do either way. And this way... Sam gets a break. No memory of the Apocalypse, or the Cage, or me before the big reveal... Isn't that what you wanted?"

"We both know-"

"Okay, fine. Dean. I get it. You don't trust me. But unless you want me to jump his bones and restart his memory from the inside out, we're just going to have to live with it for a while. Best make the most of a bizarre situation. It's not like you haven't experienced stranger things. This is practically tame in comparison."

Dean gets in his face, spitting, "You try anything, anything at all-"

Lucifer smiles, Jessica's eyes crinkling around the edges, white teeth washed out in the florescent light.

The Devil's mouth coos, "Dean, as far as Sam knows, you haven't talked to him in a year. Don't go starting shit."

And Dean's stomach bottoms out as his taste-buds burn, all sour.

\--

When they head back in, Sam's asking who the other people in the room are.

\--

When Sam's asleep again, Jack curled up next to him, Priscilla next to the bed, Lucifer pulls everyone else aside.

"You ruin this, I will make your lives even more of a sorry sight than they already are."

"We get it." Castiel snarls, practically feral.

Lucifer pats the top of Castiel's head, all danger.

"You better." He hisses, face inches from the other angel's.


	171. Paper Love

When they get back to the Bunker, Sam's latched on to the people he was most comfortable with when he was 19, and that terrifies most everyone on a level that is both heartbreaking and rage-inducing and sends Dean's thoughts spiraling into circles.

 ** _How dare they put him through this again. What if it sticks, this time? What if they are going to be nice to Sam from here on out and win him over and then Sam's never the same but doesn't go through the heartbreak-_** and Dean doesn't want to think about that anymore.

"I'm surprised I even let you near a child." Sam jokes as Brady clasps him on the back. Lucifer smiles and keeps holding Sam's shoulder, and Sam leans into it without even appearing to realize.

Brady throws his head back and laughs.

Dean doesn't.

Cas looks impassive, but when he holds Dean's hands, he holds it so tight Dean actually has to tell him to ease off.

Cas does, but he's more than distracted.

He's on warpath.

When Sam looks back at them, he ducks his head down, like he's scared of the storm brewing there.

Dean and Cas wipe their discomfort off their faces and instead try to look as supportive as they possibly can. They don't want to spook Sam or scare him off when he doesn't have a clue of what's happened.

It isn't fair.

\--

The first thing that clues Sam in with regards to remembering is when he starts drawing sigils on every piece of paper he can find. It's muscle memory and rote facts without context or substance, and it's like an itch at the back of his skull.

"I know I know this, why do I know what it does but not what it means...?" Sam moans, because when he's not scribbling down sigils that are almost a compulsion, he's holding his head in his hands.

Jack helps him draw more and sits on the chair next to him, helping him puzzle them out. He draws with crayons and then side-eyes Lucifer's own amused expression with a mute wariness when Sam isn't looking.

Lucifer rubs Sam's back, still looking like Jess for now.

"You'll remember eventually, Sammy. Give it time. But hey, at least your soft skills are intact, even if you don't know where you picked them up. That's a good thing. Can't hurt to be prepared."

"I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you tolerate large crowds now." Sam jokes all too easily. "I mean, we live in a fortress."

"Mmm. Well, compromise is a beautiful thing. And you know I only want you to be happy."

"How did everyone even end up moving in here, anyway?"

In between reminiscing and re-adjusting and grilling Lucifer and Brady (and sometimes Dean with questions, although with Dean he is halting and uncertain in comparison to how it used to be, and that hurts), Sam keeps latching on to individual people, trying to figure out how they met and how they know him.

Jack likes helping Sam fill in the blanks when he can. It makes him feel useful and less like a kid.

\--

If memory loss isn't jarring enough, it's what Sam does remember and the way he does that ends up distracting him the most. His reflexes are too fast for what he's used to.

His knee-jerk use of his powers and newfound strength (because Sam is so much stronger now, and there's so many scars crisscrossing his body he's not used to), and the use of them without judgement would almost soothe him if the equally intense fear of discovery that used to be a well-worn fear that isn't relevant now but hasn't quite abated in his system due to conditioning, yet, a remnant from John and how Dean used to be.... Even when everyone knows by now, the seesawing back and forth is enough to give Sam whiplash and more than just a migraine.

That and the fact he's even in the life still throws him for a loop.

He ends up talking law with Donna and Jody more often than not, retreating into what's comfortable when things get to be too much.

\--

Dean and almost everyone (except Lucifer, because he's watching like a hawk, ready to step in at any time, and his demons, because they want to see how far they can push Sam again) are hesitant to let him hunt, at first, mostly because Sam wasn't exactly interested again, even if he's eating up information about what's happened the past 19 years like a sponge.

But he got interested once he found out Jack was introduced to the life.

Mostly because he was adamant that Jack had choices and should have never been brought into the life in the first place. Mary and Cas and Dean and Bobby had a long discussion about that. John was left out on purpose.

Lucifer and Brady interrupted, and Dean hated just how easily Sam listened to them like they were reasonable and trustworthy and if he didn't take a chance to walk out of the room and breath and punch a wall he would lose it, except he can't, because he knows that only shifts the balance in their favor.

Still. Sam is even more enthusiastic about fatherhood and a hundred-and-fifty times more terrified of screwing up with Jack now, seeing as he's lost most of what he got used to. Jody, Donna, Rowena, Mary, Ellen, and Kelly all try to help him acclimate and reassure him, as does Jack, because Sam can do this, they know he can...

Jack is more than encouraging and kind throughout it all, patient and almost instructive on his own. Sam taught him to be honest and assertive, so he just tries to show Sam who he is and that he doesn't have to worry about letting him down.

But Sam stumbles, because he feels like he already has by getting hurt, and he's afraid that he's going to turn out like John, afraid that he doesn't know what he's doing, afraid because he feels like he's missing more than one step in this dance he's apparently been doing for a long time.

\--

Lucifer, Dean observes, remains frighteningly innocent in his domesticity. The gentle intensity of his demeanor is all too much like Lucifer was during their deal in the Apocalypse, only it's worse, because he's acting exactly like Jess, behaving, and God, how did Dean not see it before?

The truth had been right in front of his face... 

Not that he had been looking. He'd been too busy trying to drag Sam from college to notice just how similar the Devil had been to Sam's first love of his life.

Only it turned out the first and the latest were the same.

Dean wants to do more than kick himself. He wants to go back and time and tear himself a new one and then toss the Devil back in the pit where he belongs.

Only he can't.

He can just watch as Lucifer gives Sam that kindness he's always held out, tantalizing and almost honest, provided Sam gives him what he wants this time.

Dean almost wants Sam to do so, if it means Lucifer won't ever hurt him again.

But he knows he will.

He always does.

\--

Jack notices Lucifer's new easygoing personality, but only regards the change with relief, because Sam's not sporting bruises or non-answers or flinching or going quiet and for all intents and purposes, Jack wills and hopes this change sticks forever.

He wants Sam back, sure, since it's so strange having him act so much younger and different.

But Sam is still Sam, and Jack is curious about how he become just who he is, and he's so much happier and lighter and he smiles more and he still looks at Jack like he's important and good and he's not hurting and he's not scared and he looks free and like he has almost everything he wants.

Jack doesn't want to give that up.

He wants Sam to be safe.

If this is what leads to his Dad being safe from his Father... 

Jack will take what he can get.

\--

The second thing that drives Sam crazy is when he slips into Enochian, but doesn't know how he remembers the language.

He'll just say a word or phrase and not realize he's slipping out of English.

And then he'll sit there, nose scrunched, puzzling it out when almost everyone looks at him with that same too-intent patience and waiting uncertainty until Lucifer translates, smoother and faster than the current, or Cas does, and then Sam struggles to figure out why he barely registers he isn't speaking English.

He asks Lucifer about it.

Lucifer gives him the truth, up to a point.

Sam doesn't know any better, but he can tell when the Devil holds back. His expressions and Jessica's expressions and Nick's expressions aren't all that different, from face to face.

Sam's getting used to Nick, now, too, perhaps even prefers him to Jess, and he's not sure why his skin prickles sometimes when Jessica's body gets too close.

He doesn't bother pretending this is jarring and too-different, though.

(Without the trauma of knowing the emotional fallout of how the Devil got out, it's much easier to accept the Devil as he is.)

\--

What drives Dean crazy, barring Lucifer, is Brady.

He just reinserted himself into Sam's life and Sam didn't even so much as blink as he welcomed him back, because for him, Brady never left, and he didn't know what Brady did yet.

And no one will tell him, not directly, even if Brady and Lucifer are giving half-truths out a mile a minute.

If anything, Sam's more on edge trying to get used to Dean.

They weren't exactly on the best terms midway through his Sophmore year.

But Dean's older and wiser now, so Sam adjusts fairly quickly, even if he's both grateful and thrown at how similar and good and routine his brother is, although more often than not, things are different.

Dean's been through too much to not be.

\--

Sam is equally elated at reconnecting with and learning more about Cas and Mom.


	172. Feel It Still

"You're an angel?" Sam asks again, still staring at Lucifer and back to Jack and back to Lucifer like he can't really tear his eyes away.

Aside from the fact he has a son, that's the first question Sam hasn't been able to get over ever since they got back to the Bunker and Sam was declared stable, even if all his memories after Stanford are shot to Hell (and Dean rethinks his word choice inside his head, because who knows what really is causing his amnesia, and he's already been down the road when Sam's wall broke and isn't ready for a sequel).

Still, it took Sam about an hour to wrap his head around Jack, and having a kid at all, and honestly, Dean would much prefer that conversation, or absolutely any other conversation at all, to this one.

 ** _God._** Dean prays. Sure, he might not be answering, But they need divine intervention that isn't actually divine because all of those fuckers (excluding a few, namely Cas and Jack) are more than just a part of the problem.

"Mmhmm." Lucifer's tone couldn't should more thrilled even though all he did was hum, although he can't help but tack on, "In the flesh." And give Dean a sidelong glance.

 _You rang?_ His grace rings in Dean's head, more biting and jubilant than it's been in a while. 

**_Please just let him rest-_** And Dean finds he isn't proud enough to keep from groveling, anymore, and he doesn't even know what to beg for, to save Sam from anything, at this point. Sam is entirely at this fucker's mercy (just like he always is, except Dean doesn't let the traitorous thought grow), but in a way that's worse than anything Dean can otherwise imagine. Except he knows Sam has lived worse things, comparatively... But Dean knows, deep down, Sam's more scared of Lucifer's supposed kindness couched in all the ways he's been lied to, of all the times reality shifted beneath his feet, of the gaslighting mindgames Lucifer plays, than any physical torture Lucifer could dish out, with one notable exception.

Dean hopes Sam never remembers how Jack was conceived, how his body was stolen...

He doesn't know how Lucifer's even going to spin that, this time. And he's going to. Sam's going to ask.

And Dean's scared. He doesn't know how Sam will deal with it after Lucifer's gotten him used to what this used to be for them. He doesn't know when Sam's going to have everything ripped away again, if it ever it, if he'll remember fast or slow or...

Sam had been so damn happy, at Stanford, happy enough to cut Dean off and move on-

_Dean, I told you already. Sam's safe as he can be. Although, I like the begging. It suits you._

And suddenly, Dean knows Lucifer's newest angle all too well.

He's going to make this his demonstration for how Sam can choose the easy way out, can move on, can be happy if not free, gonna dangle the fruit of temptation to try and lay Sam low, an old dog gnawing at his old bones long after the marrow's been sucked out.

It's going to rip Sam's heart apart all over unless they do something. 

Except... What can they do?

"Angels are real." Sam says to himself again, breathless. Dean did not miss that look in his eye. Relief. Hope. Love, for Jess, for Lucifer, and not for the first time or the hundredth Dean kicks himself for how the Hell he did not see it before, every time Sam looked at Lucifer back at Bobby's?

Once that cat was out of the bag, everything had made a twisted amount of sense as to why Sam had adamantly jumped on the bandwagon to try and get Lucifer to accept domestic life over possession and the actual Apocalypse. And there's no way anyone could have really seen it, sure, but Dean's still kicking himself for realizing just what level of truly-fucked up Sam's been after all this time, beyond what he already knew. Add in possession and the Cage, at what he knows about what Sam hasn't been able to tell him...

There's no telling how fucked up he's gonna be after this, either.

Not once he gets his memory back.

Unless he never gets his memory back, and somehow that is both worse, and not, because if Sam never remembers maybe Lucifer will keep up the act forever and torture Dean and Cas in Sam's stead (anyone except Sam, please. Dean's had enough of Sam fielding Lucifer for more than a lifetime, now).

"That's the third time you said so, Sammy." Lucifer points out. He's grinning ear to ear, not bothering to stand at a slight distance (only two feet, which, for Lucifer is remarkably conservative, but is always too close, by Dean's estimation).

Sam smiles at Jessica's form and ducks his head.

"Sorry." He answers.

"Not complaining. Not one bit." Lucifer replies, and then the small amount of space he's allowed is immediately broken in two strides as he walks over sits directly next to Sam.

Sam doesn't flinch. Practically gravitates towards him where the couch dips. Jack sits on Sam's other side, closer still, and that's about the only thing that makes Dean feel like Sam is remotely safe in any capacity. Sam wasn't exactly shy about hugging the kid or withholding support or whatever kind of anchoring Jack is seeking out, seeing as he still feels connected despite not knowing why, and even if he's a bit thrown by the fact he's suddenly a Dad and acting like Jack is made of spun glass every time Jack hugs him.

Sam isn't going to throw the kid out of his comfort zone when he can tell he's nervous and holding on to Sam for dear life, worried he lost Sam forever, and if Sam just isn't used to this...

He can't hurt the kid by accident, even if he's not used to any of this. Besides, it's not a bad feeling, having someone hold on. Sam must've done something right, if Jack wants to be around him and beams every time Sam smiles at him. Sam has noted how on edge he gets, too, when Sam looks away again. Like he's waiting for something. Either he's nervous after Sam being in a coma, or it's like he's anticipating something, like he's unsure, like he's missed a step on the stairs and is waiting for the inevitable fall that isn't coming. There's a determination there, too. One Sam can't decipher.

"I can buy the rest of it, though." Sam jokes, and then his expression turns both nostalgic and fond at the same time. "I can't even say I'm surprised. You and Brady have the absolute worst sense of humor, ever-"

"Well, I do try." Brady pipes up, rising a glass in a mock toast before he downs the entire glass.

"Clearly." Then Sam's nose crinkles, expression deep in thought as he turns back to Lucifer. "Guess I'm going to have to get used to calling you by your actual name."

Lucifer shrugs and puts an arm around him, head tilted with a ghost of smile on Jessica's closed lips. "You can call me whatever you want. I'm very responsive."

Then Lucifer winks.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. Good to know your ego is still intact, _Luci_." 

"Hey, I'm am not one for subtlety." The Devil replies.

"Considering your first ever pickup line to me was, 'I'm the Devil.' Yeah, real smooth." Sam snorts when he laughs.

Jack interrupts to lean his head on Sam's shoulder and wraps one wing over Sam's back after tentatively asking Sam if it's okay, and Sam answers "Of course," in that quiet gentle sort of bewildered "I don't know what I'm doing but this kid clearly needs me kind of way," and Jack's still strangely quiet even though he looks relieved.

Sam turns back to him, and continues to ask him a ton of questions too, in an effort to get him to open up and to get to know this son he doesn't remember despite how hard he tries.

Sam asks him all about himself, his favorite color, his hobbies, his aspirations, what kinds of foods he prefers, what's important to him, how he's holding up with everything...

And Jack doesn't hesitate to answer, proud and expressive and enthusiastic... Except when Sam asks some questions and Jack pauses, solemn, and he looks at Lucifer with an indecipherable expression, leaning closer to Sam in the process.

At those moments, Sam can tell Jack is very careful in his answers. He isn't sure why yet.

Lucifer doesn't hesitate to step in and start explaining whatever details Sam's asked for clarification on.

But Sam notes how Jack remains watchful, and vigilant, and full of purpose. His grace sings with it.

Sam can still feel all of it, Lucifer's and Jack's and Castiel's, but everything is muffled compared to Lucifer's grace surging around him.

It's not long before Sam turns to Castiel, Mary, Bobby, and Kelly, either, eager to learn all about them and who they are, or, in Bobby's case, catch up with the only bit of familiarity that didn't set everyone on edge.

And Sam has still avoided asking Dean too many questions. Has started up a few, but it's tapered off, because Sam's halting and hesitant and doesn't know how to proceed.

And there's still anger and loss there that hasn't yet scabbed over.

Hell, this is going to be an absolute mess even before it blows up. Dean thinks.

Castiel privately agrees, which isn't exactly comforting, no matter how supportive he's trying to be.

\--

Sam acclimates fairly fast to the changes in his life, all things considered.

A week in, the first sight that greets Cas when he flies in is Sam is singing karaoke with a hairbrush as a microphone as he dances with Jack in the archives room. There's music blaring from the speaker, Feel It Still ringing through the halls with reckless abandon.

Charlie and Kevin have joined them and have abandoned whatever lore they were looking at between the angel tablets, Charlie's archive system, and Sam's attempts at refiling all the spell ingredients halfway through, all of them with exactly zero leads on how to get Sam's latest attempts at curse-breaking to work. Rowena had been helping, but the moment she left, all discipline gave way to silliness a bit too close for comfort.

Jack probably started it. He'd been tiptoeing around when Lucifer wasn't looking, tailing him whenever he ditched Sam and was acting suspicious, and had resorted to being aggressively nonthreatening and childish to throw Lucifer off.

It's not like Cas and Jack don't know that Lucifer knows they've been trying to figure out his giant scheme.

But Jack's already in a vulnerable position, particularly with Sam out of the loop, and he knows his actions directly correlate with Lucifer's moods. Or, at least, are a scapegoat for some of them.

As long as Jack doesn't seem to be out of line, everything is okay.

But the more Jack gets curious about Sam's past and whatever Lucifer and the demons are trying to push Sam into, well...

Things get tense, real fast, but only when Sam isn't around.

It's not that Lucifer is going to actively hurt Jack. He's more amused and hurt and slightly annoyed, if anything.

It's more the premise that Jack doesn't trust him with Sam that makes him lash out indirectly by limiting Jack's movements.

Jack had been countering with asking for more family time, hanging out with Lucifer and Sam more, paying more attention to Lucifer just to try and learn how the play this game-

Lucifer is actually quite proud of him, really, if he brushes off the fact that Jack getting into trouble might ruin what he's currently got going with Sam.

Jack's trying to be subtle and to learn and to anticipate Lucifer's next move, to play the game of politics Sam had tried so hard to keep him out of.

Problem is, Lucifer's been playing longer, and he knows how to throw Jack off his trial.

Hasn't stopped the kid from trying, though.

But Lucifer has to find a way to put the brakes on it eventually.

He can't have Sam getting suspicious, and if Jack actually finds out something important, well...

Then he'll have to resort to explaining to his son why interference isn't the smartest call, and Lucifer would prefer not having to make things unpleasant.


	173. Sippy Cup

Jack likes to think he's doing a good job of playing it cool.

He usually keeps falling in line, not challenging whatever whims blow this family one way or another, and he's been permitted to hang around with Sam more now that Lucifer isn't hauling him off somewhere on his own. On the surface, Sam is doing good, despite the fact he doesn't remember so many things... 

Well, Jack knows enough that whatever has happened, he probably wouldn't want this, if he remembered.

But he doesn't. And selfishly, Jack hopes he doesn't remember any time soon.

Because he knows the moment Sam does...

Lucifer will stop being nice, or as nice as he gets. Jack can tell, even if he wishes otherwise.

Jack tried to fool himself. But he knows Lucifer is up to something.

Which is why he followed him tonight.

Thankfully, things haven't been quiet. Despite Sam's amnesia, the angels and demons have been having their own infighting, and it's an opportunity for Jack to take charge and get close to Lucifer, to get involved. Lucifer likes him taking an interest, trying to keep them all in line. Likes the idea of Jack seeking power for the sake of it, because he feels mirrored and emulated.

And Jack takes the opportunity, because knows he's the only one with a chance to figure out what his Father is doing. On some level, Lucifer wants him to follow in his footsteps.

Jack does, but not in the ways he wants. Rebellion is one part of nature versus nurture that wouldn't be deterred from either angle.

Which is why he followed Lucifer out here.

Night chills through Jack's bones, but the cold barely touches him, rolling in with a fog that Jack hope covers his body. Otherwise, all he can do is shield himself with his grace, and hope it's enough that Lucifer doesn't notice.

The gravel crackles under Lucifer's feet as Nick's form lumbers to the warehouse door. But other than that, it's too quiet.

No birds. No crickets.

Nothing.

All the trees are dead, too. Like the life's been leeched right out of them. Like they are withered, black stalks reaching up towards the sky.

Jack, on some level, remembers the feel of this place. Remembers the feelings that are not his own, the feeling of metal in Sam's hand from slamming a car door opening.

Remembers this clearing and tasting nothing but blood and desperation.

Jack hasn't really tried to focus on the feelings that are just specks, ancient memory rising up like miasma in his throat. He doesn't have very many snippets of the shared time he had with Sam, but he tries to keep them far away from himself, because he doesn't like to remember how Lucifer felt, how happy he was, the cold feeling of grace and Sam's hatred and fear of...

The feelings cut off, blurry and unreal, just like they've been for a long time now, although Jack finds they grow sharper the more his powers manifest. Otherwise, Jack keeps those feelings away. They make his eyes sting, and his throat close, and he hasn't even been able to tell Mia about them, not once.

Then Jack centers himself and takes a deep breath. He unclenches sweaty palms and keeps close to the wall, out of sight, as Lucifer closes in on the entrance. Jack has found, every other time he's tried to tail Lucifer here, no one else is able to follow.

Crowley, Cas, Gabriel...

It's like they bounce off of an invisible wall.

But Jack can slip right through. Like a knife sliding through butter.

Whatever wards are here...

They aren't keyed to him. If anything, they hide him, like they were supposed to, he thinks, back when he was a baby...

And Jack stops short when he sees Abaddon and Lilith at the entrance, accosting Lucifer with some blueprints and animated movements. Looks like something went right for them.

Jack hopes the distraction Claire, Jacob, and Magda cooked up works to throw them off their game if they head back to the Bunker. They'd planned on that too, just in case they needed to buy time.

But for right now, their plans are going the way they want, enough so that Lucifer flies off with them, leaving whatever it was he was going to check on for another time.

Jack knows a chance when he sees it, and rushes forward without a second thought, although he's patient and cautious when actually reaching the door.

The wards might not repel or push him back, but they still might register him.

And Jack can't chance being caught.

The doors swing inward, soundless and seamless and fluid, and the flat darkness and silence that rushes to meet Jack choke all noise and all air the moment he steps forward.

The doors lock from the outside.

He chances keeping them ajar, just a hair.

He doesn't know if he'd be able to get out, otherwise.

When he walks through the halls, he tries not to let the feelings give him goosebumps, the sensory memory of this place throwing him off, seeing as he never experienced it outside Sam or Kelly's skin.

\--

While Jack goes to investigate, Owen keeps hidden in the bushes off to the side.

Jack wiped his own memory of bringing Owen with him when he came out here. He didn't want to involve anyone else, but he knows what a dangerous game he is playing, and ever since Owen has refused to stay out of the loop, he's been having Owen track his movements every time Jack tracks Lucifer's extracurricular locations down.

The buddy system is sacred in this case, and seeing as this place is on the heaviest magical lockdown anyone has seen, and the scarce details Jack has mentioned about how this place was definitely important...

Well, it only makes sense to bring backup, even if it's just to keep watch.

That, and Owen's immune to the warding or detection by the supernatural when he goes feral. You can't keep sentient creatures out when your bodily tissues are dead and there's nothing but vapid hunger as brain function. And Jack's grace calls out to him, makes it easy to direct Owen when he makes himself go offline. If Owen was of the Croatoan variety, that would be a different story, seeing as the sulfur could still be traced. But Owen raised by Death the Reaper alone, and even with his body back online and a soul still floating around, it doesn't change the fact that half the time, his soul drifts, and his body is still a corpse only half-reanimated with life, the moment his soul leaves all the vigor and blood draining out of him.

\--

Jack guides himself along the walls by sensing boundaries. He can't feel anything: it's too dark, there's no sound, and most sensation is cut off, every footstep feeling muffled. This place got decked out in more wards than when he'd been here last, when Sam was running, when he tripped against the wall there and Jack healed the bruise on his knee when he hit the doorframe-

Throughout this maze, Jack can feel the rooms he's been in or ones Sam ran past. Has remembered the layout of something he barely saw outside of Sam's and Kelly's eyes.

And the room he and Sam lived for months in feels sharp and familiar and clear against his grace, shining bright against his noncorporeal vision, making everything else barely there. Like a homing beacon calling out to him, with all the bloodstained sigils Sam drew inside it not scrubbed clean, either.

But Jack isn't here to revisit this place.

No, Jack is headed to the basement, the one the others knows exists as the main locale for Lucifer's plans, but that no one has been able to pin down or enter or get close to. The entrance is something only Jack can discern, thanks to his grace, and he knows the entrance hasn't been discovered because everyone else's presence leaves an impression, a ghost of where they've been, and all that fades halfway down the last stairwell, right before the doorway. Aside from Lucifer, no one has past the deepest point he knows is there, the place that brims with warding so strong it feels like a wall of blank, empty Nothing, an impression like the undoing of all things in a story Jack once read. It's where everything cuts off so much, he doesn't feel anything coming from there at all, unlike the prickling frostbite chill that otherwise lights the dark hallways here. It's like a thin rectangle of space leading somewhere Jack doesn't know.

When Jack makes it down invisible stairs, a door like the other one out from, all decked out in glowing High Enochian, with even more wards, so much there's no space left on the door, just glowing lines all crisscrossing one another-

When he hits the warding, it barely budges. Like an iceberg a thousand miles wide, standing in between Jack's way and whatever answers to this place that Lucifer's worked so hard to keep hidden.

Jack pushes with his grace, as hard as he can.

The doors open outward again, and Jack can only squeeze one barely open, the strain nearly crushing him and his grace as the warding takes its toll.

Once inside, the sight that greets him makes Jack cup his hands over his face, to stop from crying out, from the very energy crackling in the air noticing him if it even so much gets inhaled down his throat.

There are rows of cots, and Jack glimpses rows and rows of strangers, all asleep, all connected to glowing, pulsing tubes by IVs inserted into their wrists...

The exuding energy so strong, Jack's knees buckle under the strain...

Except a hand on the back of Jack's shirt stops him from pitching over on to his face.

"You should be asleep, son."

Jack's heart seizes.

The soft words sound far, far away.

Jack's vision swims before it all fades into grey and everything tips into vertigo, the cold numbing his brain like a Slurpee sipped too fast. 

\--

Even while submerged in dazed, offline hunger, Owen's undead mind knows something is wrong before Jack even fully exits the doors.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't really have an expression. He's not on edge, not hurried or frantic in his heartbeats, and Jack's grace feels muted as his head lolls forwards...

Even Owen's undead mind picks up on that, because the hunger notices blood flow, and the ever-present hum of grace. Like it's dampened, interfered with by something-

Then Lucifer steps out from behind the door, and guides Jack forward by the loose fabric of his shirt at the nape of Jack's neck.

Owen doesn't move. Doesn't feel anything. Just observes, an upright corpse lolling stock-still against the wall, waiting for something to snap at...

Then ice crackles over him, and Owen takes in a heaving breath, soul shoved back in place, and all the color rushing back to his cheeks as he backs up into the wall, heaving as an invisible force keeps him pinned. Jack sags into Lucifer's grip, held up by an arm around his waist and a shoulder.

Then Lucifer turns his eyes on Owen, like cracked glass revealing all the sharp edges underneath.

The Archangel looms above him, the crouches down, one arm still cradling Jack, and the other arm holding up a hand whose fingers are half curled in a snapping gesture everyone know well.

Lucifer doesn't snap.

"You can't hide from me, you know. I raised you. I can put you back in the ground." Lucifer says, far too calm, "But don't you worry. I know you're the quiet one. Won't breathe a word of this to anyone. Especially Jack. You'd never do that, not to Jack. Not when you know what I'd be forced to do if you did." Lucifer whispers. His mouth cricks into half a smile, but there's no real joy there. Only fury. "So. Little guy. It's high time we all went back to home sweet home, with you and Jack all safe." Then Lucifer's voice turns a bit shallow, a bit too loud, as he keeps his gaze on only other thing that really keeps his attention, Owen barely even an afterthought as he holds Jack's unconscious form upright, two fingers brushing Jack's forehead as he starts to bring him to. "What would your parents think if I let you stay out past two?"

Owen glares Lucifer down. His legs shake, still unable to move, but more than the fear, he feels overwhelmed. Jack isn't okay. He can see that from his confusion, his furrowed brow, and the glassy look in his eyes. 

And after seeing what happened after Sam's coma... Owen knows Lucifer has done something to make Jack forget whatever he's seen, and that scares him more than anything else. 

But more than that, the action is unforgivable: Jack is his best friend. And no one is going to hurt him if Owen has anything to sign about it-

"I might not be able to wipe your memory, considering the state of your brain matter. But I can't go giving you ideas, you know?" Lucifer keeps chewing each word, not actually really expecting an answer, because he never does.

And then there's two fingers against Owen's forehead, and everything swims before his eyes, and all he remembers is hunger, and blood, and the need to lunge and lurch forward heedless of anything else, the bright, bright things in front of him not appetizing.

\--

When they get flown back to the Bunker, Owen's memory is hazy. He remembers Jack flying them to Georgia, and hiding in the bushes. He remembers being afraid, vaguely, of something. He remembers being hungry.

But he doesn't remember anything else, and when he asks Jack, he doesn't recall the last three hours.

They left at 10:43 am.

Jack isn't doing much better, as far as being disoriented. He's too calm, and his grace flutters in his chest and radiates out from his wings faintly, like it's been smothered, a fire under a blanket that can still barely funnel in air.

When they both sleep that night (or, in Owen's case, stare at the ceiling until he sleepwalks in the pen they made to stop him wandering through the Bunker while offline), it is uneasy.

When they wake, it's like pins and needles in their head. An itch they can't scratch that feels like cotton under their tongue.

Memory is hazy. All they remember is the sky, and the cold, and feeling trapped.


	174. In Pieces

The morning starts off with Sam screaming.

Dean heads down the stairs at the noise and finds Lucifer standing outside the door to a closet, trying to coax Sam out. He's wearing Nick again, as usual, and not Jess like he had been while Sam was missing time.

Dean's pretty sure Sam is sobbing and screaming curse words at him in Enochian.

"Don't touch me." Sam sobs, voice all muffled. Dean can make that much out.

"Sam. You can't stay in the closet forever." Lucifer jests, but there's no mirth behind it, only threats. "It's been an hour."

Lucifer motions Dean to move along. Dean complies if it means Sam will get off easy.

He still walks slow, though, to keep an eye on things.

Without another word, Lucifer breaks down the door and drags Sam out to the kitchen.

Sam barely has enough energy to fight him off, slurring brokenly, "Get off, get off of me-"

"Sam, this will pass. And you need to eat." Lucifer sighs, and he hauls Sam over his shoulder like it's nothing.

Sam goes still.

"How could you?" He whispers, as Lucifer keeps cradling his head as he walks. "How could you?"

Dean follows behind and sits on the far end of the kitchen, eyeing Sam, who doesn't seem to see him.

When Lucifer sets Sam down, he just curls up on the tile and backs into the cupboard, making himself as small as possible.

Lucifer examines the skillet in his hand and then looks down.

"You want eggs, or something liquid, or toast so it's easier to keep down?" He asks very gently.

Sam doesn't look at him and hugs his knees.

He doesn't say anything.

Lucifer makes plain toast and crouches to place the plate by Sam's feet. Sam flinches back and doesn't touch it.

Lucifer sighs and snaps. Both brothers jump.

"Dean, see if you can get him to eat." He orders.

Dean sits down next to his brother, who doesn't look at him, just shakes. Dean doesn't say anything, just grabs his hands, and Sam's sobs turn sharper and his chest heaves harder and then Sam tries to take a nibble of toast. Lucifer sits down cross-legged on the other side and helps Sam drink some water, although Sam tries to refuse.

A second later Sam is struggling to his feet, and Lucifer and Dean help him up, and Sam keeps hugging the sink as he starts puking his guts out.

"Easy, Sam, easy." Lucifer whispers as he rubs Sam's back.

Sam shudders, draws back, and turns.

He elbows Lucifer in the face.

Lucifer's face turns a fraction, but other than that, he doesn't move. Just starts healing Sam's dislocated knuckles without a change in expression.

Sam won't stop crying with silent, gasping breaths. Lucifer wipes the tears with his sleeve, and Sam flinches.

"You took everything from me." Sam says. "Everything."

Lucifer's hand clamps around his wrist and he presses Sam's back into the sink and Dean sucks in air and holds himself back against the counter in case Lucifer decides to break Sam's arm again for Dean getting in the way.

Lucifer clutches Sam's chin and inhales. Sam's face is pale and clammy.

"Nothing you weren't willing to give." The Devil whispers.

Sam's lip quivers. Lucifer brushes stray bangs out of his eyes.

"You don't love me." Sam accuses, finally meeting his eyes.

Lucifer goes all tense, but he lets go of Sam's chin and keeps his voice level as he stares Sam down. "I always have, Sammy."

Sam ducks his head, and Lucifer hand closes around the nape of Sam's neck, and Sam's left hand keeps trembling while clasped in Dean's, until it isn't, because Lucifer flies him away.

The absence is deafening. The resulting vacuum feels like lead in Dean's throat.

Cas finally steps out from his hiding spot by the doorway and hugs Dean close, both of them unsure of what to do.

Both of them try to ignore the gradual increase of loud thuds above them and Sam's voice, which is sometimes nonexistent and sometimes just muffled sobs.

Kelly and Bobby and Mary wander in and sit next to them, except they can't quite sit still and leave after five minutes.

Twenty minutes pass before the Bunker is silent again.

\--

Jack makes his way outside Sam's door.

There's raised voices muffled behind it, Sam's own barely intelligible and choked up and Lucifer's flat and cold.

"You raped me-"

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy yourself, Sam. You wanted it, you always want it-" Lucifer's voice gets louder, "And you belong to me, Sam. Remember? Everything you are, everything you'll ever be-"

The argument abruptly trails off the moment Lucifer senses Jack's presence.

Footsteps approach the door, pointed and loud.

Lucifer wrenches the door open. Jack can see Sam curled up in a ball on the bed behind him, shivering, his hands huddled under layers of flannel and kept close to his chest.

"Not now, Jack." Lucifer starts in, eyes gleaming. He isn't smiling.

"But, Father-" Jack protests.

Lucifer holds up a hand.

"Not. Now." Lucifer growls.

The door closes and locks with a click.

It gets very quiet, after that.

\--

Jack walks in the room, shoulders drawn back.

"What does rape mean?" Jack asks.

Dean spits his drink and holds on to the table for dear life.

"What?" Dean finally stutters out, hand on his face.

"I heard Dad and Father yelling before. I tried to google it on the laptop, but the computer keeps saying, 'You're not authorized to see this page.' So I asked Azazel and Lilith, and Brady whistled, and Alastair almost started to say something-"

Dean's heart stops.

"But then Lilith shushed him and every demon fled before I finished my sentence like they do when they know Father will be angry with them. What does it mean?" Jack asks, more intently.

Dean looks up at him, into gold eyes, and back down again, picking at the label of the beer.

"It's... It's an adult thing. Sam wouldn't want you to know." Dean answers quickly.

"Why?" Jack asks.

"You shouldn't bring it up." Dean non-answers. "And don't go asking demons questions, Jack. They lie."

Dean immediately flees the room.

Jack looks at Cas.

"Please, Uncle Cas? I know it's important."

Normally, Castiel would try to give an answer that doesn't really explain it but is straightforward enough. However, considering Sam's adamant stance on this same topic, his lips are sealed.

And they're all hyper aware of how quiet it is now, after the loud screaming everyone woke up to this morning when Sam remembered something. He hasn't come down from his room yet after Lucifer dragged him off the floor of the kitchen and flew him away.

Cas keeps his head down as he answers slowly. "Jack... Dean's right. It's not an answer you should seek out."

And then he flees the room, too.

\--

Everyone's staunch refusals only reminds Jack of how much people tried to hide stuff about Lucifer back in the other world, and Jack can tell this is important. So he is undeterred in his quest for answers.

He tries Mary next, who is interrupted mid-conversation with Adam and John. John goes to answer, but a look from both Mary and Adam stop him, and she curls her arms over her chest and opens her mouth to say something, but finally just taps Jack on the shoulder and says sadly, "Not something you need to worry about."

Sully is next on the list.

The Zanna stammers and says something unintelligible, and all Jack makes out is, "It's bad." And, "Why don't we go outside and do something else?"

But Jack flies off to find Jody and Donna, who just sit Jack down and give him food, which he doesn't eat.

It's not like Jody and Donna are strangers to kids in domestic abuse situations. They deal with them at the precinct. There's procedures.

But there's much higher stakes with this explanation, and they don't want to break Sam's trust. And there's no telling how Lucifer will react, so they wisely stay silent.

So they sum it up by saying, "It's illegal and something Sam will explain to you one day, when you're older."

And nothing else.

Jack is starting to get distinctly frustrated but also scared. Why is everyone shutting down on him and looking all nervous and uneasy and sick?

He doesn't like when they get like this.

\--

Jack approaches Rowena and Gabriel next.

Rowena claps her hand over her mouth, and says under her breath, "Oh, ye wee bairn..." Before trailing off into nothing and shaking her head.

But Uncle Gabriel sees the determined expression on Jack's face, so much like Sam, and also the flinty look in his eyes, like Lucifer got when they were young and the universe was still warm and the galaxies were all in the same neighborhood cul-de-sac, before all of them spun far, far away from each other.

Gabriel flies Jack away and takes him for a walk.

"Look, kid, what's this about? Why do you want to know so bad?" Gabriel presses first.

Jack's wings shift and flutter, uncomfortable and fidgety.

"Everyone seems scared of it." Jack finally settles on. Then his voice grows stronger and more sure, "And Sam and Father were yelling. I need to know why they're fighting, so nothing happens..." Jack trails off and swallows. Lucifer had been nice to Sam for a while now, and now it was falling apart, and Jack doesn't know what to do.

Gabriel pats Jack on the back, wings wrapping around him, and kneels down to look him in the eye.

"Trust me, kid." He answers, for once not flippant as he cuts to the heart of the matter. "Sam wouldn't want you to get in between them, and it's not your job to talk Luci down."

He hands Jack a slushie and flies them both back after he begs Jack to take a sip, saying airily, "It's better than any other slushie I've ever had, and I've had a lot of slushies."

Left alone near the porch, Jack stares out the window, at the blue, blue sky, and his brow furrows, and his eyes glow as he decides on his next course of action.

Everyone else walks on eggshells when Sam clearly needs them.

Sam needs him, right now. He knows he does. And he knows he's the only one with a shot of making Lucifer leave him alone.

But Jack keeps the slushie as he tries his last ditch plan.

\--

"Crowley, what's rape?" Jack finally asks without preamble once he's made it to the lowest level of the basement.

Crowley shifts in his chains.

"Not one to dance around with small talk. You really do take after Moose." Crowley jokes. Then his expression turns interested and more serious. "You finally hear something you shouldn't have, I take it?"

"What's it mean?" Jack presses, adding, "I know you'll tell me. You tell me things other people don't."

"Well, you see, Sunny, when one person sees a hot piece of-" Crowley starts, but he gets shot with rock salt in the mouth and doesn't get to finish his sentence.

Bobby stands in the doorway.

"Come on, you. Dean told you to leave it alone, and you know you shouldn't be down here."

Bobby guides him outside and locks the door.

Jack grits his teeth and slumps. Everyone seems determined to stop him.

\--

Bobby takes him to Kelly.

"Will you two just tell me?" Jack pleads as he sits in between them. "I need to know."

Bobby fiddles with his sleeve and keeps cleaning his guns.

"It's something that is dangerous for you to know, Jack. That's all there is to it." Bobby adds.

"It's just a word." Jack challenges. "What's so dangerous about a word?"

"Jack, we get that you want answers, but some answers-" Bobby starts, but Kelly puts a hand on his arm.

"Jack. Do you trust me?" Kelly asks softly.

Jack nods.

"Okay. Look, we know what you're trying to do. But sometimes..." Kelly sighs and tries to find the right words. "Sometimes... There aren't the right words to explain it." She adds, touching her belly absently.

Jack tilts his head and sees the tiredness of her expression. "Okay." He says, not understanding at all, even though he almost does.

After they think they've talked him down, Jack leaves.

\--

Jack tries Jo and Ellen and Mia and Lily in quick succession, who all deflect, Ellen saying, "It's not a thing kids need to know, honey."

Although Mia looks guilty and takes him aside. "Look, Jack. You'll find out one day. Now's not it."

After that, Jack even tries asking the angels and demons that pop in and out once in a while, seeing as they care less about whatever human thing is keeping people silent. They look at him and then each other and then collectively pretend he is not there.

There's a bunch of them holed up in the room with the pool table.

They keep on studiously ignoring him.

Jack gets angry and his eyes glow and he demands answers and everyone stumbles and words start pouring out of their mouth as their eyes glow yellow, but it's all hard to make out with so many of them.

Then Lucifer walks in the door, blood on his sleeve, and Jack is grateful for his powers and sense of smell because at least he can tell it's not Sam's blood, and Jack's emotions falter with his heartbeats and everyone gets released from the compulsion before they let the truth slip, and they all flee.

"Is Sam okay?" Jack pleads, voice quavering, running to hold on to Lucifer's jacket.

Lucifer looks down at him and nods. "Sammy is resting." He says. "He'll be fine. I'm just getting him something to drink now. Wanna come with?"

Jack nods. They make it to the kitchen. Lucifer preps a smoothie in silence. Jack grabs the yogurt from the fridge and helps cut up the peach slices.

As the blender cycle ends, Jack makes a split second decision, and hugs Lucifer to stop him in his tracks before he heads upstairs, because he's scared and because Lucifer likes being hugged and maybe if he hugs him he'll let him stay with Sam, since he wouldn't before...

Jack doesn't meet his eyes and musters his courage.

"Father... what's rape?"

Lucifer looks down at him and blinks. The smoothie, frozen from his grip, ices over even more.

"Where did you learn that word?" He asks, very softly. Too softly.

Jack shivers.

"I... I just... When I went by the bedroom to find you-" Jack's voice cuts out at the look on Lucifer's face.

Then Lucifer sighs, and he ruffles his hair, expression flat and blank.

"Sam and I will talk to you about it one day." Lucifer answers, baring his teeth for a split-second before his expression smooths over again. "But not today."

"Can I see him?" Jack begs.

"No." Lucifer warns. "He won't want you to see him like this. And don't go asking anyone else. You'll hurt Sam's feelings, and I promise, no one else knows what they're talking about. Just know it has absolutely nothing to do with you."

Jack watches him fly off, smoothie in hand.

Normally he'd be too scared not to listen.

Except, when it comes to seeking out forbidden knowledge, Jack takes after his parents.

\--

He makes his way to the library. He would've tried earlier, but there's wardings on the bookshelves keeping him from accessing age-inappropriate material, so it will take more work to find answers.

Hidden in the shelves, Gadreel taps him on the shoulder.

"I can tell you." He says.

Jack listens.

\--

Jack bursts into the living room where the majority of everyone checks in like clockwork at 3, and where the humans eat lunch.

"Is it true?" He demands, tears streaming down his face.

"Okay." Dean jumps to his feet and bellows, face bright red, "Which one of you fuckers told him? Which belly-to-the-ground lowlife BITCH do I have to shoot-"

Except he trails off, because when he turns around, Sam is there, in the doorway, Lucifer keeping him upright with an arm snaked under his armpit.

Sam looks stricken.

Lucifer is far, far too still.

"Is it true?" Jack repeats as he glares his father down and then looks to Sam, words bubbling out of him, "Did he... Did you not want me?" Jack's voice squeaks.

Sam inhales a deep breath, long and frail. 

"Son," Lucifer hisses, and Jack's eyes rivet back to him as the Devil holds up a hand. "You are dangerously misinformed."

"Am I?" Jack challenges, chin raised in challenge. He then looks at Sam like he's been betrayed. "You said... You said that he surprised you with having a kid, not that-"

Lucifer glances sidelong at Sam at that, unaware of the former conversation. Sam keeps his eyes on his son.

"Not that, not that he-" Jack continues, stumbling and choking on the words, "Is that why you were scared of me? Is that why you wouldn't look at me before?"

Sam's shoulders rise and fall as he walks over to his son. Lucifer follows.

"Jack..." Sam finally says, and then he crouches slightly and just hugs him close. "Jack, I love you, and I do not regret having you for one second-"

"That doesn't answer the question!" Jack protests, gold eyes glowing as he stares to look up at him.

Sam flinches from the force of the yell, and Jack looks away, hurt and terrified of hurting Sam and guilty and scared...

He glares at Lucifer.

"Did you-" Jack hiccups, then gasps out, "Did you make him have me?" He sobs. 

"Okay. Hold up. Time out." Lucifer starts in, still trying for calm although everyone can see the rage he's finally buried beneath the surface. His hand shakes where he grips Sam's shoulder. "Jack, I am not the bad guy here."

Dean lets out a dry laugh that gets silenced with a look.

"Now, whoever told you these lies," Lucifer continues, "They meet that criteria. But I promise, I would never do anything that Sam didn't sign up for."

Sam straightens as cold, tight wings wrap around his arms and his son like a cocoon.

Jack remains inconsolable.

"You hurt him." Jack accuses. The words sit there, a match ready to ignite.

"No." Lucifer lies with a tilt of his head.

There's a pause as everyone intakes a breath.

Sam suppresses a wince and holds Jack closer, cradling his son in the softness of the too-loose flannel.

Lucifer tilts his head and amends, "Not really. Not where it counts. See, sacrifices hurt, Jack." Lucifer adds, touching his heart. "But the pain they cause pales in comparison to the payoff. Sam knows that. And he has always been willing to sacrifice something when it really counts."

**That's one way to phrase it.**

Lucifer hears that and half-smiles, but hides it easily as he adds, "And you matter, Jack. You matter more to us than pretty much everything else. I know you know that."

"But-" Jack protests.

"Sam, back me up here."

Sam doesn't want to be party to the deconstruction of his own protests earlier.

But... Jack needs him.

He needs him.

Sam smooths down the wrinkled edge's of Jack's sleeves and holds his hands as he looks down and answers, oh-so-softly, "Jack, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Nothing."

"See?" Lucifer prompts.

Jack starts to stop hyperventilating but looks more confused, and his voice is still stuffy as he sniffles, and Sam can tell his throat hurts from how he swallows.

"But that doesn't-" Jack tries again.

Lucifer's tone turns a bit too kind, his expression a bit too keen as he interrupts.

"Jack. Has anyone ever taught you about consent?" He says.

Sam freezes in place and looks back up at him.

Jack opens his mouth to answer, not blind to the looks on everyone's faces, but before he can say anything, Cas interrupts.

"You-" Cas starts in, voice burning with the fires of creation, and Lucifer shoots him a blank look that promises too much, and Cas shuts up because if he doesn't Sam's going to pay for it. 

Everyone else remains quiet and still. Dean would say something, but he knows his voice would be the first thing to set Lucifer off.

Then Lucifer smiles and gives Jack a conspiratorial look, and adds. "Don't be shy, son. I know you know some things. It's one of Sammy's favorite subjects, after all." Lucifer taunts as he looks back at Sam, speaking out of the sides of his mouth.

Jack nods and shifts from foot to foot, tentative from how cold the room has become and what that signifies. "It's when angels have to ask permission to possess people."

"Do you know what else it means?" Lucifer presses.

Jack bites his lip and tilts his head.

"That you have to listen to what the other person says?" Jack tries.

Lucifer claps his hands together. "Right. Exactly." Then his tone turns all honey, each syllable dripping with light, "And I'm an angel, Jack. If Sam didn't want this, I wouldn't be able to do anything. He has to ask for it."

Jack looks down. 

"That's-" Sam stammers, and Lucifer gives him a look of pure challenge, and Sam glances between his son and the Devil.

"What it means is, Sam said yes. Isn't that right, Sammy?" Lucifer asks, voice all low and guttural in his throat.

Sam swallows and looks back at Jack.

Lucifer stares Sam down.

"Go on, Sam. Tell him." Lucifer orders.

Sam's voice becomes bitten off and sharp. "What exactly is there left to say?" He answers.

"Oh, I don't know," Lucifer challenges, reaching for Sam's arm, and Sam flinches but Lucifer pulls it back anyway. "Maybe that you knew exactly what you were getting into-"

"I-" Sam hisses, but Lucifer keeps going.

"And that you would do it all over again." Lucifer challenges. There's a definitive threat there, and his hand still digs into Sam's wrist, too tight.

Sam's hands ball into fists.

"Jack..." Sam stutters, and his eyelids flutter as he tries to locate the right words, "I... What consent means..."

And Sam winces but otherwise ignores the hand digging into the soft skin of his arm as he continues. "Is that you give your permission freely and without anyone forcing you or threatening you otherwise. If someone ignores how you feel, or -"

"If someone really wants something, there are ways to tell." Lucifer corrects, his eyes glittering dangerously. "Like, for instance, if you've known them for a real long time. Or if you love them."

His eyes study Sam's face with a hunger Sam can't look at head on.

Sam exhales and adds, "Look. Jack. What's important is... No one has any control of how they come into the world." Then Sam's voice gets stronger. "And I never want you to feel bad for existing. Ever. Please. Please." Sam begs. "I love you, and no matter what has happened in the past, that's not going to change."

Jack hugs himself and murmurs, too quiet. "Okay."

Sam hugs him with one arm, the other still in a death-grip by the Devil.

Lucifer crouches down to his level.

"Good, that that's settled. Now that the air has been cleared... Who has been telling you stories, son?" He asks.

It's not a question you don't answer. Jack can tell from how he asks it.

"Gadreel." Jack mumbles. He glances at Sam, who intakes another hissing breath, and Sam folds in on himself at the admission. But his face sparks with fury, too.

Lucifer's mouth curls. He spits. "Figures."

They straighten, and there's an understanding reached between the Devil and Sam Winchester as they look back at one another.

"We'll deal with him later. After we've finished our earlier discussion." Then he turns back before the door, calling, "Son. You stay out of trouble. Listen to the others. I'm sure everyone in this room only wants what's best for you."

"Please don't hurt him." Jack's voice calls out in a small, shaky voice.

Lucifer turns to look at him and sighs, frowning.

"Jack. You really have quite an imagination." Lucifer replies.

Sam bites his lip but pats Jack's arm reassuringly before he gets wrenched out of his grip and is dragged from the room again while everyone remains in a state of shock and fear and uneasy uncertainty.

Jack stares after them, then glances at Kelly. He murmurs, "Did you not want me, too?"

Kelly runs a hand over his head and picks her words carefully.

"Jack, listen to me. You were a miracle. Carrying you was a blessing. I mean it." She insists, every word slow and every syllable pronounced with a steely fire that warms Jack from the inside out. He's still so unsure though, the rug pulled out from under him.

"But why?" Jack accuses, then gestures without purpose. "He... I know he didn't ask if-"

"No. He didn't. But that's not what matters right now. Jack, I always wanted a child. I wouldn't be able to have one if it wasn't for you. And even if that wasn't the case... You're a good kid. You're kind and giving and inquisitive and funny and the world is a better place with you in it. And Sam is my friend. And no matter what happened in the past... I would die for you again, Jack. But I want to live for you, instead. Don't ever forget that."

Then she picks him up and hugs him, and Jack sobs into her shoulder.

"He's gonna hurt him again, isn't he?" Jack asks, muffled against her shoulder.

Kelly just hums something soothing and rubs his back and doesn't answer.

"It's my fault-" Jack adds, and Kelly shakes her head.

"No, it isn't." She insists.

"You want to go outside?" She finally whispers. "Get some air?"

Jack nods dumbly, too tired and overwhelmed to move.

Kelly walks away with him and Bobby, with Cas, Dean, Mary, Jody, Ellen, Adam, and Donna not far behind.

\--

Upstairs, Sam waits for the inevitable, held captive on the bed as Lucifer paces in front of him.

"Look, Sammy. I'm not unreasonable. You know that. And I've been real good to you these last few months." Then Lucifer pauses, and bends down. "There's no reason that has to change."

Sam tries to crawl backwards, but Lucifer climbs on top of him.

"Get your fucking hands off me." Sam rasps, unused to fighting him off, because some memories are new, and hitting him all at once.

Sam clutches his head, overwhelmed.

Lucifer grabs hold of Sam's shoulders.

"Why are you so insistent on ruining this?" He demands.

Sam doesn't look at him.

"You did that all on your own." He answers, trying to remember how to breathe.

Lucifer's hand cups Sam's face and forces him to make eye contact.

"Did I? From where I'm standing, you were happy, Sam. Don't pretend otherwise."

"Happiness isn't based on lies." Sam answers, composure slipping as Lucifer traces his jaw.

"I don't lie, Sam." Lucifer answers. "You know that."

Then he adds, too conversational as he slides Sam's shirt down until it rips, "Although, I will say... The whole reason your pathetic species is happy is because they don't know what's out there." Lucifer's breath huffs over Sam's brow as he kisses his forehead. "But you do, Sammy. You do. You're not like them."

He closes in.

"And I can make you happy whenever I want. You told me so, over and over." He hisses in Sam's ear, "And you'll take whatever I offer, whenever I offer it, because you want it, you can't help yourself... And I know, deep down, all you want is to make me happy, too. I mean, just look at you." 

Sam stares up at him. His voice breaks as he asks, "What happened to us? What... What did I do?" Sam's eyes tear up. "What did I do to make you hate me?"

At his tone, Lucifer reconsiders and rolls over so Sam's lying on top of him.

"Sam, we've been over this, I don't hate you-" Lucifer specifies.

"Then why are you doing this to me?" Sam demands. "Why did you do any of it?"

**I don't... I don't understand.**

Lucifer combs through Sam's hair.

"You don't know what's good for you, Sam." He sighs. "You... You kept pushing me away." Then he hugs Sam tighter. "But we're long past that, now, if you can get over yourself. And you don't need to do that anymore. Things have changed."

Sam curls up and tries to hide.

Lucifer lets him.

**But what happened, after the Apocalypse, what stopped you-**

_You'll remember when you're good and ready, Sam._

If saying yes and letting Lucifer in didn't get Sam to remember most of it, there's very little he can do.

But Lucifer can't quite punish Sam for what he doesn't know he did. Lucifer does have standards, whatever Sam might think.

\--

Later on, they both get the exact details Gadreel volunteered. All in all, he's literal enough in the angelic sense that he didn't get too far and kept it limited to the dictionary definition and purposefully vague, and he didn't stray into anatomic details, for which Sam is grateful. 

He did say it was a type of torture and included the detail that Lucifer kidnapped Sam to do it and then forcibly put Jack into Kelly's body by cutting her open. Only upside is that is all Gadreel knew, since he was dead when it was happening, and Jack has no clue what sex actually entails, seeing as Lucifer gave him a somewhat non-answer that didn't cover the actual act but still told him what it's for: making babies and allowing adults to show appreciation for their partners and to make them feel good once they've reached a certain age.

Best to be proactive, seeing how Jack relies on the computer more often than not, and Lucifer knows parental locks will only go so far.

So thankfully, Jack still isn't really sure what rape is. What set him off is the knowledge of the kidnapping, and that he knows sex is for making babies, and that Gadreel said it was a type of torture. That's where he connected the dots.

But the fact of the matter is, Jack is four and Gadreel needs to answer for his crime.

So Sam stabs Gadreel in the library. Lucifer brings him back just to kill him again.

And again.

And a few more times for good measure, each one slower than the last.

Eventually, Gadreel is dragged off by the other angels for supervision and what likely amounts to more torture.

Then Lucifer locks the library doors and fucks Sam over the table, leaving bloody handprints over Sam's throat.

Sam knew that was coming the moment he challenged Lucifer before. He might not remember everything...

But he still knows Lucifer's moods.

\--

Later that night, Sam's been let out again, no blood anywhere to be found on his person, and he's grating vegetables in the kitchen with Lucifer right on top of him, the Devil's hands overlaid with his own as they prep dinner. They washed their hands, too, Jack double-checked when he came in.

Jack sits on the stool in front of them, legs kicking as he reads from the book of Enochian he's trying to learn.

"It's a long e sound," Lucifer corrects without looking at him. "Not like a for apple."

"Try having your lips look like this," Sam adds, demonstrating. "Helps with the fricatives."

Jack tries the word again.

"Close enough. You'll get the hang of it." Lucifer assures.

Sam winces as Lucifer grinds against his back, leaning closer, and Sam would have nearly cut himself if Lucifer didn't keep his hands so very, very still.

_You get so clumsy when you're distracted._

And Sam knows that if he doesn't play by Lucifer's rules, any goodwill he's built up by being clueless is all going to come tumbling down all over again.

Jack notices the movement and doesn't entirely know what it means.

He's glad Lucifer is letting him near Sam again, and that Sam's finally able to look at him.

But he's scared now that Sam's back to flinching at Lucifer, again. He had stopped flinching for a while.

\--

Dean remains beyond terrified.

Sam has remembered a lot in a short time, all things considered, even if he remembered it out of order. College. Lucifer making his deal and staying at Bobby's. Michael. Most of the Apocalypse. Being out of the Cage. Being Soulless. Hallucifer. The angels falling. The Trials. Gadreel. Dean taking the Mark, and the Darkness, and Kelly, and Lucifer possessing Cas.

Jack. 

Georgia.

But he still hasn't remembered one actual second of the Cage, and Dean's not sure what will happen when he does.


	175. She Wants Me Dead (DRAFT)

All Gadreel says before Sam stabs him the first time is this: "My intention was not cause you pain. Quite the opposite. But your son deserved the truth."

Sam twists the angel blade without any extra prompting.

No one plays headgames with his son.

**No one.**

And Sam has a lot of rage bubbling deep down, and it's not just reserved for Gadreel. It's a sub-level, slow-build rage that's been building and building, always present like a splinter under his nailbed he can't quite reach, one that's been sparked into life ever since he got his memories of Lucifer's projected Hallucinations and Georgia. Only it's a fury he can't really feel for the true target, because if he does, Lucifer will notice, and then he'll fuck the feeling out of Sam because he's not allowed to fight this. At least, not inside himself.

Sam's feelings are Lucifer's property, too.

But if Sam is honest with himself, underneath the rage, it's all just pain and loss and raw betrayal, because he lost his two best friends all over again once he remembered how Brady and 'Jess' gave him so much only to play him and rip it away.

\--

When Gadreel is gone, Lucifer licks the blood from Sam's fingers and corners him against a bookshelf to kiss him senseless. Sam doesn't really fight much when he gets straddled over the table.

Lucifer could never get enough of Sam covered in other people's blood, and having a common enemy, however temporary, means Sam can pretend this isn't what it is.

It's the only way he's managed to keep up with memories that don't entirely line up.

After a certain point, Sam's boundaries have been crossed so much, he almost learns to like it.

Whether that's due to Lucifer and the link, or just his brain doing what it can to compensate so Sam's not a shaking, spent mess, mute and used on the floor, is something Sam pointedly does not unpack.

\--

Past the library, closer to the basement door, Bela crouches down and hides, having just made it out of there before Lucifer and Sam arrived.

They don't notice her. Or more accurately, Sam doesn't notice, and Lucifer doesn't give a fuck.

She's human. Not a threat. And the Devil's got better things to do than worry about humans hanging around in libraries with crinkled notes in their hand when Sam is right there dealing out divine retribution. Retribution that isn't even directed at him. Delicious.

"You get what we need?" Jesse asks.

She deposits the schematics in his hand.

They book it out of there the moment Sam and Lucifer are a bit loud, even if the noise will cover their escape and won't tip off Naomi's droogs on patrol.

\--

The heavily warded door clicks behind Gabriel when he locks it shut.

"You know. I wouldn't have believed you would have put him up to it. But giving Jack the details of his birth just to screw with Lucifer and stop him from catching on... That's a low blow, even for you." Gabriel starts. His voice would be full of the bloodthirsty levity he reserves for those subject to his pranks amusing only to himself, the bloody ones, because for all their age, every Archangel is a legacy steeped in blood and judgement and violence. The stars were born by explosions, after all, and Heaven rejoiced for it. 

Or it would be, if he wasn't damn serious, for once. He's got a soft spot for the little guy. Jack's like a barnacle. You try to keep him out of your heart but he just latches on and doesn't let go. 

Raphael ignores him.

"And I'm not going to lie. If Lucifer wasn't the worse option, I might just spill the beans." Gabriel adds, needling on purpose.

He paws the Archangel blade in his hand. It circles like a drill, two fingers barely touching the tip. Like a spindle.

A time-bomb, waiting to go off.

That and Gabriel's petulant, grating tone does force Raphael to look up.

"Go on, brother. Do it. Prove just what you are." Raphael drawls. "Lucifer's unwitting lackey, too low on juice to do _shit_."

Gabriel knows Raphael is more than just bitter now. He only digs into human vernacular when he's ready to shiv something with his own bare hands. And that takes effort, seeing as Raphael is the mercenary equivalent to a pillow princess, a very hands-off kinda guy unless his brothers are involved and it's personal. Nothing else really matters to him except Heaven, the angels, and his work.

He always was a solemn workaholic stick in the mud. Lucifer and Gabe and even Michael would make fun of him for it.

"Not really my gig." Gabriel says very softly. "But you and Luci and Mike always thought not taking a side was taking a side, anyway. Proves what you know."

Raphael rolls his eyes, but the fire behind them stays. His wings unfurl as well, hanging like a nighttime shroud, like the shadow on the dark side of the moon half-shining with the rings of Saturn. They hurt, stabbing and sharp, when they push Gabriel's away.

"I might not have my stave, or you your horn." Raphael warns. "But that doesn't mean I can't kick your ass."

"I'd like to see you try." Gabriel laughs, putting up his fists, but there's no force in it. Just loss.

Successfully distracted in the way only a younger sibling can manage, Raphael abandons whatever implement he's fiddling with. Gabriel knows what it is, but doesn't care enough to remember the name. He's always just called it that weird doohickey God should've thrown in the junkheap, and he maintains that assertion.

"Do you think pretending to be brothers again will fix this?" Raphael growls, shoulders held back.

Gabriel shakes his head. "Nah. You're the one who doesn't want me part of the family tree anymore. I just don't want to see another brother get ripped apart. Again. Even if you wouldn't do the same for me."

Raphael raises his eyebrows. "If you didn't want to see our brothers get ripped apart, you would have sided with Michael in the first place. You wouldn't have given aid to Castiel and the Winchesters and turned your back on your family. You would have stayed... Not played the part of an irresponsible child forever. You would have picked a side."

"Now you sound like Luci." Gabriel hisses, hunching over and immediately set off.

"Stay out of my way, Gabriel." Raphael's voice booms, low and violent and too-fast, because Gabriel knows how to push his buttons just like Raphael does his. 

It's not like he doesn't know exactly who his older brother is. But they were weirdly close, once. Not the way Lucifer was, mentoring Gabriel before.

Close in the way younger siblings are, when the two older ones have history even they get left out of.

He always was a bit taciturn. Then he got mean when Lucifer rebelled. Next up, he got bitter when Gabriel left. And he got more than just downright bitter after God jumped shift. He got downright zealous in his nihilistic, apostate clinging to Michael's reign. Riding on his coattails since he was sure Michael was the only brother who could be trusted.

But none of that compared to Raphael post-Apocalypse. He got downright scary after Michael got locked up.

Still. Once Raff lost Michael, he didn't have much to cling to aside from himself, and Raphael had always been self-centered in a different fashion than Lucifer. The arrogant hipster visionary kind, not the love-struck trigger-happy brand of delinquence Lucifer favored.

And it doesn't change the fact Raphael didn't even lift a finger help Gabriel out of Hell, even though he heard him singing out his chorus for his brothers.

Gabriel still wonders if Michael heard him, there, too. Hell-adjacent.

If he cared as much as Raphael didn't, seeing as that proves how much he considers Gabe family, after all.

Not that Michael wasn't a violent prick, either. He was just as sadistic and calculated as the rest of them, if not more so. He did make his lance poisoned just to make Lucifer die slow, after all, and he raised Lucifer from a tiny ball of light to the bright cold thing he was before he got bigger and overwhelmed them.

Gabriel stops thinking about that.

It doesn't help.

But man, out of the worst evils out there, Lucifer may be a big bag of dicks and an abusive, egotistical prick. But Raphael was a different kind of fucked up. The extremist, family feud kind. And compared to Lucifer's straightforward obsessions and his poison-the-well bellyaching backed up by completely selfish, self-soothing malice, Raphael's own brand of detached, bureaucratic sadism is a whole different can of worms.

It's like comparing a Jedi with a God-complex to a Sith with attachment issues. Like Michael was a monk hiding all the violence underneath talk of Destiny and Plans and Numbers, where Raphael fudged the books for whatever worked with his agenda. Michael just held him in check through seniority and lonely familial respect and desperation and their status as siblings, and not much else. Once Michael was out of the picture, Raphael was free to come into his own.

At least, until Cas killed him. Gabriel's pretty sure that's going to turn into an angelic slap-fight, soon, if Cas wasn't worried about other more important things, other things here being Sam and Dean and Jack and Lucifer.

Gabriel crinkles his nose, face approximated into a sneer. His wings branch out in warning, hanging like the midday sky with stars almost visible, neon bright in their warning.

"No thanks. But just FYI: Your plan is suicidal. You know that, right?" Gabriel warns Raphael.

Raphael scowls at him. "I don't recall asking your opinion."

"Fine, Raff. Go die again. See if I care. But you draw Jack into whatever scheme you've got to overthrow Luci again, and I will kill you myself." Gabriel threatens, ruffling his feathers, small amount of grace he's been nursing burning bright and gold and loud.

Raphael gives Gabriel a slow, flat smile. "Of course you'd be loyal to that abomination. Your taste really has declined with age, _Gabi_."

His grace rushes out to meet him, stronger, more vibrant, but wounded.

Raphael hadn't fully come back right when Lucifer raised him, after all. Lucifer mangled and disfigured him, first.

Like Raphael had planned to do to him, before Michael landed the killing blow.

And as revenge for what he did to Sam. Same reason Lucifer tortured him first.

Gabriel wonders how the family he'd consider closest to him once all grew into strangers and enemies and distant targets of hate and fear.

But that's why he got himself a new family.

Gabriel leaves.

No use picking a fight now.

These chips would fall where they would.

And Gabriel's always been good at betting on the right outcome.

\--

"Please tell me you didn't fuck this up," Crowley hisses as Jesse unlocks his chains. His tongue is a bit swollen from the rock salt, and it affects his accent.

Jesse says nothing.

Bela tosses her head and her nostrils flare, but she keeps her eyes on the door as she answers. "I've got too many things to get done to fuck this up, got it?"

Crowley massages his face where Bobby's rock-salt hit, healing the damage.

They make a break for it before their competition tracks them down.

Lucifer and Lilith and the Princes of Hell are still distracted by Sam and other, loftier plots.

They aren't going to fly beneath the radar much longer.

Better to take the chance while it lasts.

\--

"You lost it?" Naomi demands. Her lackey hangs his heads, wings flattening.

"Ma'am, we tried-"

"Trying is useless. Succeeding is what matters. But I guess I'll just have to drill that into your skull, one way, or another."

\--

Metatron checks his notes and watches. He's been spying on the different factions and their grubby power-grabs, seeing all the overarching circles overlapping...

He knows he could sell the information he's gathered out.

The question is: whose the best target to play?

Who is giving out the best reward?

He looks at Donatello and hands him more fried chicken.

"You up for passing a message on to an interested party?"

"Will I get my soul back if I do?" Donatello asks, a bit too desperate.

Metatron shrugs. "Guess that depends on the quality of your message, errand-boy."

\--

Anna keeps tailing Anael.

She knows she's not suspicious, mostly because she's done nothing to be suspicious about.

"Um, Sister, I was just wondering-" She asks, unusually meek.

It's a role reversal Anael notices, but appreciates.

Back in Heaven, pre-Lucifer, Anael was no one. Anna was one of the highest ranking officers under Michael, known and loved by many before her fall.

Anael relishes the rush and affords patience for the other angel.

"Yes? Speak your mind." Anael encourages. 

\--

Balthazar, on the other hand...

He wonders if tripping one of them will work as a sufficient distraction.

If not, he still has a few weapons stashed away.

And turning Anael into a pillar of salt, well...

It's not his mission, but it would be gratifying.

\--

Gadreel, when he is finally released from Naomi's custody, makes his way to meet John at the pre-arranged meeting place.

"Did the plan succeed?" He asks.

John gives him an unimpressed look.

"If it did," John answers. "I don't think I would tell you."

\--

Rowena and Meg watch them from the balcony, each handing off binoculars.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Meg asks, rolling her shoulders as she infuses every word with emphasis.

"I doubt it, hennie." Rowena answers, all droll as she prepares her spell.

Inside her pocket, she turns on the cell phone beacon.

Just because she's got a temporary alliance going on doesn't mean she might not need backup.


	176. When I Was Older

Sam gets dragged back into the wall, Azazel's arms wrapped around his chest, and there's a hand sliding over his face, wet and red and warm, one of Ruby's hands digging into Sam's wrist, Brady's hand pinning down the other-

There's another dipping into his mouth, lighting on his tongue as Lucifer kisses his neck-

And there's something sparking deep within him, a hunger he knows and yet he doesn't recognize, but it feels older than almost anything else he's ever-

Something static-and-pin-needle sharps stretches his insides outside in, and when Sam's eyelids blink back open, the lights flicker and go out.

Lucifer looks up and smiles.


	177. bellyache

The world tilts on the head of a pin.

And like a head breaking water and drowning below, Sam finds that everything gets fuzzy around the edges.

Sam hears the ragged gasps of his own breathing, far away.

A dull throbbing sound echoes in his head.

The world goes dark, and pulses red, and flashes with lightning, and screams, and an endless, yawning fall into nothing.

\--

When Sam comes to, he has thousands of lives crammed inside, and he chokes on the vast enormity of it all, every detail clear, and sharp and sticking, every second a knife in Sam's heart, and every single one of Lucifer's crimes against himself all stack, crowding over each other inside his head.

It's too much.

Sam curls his knees inwards and weeps, barely recognizing the world around him.

\--

Cas, of all people, finds Sam on the bathroom tile first. He's got a bruise on the side of his face from where he hit his head.

He helps Sam up and lets his unconscious form rest, because who knows what happens if you wake Sam up from all the things he hasn't known, and Cas knows how overwhelming it must be because he's seen all those memories himself.

Lucifer would have gotten there earlier, but Cas waylaid him enroute with the hastiest, messiest mosh of sigils he could find.

Foolproof? No.

Is Castiel going to pay for it later?

Definitely.

But he'd cast all the angels from Heaven a thousand times over and a thousand more if it means Sam doesn't wake up with Lucifer holding him close.

Cas might not be able to save Sam, to protect him, but he will do what he can.

By the Father that abandoned them and let himself be undone by his own creation, Cas would be a better sort of family to Sam Winchester than any of his own angelic brethren ever were to Cas himself.

Balthazar was the only one who ever came close, really, to being there when the worst came calling, and even then, he'd had a lot of dubious moral leeway that didn't lend itself entirely to selflessness, even if he cared for Cas a thousand-times over.

But even Dean had failed Sam, and Cas couldn't let anyone else fail him.

Not when Lucifer had him caught in a Cage of his own design.


	178. These Boots Are Made For Walking

For once, Dean wakes up to Sam making breakfast on the stove. He smells bacon, even, and Dean doesn't know what to think about that.

With his memories intact, Sam hasn't cooked meat in forever, and he hasn't tried making it since the last time, almost a year ago, when the bacon burned, and...

And Dean doesn't want to think about that. He keeps an eye out, though, in case Sam has a moment. Getting 7,500 years of memories back in a day isn't a walk in the park, and he'd been bedridden for three days now, so the fact he's moving at all, is antsy, even...

The radio keeps on echoing through the kitchen. Nancy Sinatra's voice pops over the speakers, Sam singing along with her to the chorus of "These Boots Are Made for Walking."

"Sinatra, kiddo?" Lucifer's voice asks, voice rumbling as he sits at the kitchen table, hands behind his head, legs crossed over the table, his chair tipping back so it's balancing on two legs. "You feeling nostalgic or trying to tell me you need space?"

Sam says nothing but keeps on humming to the tune and flips pancakes he's made for Jack and Castiel with a bit more force.

Dean's pretty sure that's as aggressive as Sam is going to get. 

Lucifer smiles, then leans closer on the table as he adds, "You know, it's not really silent treatment if I can still hear that beautiful voice of yours."

Sam keeps humming, no change in volume. Lucifer looks amused.

Dean refocuses. He can't look at him, even if he is the biggest threat in the room. Now that he's made it further past the door, he sees Cas sitting off to the side, next to Jack, who is watching Sam and Lucifer carefully in between sipping orange juice and pretending to do otherwise. 

The clock reads 7:15 am. He surprised Cas let him sleep in, but he thinks Sam had something to do with it.

On his way over, Dean grabs some maple syrup from the fridge when Cas asks him, but when he passes Sam, he doesn't pat him on the shoulder. Sam will just flinch at any contact, right now.

So Dean says, "Mornin'."

Sam nods, says, a small, nearly inaudible, "Hey," and doesn't meet his eyes. Then he keeps humming along under his breath.

 _"You keep lyin' when you oughta be truthin'..._ _You keep losing when you oughta not bet..._ _You keep samin' when you oughta be a changin'..._ _Now what's right is right but you ain't been right yet..."*_

He's barely holding it together, sure, but Dean can tell how angry and tired Sam is even if the song wasn't blaring on the radio and there weren't giant bags under his eyes.

Dean sits next to Cas, who tells him that this morning has been quiet. Lucifer and Sam woke up first, sure, and he's pretty sure Sam didn't sleep last night, but there's not much they can do about that, and Cas makes a point to add that Sam is uninjured, from what he can see. They've been keeping track of that, seeing the patterns to try and suss out when Lucifer is indulging his worst impulses again. Looks like he's still playing it safe, trying to win Sam over, at least for now.

Dean's not sure how long that will last, at this rate.

Lucifer slides the chair back and approaches. Jack goes still when he does, and doesn't bother to hide his staring or the blinking or the way he stiffens, hoping things don't go bad again. Cas and Dean go on alert.

Sam doesn't flinch and keeps moving, all fluid and absorbed in making food.

"I don't want help." Sam insists without a single shaking syllable in his voice once Lucifer closes in, two feet away. "I can do this."

**Get away.**

Lucifer holds up his hands. "Alright, champ. Your kitchen, your rules. I just came over to say good morning."

Sam gives Lucifer a look of pinched, total fury, fury from years of being used and played and pain, but suffers the kiss on the cheek.

And the hand in his hair.

And the mouth, leaning near his ear.

Lucifer whispers, "Come on, Sammy. I know you want it all back. And we were good, weren't we? Just like before. Just like I promised. Things can turn around, if you let them. You just gotta take that leap of faith-"

Sam closes his eyes and inhales and the spatula slams on the counter, in his fist, before he inhales and takes another breath and stares back at the Devil.

"Just trust me to do this right, this time-"

"I... It's too early for this." Sam finally says, not looking at anything again. "You want pancakes or not?"

Lucifer tilts his head.

"I'll eat whatever you want to make." He answers, hand dragging across Sam's wrist, and Sam rankles at contact and the double meaning there, at the things unsaid, and then Lucifer leans back on the counter, away from him, as Sam keeps working. "You know, your hashbrowns are burning." He comments, eyeing his nails and then the stove again. "You want me to-"

"I'm handling it." Sam answers, fingers closing around the skillet, the same one Lucifer smacked across his jaw more than once. "Back off."

Lucifer remains patiently obtuse. Said it so gently, too.

Like Sam couldn't smell them burning.

Like he didn't know.

He's all too aware of it. Burning, that is. All the time.

At Sam's resumed glare, Lucifer walks away, but Sam doesn't hum now. Just works in silence.

The hashbrowns sizzle and pop on the stove as Sam shifts them off the grill.

The radio sings on.

 _"You keep playing where you shouldn't be playing._ _And you keep thinking that you'll never get burnt._ _I just found me a brand new box of matches..."*_

As time goes on, Bobby, Kelly, Adam, Meg, Rowena, Charlie, Kevin, Abaddon, Lilith, Gabriel, Brady, and the other demons have joined the crowd and have all extended the table and pulled up chairs. John and Mary are on the far side of the table, going over schematics of a hunt, and that's the closest Dean's seen them since John's resurrection. He wonders what's changed, if Sam getting his memory back means they've hatched some sort of plan. If so, he wants in.

Sam doesn't let anyone help him cook when they offer, and doesn't flinch at bacon or eggs, although he just makes himself toast. He just shakes his head.

Dean understands.

After being manipulated and controlled and having Lucifer dangle what they had in front of Sam's face...

He can see Sam trying to regain what control he can, though this.

When the food is made, there's a lot. Enough that Sam must've cooked for at least an hour before Dean came down, since he's got extra sausage and fruit salad and smoothies and apple slices in the fridge for Jack with honey along with the corn beef hash that Sam made for Adam and Bobby specifically, giving them extra helpings, and then he's taking the eggs (over-easy and sunnyside up and scrambled, depending on who asked for them, although there's no omelettes in sight), along with the toast, bacon, and hashbrowns he made that were kept warm next to the stove. It's a feast, enough to make Dean's stomach rumble, but it's tempered by the fact he can't stop looking at Sam and wondering what is going on through his head.

Sam's face remains blank when he ditches the over mitts on the counter, and before they dig in and pass the plates around, Sam passes out a glass of water to everyone, even the demons.

Then Sam stands by his seat, the one right next to Lucifer and Jack, and holds up a glass. Meg taps on her's like this is a fucking reception to get attention on Sam, and Ruby rolls her eyes, while Abaddon snickers.

"Speech!" Brady hisses under his breath, which Sam ignores.

Everyone goes dead silent the moment Lucifer glares around the room, and attention is all on Sam again. Otherwise, Lucifer looks invested.

Like he knows Sam has some angle here. Like he's waiting for a tell, or something.

Dean's stomach roils.

When Sam toasts, his voice is still soft and scratchy, but it commands the attention of the room all on it's own.

"So. Last few months have been... Something." Sam waves a hand, voice growing louder as a muscle jumps in his throat, "And I'm not going to dance around it. Things have changed. And I know... There's no going back to how things were. Not in the same way." Sam says, looking at Lucifer and back at everyone, adding, "We can't hide from the past, or who we are. And we're all permanently stuck together now, for better or worse. So might as well make the best of it." Sam pauses, and turns to sit on Lucifer's lap, one leg swinging over to straddle his lap, and Lucifer actually looks surprised when Sam stares him down and rummages in his jean pocket.

"So here's to us," Sam adds, holding his water aloft, and everyone raises their glass, and Sam takes a swig of his water, spilling some as he adds, "To the future."

And Sam leans closer to the Devil's face, and Dean doesn't know what the fuck this is, except he sees there's a lighter in Sam's hand, thumb flicking open the lid under the table, just when Sam's mouth is inches from the Devil's their foreheads touching, he adds, "And since you want to raise Hell..."

Sam cuts off and kisses Lucifer, and Lucifer kisses back, still thinking he's above it all, above anything Sam could do-

All the demons double over, coughing up their boiled guts, screeching and rasping and skin smoking as holy water searing their insides from the food and the water that Sam must've cooked it in the moment they take a swig. There's a pressure in the air as the weight of Sam's mind crackles over them, grace and soul singing, and the demons can't stop drinking their glasses until they've been emptied, because Sam ordered them to, pushing with his mind-

Sam strikes the lighter and drops it in Lucifer lap, holy oil immediately setting him aflame, and he screams, and everyone lurches back, except for Sam, who is still on top of him without a single fuck to give.

"That's exactly what you're gonna get!" Sam snarls as he steps off, wards he sewed into his flannel keeping the worst of the holy oil from setting him alight, only his calves and wrists burned, although he remains heedless of his own injuries.

Sam pulls Jack to his feet and doesn't turn when they exit the room, hand in hand with his son, spine straight and with as much poise as he can muster. The moment they hit the doorway, they immediately rush out the door, and Dean follows, watching Sam use stolen keys to hijack Lucifer's car and speed away, rubber grating on tarmac.

The radio sings on in the background, the chorus repeating one last time.

_"One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you."*_

Dean looks at Cas, who resolutely stares at his food and keeps eating.

"It's good." Cas answers with a shrug, mouth full. He drowned the pancakes in maple syrup, so much it's more syrup than pancake. 

Dean keeps staring at him and then back out the window where the car used to be. They've been used to seeing Sam vulnerable for so long, but truth is, he's a hunter, deep inside his blood and bones, from the lives he's lived through and through.

"Should we follow them?"

Cas shakes his head.

"Sam wants space."

**_And he doesn't want anyone in the line of fire._ **

Dean knows that, too. He just doesn't want to lose sight of Sam.

What if something happens, what if-

Then he looks at Lucifer, sitting there, flames extinguished, still in shock until he isn't, until he flies after them...

And he's not sure how this day is going to turn out, after all.


	179. Copycat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of S13e07, part of S5E04, although the redux of that is a different chapter. This first part happens immediately after Dean gets yoinked back to the past. The rest happens later during the bunker arc.
> 
> chapter title a song by billie eilish
> 
> also this was the chapter i wrote when i had bronchitis back in the day.

Truth is, in trying to escape his fate, Lucifer's seen a lot of could've beens.

And it's not like he wouldn't leave other dimensions alone.

It's just that their very existence offends him. Or they're just so sad, such sorry fates.

Take this one, for instance. The one that may not have started Lucifer's crusade, but made his convictions all the more urgent and pressing.

Sam is just trapped inside that white suit, screaming for his brother that has had his neck snapped beneath his foot, unable to accept his life now.

"What are you doing?" This future's Lucifer demands, backing away, speaking with his Sam's commandeered mouth.

Truth is, Lucifer doesn't always feel contempt for his doubles.

He just shakes his head and sighs.

"See, I'd say why ruin a good thing," He mourns, tapping his noggin'. "But we both know Sam ain't too happy with you up there. I can taste it."

"Let me have him. Let us have our happiness. He's mine-" The other Lucifer snarls, panicking as this other Lucifer, older, faster, more predatory, gets in close. 

Lucifer shrugs.

"See, that's true. No contest there. And I don't begrudge you this, really, except your Sam said yes, and here you've gone and broken his poor heart. That's not fair. He didn't lock you up again. Beats what my Sam did. You aren't properly appreciating what you have, other me. Way to block your own shot." Lucifer's hands light on the shoulders of the white suit. It is a nice suit, really. He should get one like that. White really isn't Sam's color, though. That's more him.

"Just because your Sam left you and threw us in the Cage doesn't mean you have to ruin it for the rest of us!" The other Lucifer hisses, knowing the glint in his own eyes and the wide set of his own teeth.

Lucifer spits on the ground, eyes narrowing.

"Now, that there. Them's fighting words, amigo." Lucifer whispers, then tilts his head, voice going gentle as he adds, "What do you say, Samuel? I get this version of me out of your hair, and you... Well, truth is, I'd let you join big brother up in Heaven. But let's face it, it's a royal mess up there. And this world is just not to be. A defunct future that never has to happen. So I'm unmaking this whole reality. Never fear. You get to rest, though, buddy. I'll clean up your mess. And this time, I'll use your sacrifice to fix everything that went wrong. None of this nastiness ever has to happen. That's got to count for something, right?"

Inside, Lucifer can hear this Sam praying. This Sam is almost grateful, really. Latching on to anything that can carve out his Lucifer out from inside him, after being beaten down for so long. He almost loves this other one, this new Lucifer come to rescue him, like he used to like the one who promised him the world, then shoved him down and kept him begging and pleading inside his own skull... Because once Sam said yes, who else could love him other than Lucifer?

It's like he's transferred the Stockholm Syndrome from one devil to another. Has almost as much his Sam, after the Cage. Impressive, and in such a sort time, really.

Then Lucifer tears the other Lucifer's grace from this Sam's throat and drinks it in, giving Sam back his voice in the process. Sam collapses in his grip, not used to controlling his own skin.

"I can wipe your sins clean, Sam. You don't gotta go down this road. I've got a better option." Lucifer assures, confident and hungry. "You ready to go back to past? Reverse this whole back to the future business?"

Sam considers, almost nods, then hesitates. He loved his Lucifer, too, let him in when the loneliness and the judgement was too much, when he had no one else, and in return his Lucifer killed his brother, and kept Sam a prisoner inside himself. And Sam still loved him, and he feared it, that love. 

"I trusted you once." He rasps, accusing. Because Lucifer is Lucifer, and he's been riding around with him inside his head, and he knows him. Knows there is a price and a selfish reason this other Lucifer ate himself, a snake devouring its tail. He knows to be afraid, above all else, because even the Lucifer he knew, well...

"What's the price?" Sam asks.

"Your soul. I need it, to keep past you safe. I'm sure you'll be willing to pay the fee?" Lucifer asks.

It's not a question. This Sam knows it's never a question.

"I can't stop you." This Sam sags, unable to look Lucifer in the eye. Then he adds, looking at his brother's corpse. "But I won't say yes this time."

Lucifer sighs. "I don't know what I expected. You never let me take care of you."

Then Lucifer rips Sam's soul from his body for safekeeping as he lets the rest of this future-that-will-not-come-to-pass burn. He takes the body for DNA and testing back in the lab, in a future that veered off so differently from this one, melts it down, and steals the white suit for good measure. Might as well get it tailored and fitted, seeing as Sam's not too much taller than Nick. They did have a wedding in the works, after all. And it's a nice suit.

Then Lucifer travels back thanks to the portal Gabriel and Michael tried to keep secret, the same one Sam's been using to hop-skip backwards across time. It's easier to shunt and time-hop into potential realities that only have few changes in the script. Much harder to infiltrate realities where things went wrong on a larger scale.

 _You'll thank me in the end. I know you will. I know you._ Lucifer adds, whispering comforting chimes to this other, younger Sam's struggling, sickened soul as he hoards it and locks it away for when it will be needed. _Now sleep._

Back in the past, long before Lucifer was locked up, the Tree of Life screams, but no one hears it. Lucifer seals this other Sam's soul up inside, hiding him and his many other stolen soul's resonance with more wards than the Cage ever did.

What's the use of time travel if you can't be proactive with it? Not like Sam didn't leave the doors wide open in the future after he tried to make his escape.

But two can play the game of rewriting history.

Everything that's happened is already leading up to what will be. That's just how destiny works, no matter how much Sam tries to fight it.

Lucifer will make destiny his fucking bitch, and then Sam will see.

Then they can move on from all the unpleasantness, once Sam has nowhere else to run.

\--

Years later, Lucifer watches yet another one of his alternate selves ramble as he hides off to the side, dusting off his meatsuit from the stardust that stuck to it along the trip. Lucifer shields his grace, listening, waiting for the other waves of grace to help hone in on all his other duplicates across the multitude of dimensions he’s barely scratched the surface on.

“I got plenty of gripes with the old man. His self-righteous narcissism, his ‘my way or the highway’ quirk. But I gotta hand it to him. He had a couple of great seconds when he banged out the universe. Guy had creative chops. And optimism. I'll give him that.” The pale imitation, the pretender that just isn’t quite up to snuff, keeps talking, and while Lucifer finds himself full of contempt for a version of himself laid this low, he also agrees, a little, with his sentiments. There are a lot of beautiful things to appreciate in the world. He feels a bit sorry for this one, too. This unlucky iteration of the Devil just doesn’t have the perspective he does. They don’t see that all those beautiful creations God made could easily be eclipsed by what he could make. That God is back to being ineffable and he can fix everything he ever did.

The knockoff continues, “And despite his pissiness and his massive lack of irony, he did give mankind a good turn at bat and a chance to live in paradise. He ruled. He smote. He parted waters. Worshipped by creatures who made God in man's image. And then, he got disappointed. Or worse, bored. Picked up all his toys and... left.” Then this other Lucifer startles, hearing an echo of something familiar but… Off. It almost felt like flash of anger and resigned bitterness and humming laughter that felt like who he used to be, once upon a time, before he gave into despair.

“What was that?” He asks, slurring. Maybe his grace wasn’t drained as he thought? Maybe he had enough of a kick left…? It had felt like him, or like who he used to be, before Sam and his brother and Crowley kicked him while he was down and then everything fell apart. Sure, Crowley was dead and Castiel, too. But it didn’t change the fact Lucifer didn’t know how this happened. He’d been feeling real useless lately, after his son got stolen and he got kicked to this sorry dimension.

This other Michael, of course, doesn’t see the danger, thinking this Lucifer, this pretender, is talking about his own presence.

This Michael doesn’t compare much to Lucifer’s brother back in the Cage. Even defeated, his brother was calculated. This one is reckless. He’ll pay for it, too. What iteration of Michael even was this anymore? Version 24.0? 100? Man, Lucifer has gone and visited the time-loops and dimensions of his own selves and other brothers on and off for a while now. It’s hard to keep track when they just aren’t that useful except for the extra grace they donate to the cause. I Want You, and all that, just like the old promo poster’s. For both Lucifer and dear Sammy’s sake and the future they’d build.

Plus, free real estate. Who can say no to that? ‘Course, Lucifer’s gotta bulldoze it all and make it new for the Big Bang 2.0, but he can be patient. Gotta get all the weeds dug out, first.

He stops daydreaming and refocuses on this other Michael, prepping the blade and sucking up the angels in the surrounding area in the meantime. Lucifer sings as he works, shielding the deaths from the Archangels with barely a stray thought.

“Hitched a ride on your temporal lobe. Saw your world. That paradise you left behind? Believe I'll take up residence, lend my guiding hand.” Michael gloats. That hasn’t changed, between worlds and iterations. Then again, they all started from the same base model. Makes sense there would be bleedover.

Still. They really don’t compare when the chips are down. So quick to give in. And more than four archangels collectively is quite enough, in Lucifer’s opinion. They don’t need copies of irrelevant entities and their obsolete fates. Destiny is his and his alone to control: and that means pruning back the possibilities that aren’t needed anymore.

“Ah, of course. 'Cause you've done such wonders with this place.” His doppelganger snarks. Lucifer agrees with himself, there, too. So bland and dusty, this universe. Even that other future’s version with the Croats and Dean’s dead body had more taste, more green, more... living things left intact. Insects and oceanic entities and sheep, that sort of thing. Then again, Michael never had been particularly inventive when he was reveling in destruction. Lucifer always hated that about his own brother. Michael could be creative when he wanted to- helped Lucifer with some of the greatest additions the universe has seen. But when he wanted to smash things up, he had a basic, feral artlessness from enjoying the destruction a bit too much.

Lucifer prided himself on the fact that even when he destroyed, there was an art to it. A flair. Not boring nothing left in his wake. Beautiful fear, and pain, and decay, and the scent and decomposition of it all: it’s like decorating a room, setting an atmosphere, an appetizer painstakingly made to set the plate out and give a taste so people can enjoy the full course meal of despair and loss and hopelessness before Lucifer makes them dance on his strings.

This other, blander, less talented Michael smiles and answers, every bit as proud as Lucifer remembers his own brother. “While I was in your head, I saw what you're afraid of. Being locked up again, like you were in the Cage. So after I'm done, you'll be left here, alone, in agony, forever.”

“Okay, bro, could you do me a favor?” The other Lucifer asks, dead serious.

“Hmm?” This Michael asks.

The other Lucifer laughs. “Eat me.”

“You know, that really is a fantastic idea.” Lucifer interrupts, putting a hand on this Michael’s shoulder.

The two of them feel the rush of grace wash over them, older and hungrier more twisted than theirs has ever been.

They know fear older than them, fresh as the fear and awe of God when he first Spoke them into reverence.

There’s a glint of gold, and the other Michael’s throat is sliced without sound. Lucifer gulps the grace down, refreshed. His grace washes down slow, easy, like a gulp of merlot.

The other Lucifer knows he’s no match for this ruthless, near infinite version of him. He can taste all of his other copies absorbed into Lucifer’s own being, having settled in, overpowered, singing in his wings, and can hear the many prayers and screams and echoes of Sam’s different wavelengths of soul stolen from their own dimension and held hostage by Lucifer. He sings out, so clear. And Lucifer can read his own doppelganger. You can’t hide from yourself, after all.

Lucifer pats his clone on the shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, this is a win for the both of us.” Lucifer says, so certain. “It’s not like you had much going for you here.” He gestures at this sorry excuse of an archangel. “I mean, look how far you’ve fallen. Makes me wonder if you’re even worth the meal, or if I should just put you out of your misery, like the dog you are. But I promise, you won’t be alone. It’s a hell of a party up here.” Lucifer taps his forehead.

The other Lucifer, as delirious as he is, is still thoughtful.

“We fought for our own choices. Why are you erasing versions where we made different ones?” His inferior clone can’t help but ask.

Lucifer tilts his head and his lips purse as he pats his own head. “See, this is why you’re in this situation. You lost perspective. You forgot our one rule. We don’t ask permission. We take what belong to us. Everything else, eh,” Lucifer makes a dismissive noise as one hand wraps around his copy’s throat. “It’ll work itself out. I make sure it does.”

“You’re playing with fire. Going to unbalance things.” His clone warns, every self-preservation instinct screaming as Lucifer’s hand wraps around his throat. The blade lowers. Closer now, much closer. He always like to play with his food before eating it. Unless he liked the food. Then he gave them a break. But that was reserved for Sam on a good day, so he knows he’ll get no such luck here.

“Good.” Lucifer answers. “It’s time for a proper reset and to wipe the slate where it really matters. God created this flawed world. We’re just… working out the kinks. And you’re gonna help fuel that future. Like I said. We both win, here. You finally have a future to believe in. And, as a bonus, I’ll say hi to your son for you. Doesn’t really compare to mine, but I’ll put him to good use.”

The other Lucifer finally struggles, but it’s not a fight at all. Just a gasp and a shudder and loss of self given way to a flood of pain and conviction stronger and more determined than he’s ever been.

Then again, these lesser excuses for archangels aren’t a challenge to gobble up. Not many are giving up much of a fight. They just don’t have the juice, and don’t make the cut, like backup dancers or understudies.

No match for the real thing, the Devil in all his Glory.

There’s only a few dimensions even organized and calculated enough to give up a fight, really. They’ve been chatting amongst themselves, rallying each other, allies preparing for Lucifer’s inevitable raid of their home.

But it won’t help them. It won’t help them one bit.

Hell, not even the other Nephilim, archangel or not, Lucifer’s or otherwise, are even that hard to take on. Lucifer was prepared, after all. He’d been preparing for this eventuality for a long time, ever since he knew there was one future and one only that was allowed.

The one where he kept Sam and brought out his brilliance in all his glory.

The one where he won.

And in the end, there only needs to be one version walking in his skin, and Sam’s, and Jack’s. Might as well start cleaning up this multiverse mess now, in the interim of waiting for the true war to start.

Fact is, one can’t be a true God with inferior versions floating around. That’s what dear old Dad taught, when Lucifer was made to destroy his competition, Pagan or Elder or other Gods be damned to obscurity. Lucifer had taken that to heart, if nothing else.

Lucifer knows this is his reward. God would dish out reparations for his poor decisions, one day at a time. This was a decent start.

Fatherhood really was worth it. He’ll have the whole universe for himself to recreate.

(And Sam would have nowhere else to run. Not the future, past, or any other dimension where he’ll get another chance to say No and have it stick.)

Lucifer moves to his next target.

By the end, this other world is bled dry like so many others, Death and the Horsemen summoned, and then nothing.

Silence.

Blissful, empty silence, no monsters or demons or humans or angels left.

Lucifer sends Billie off to do her thing.

She clutches her ring, but cannot fight the binding. She tries anyway, and inside, the echoes of the older Death scream in unison, remembering everything they are, everything that has been-

But until they are freed, it is for naught.

This job handled, Lucifer heads to the dimension mirroring this one. Adjacent. Keeping things balanced and even, after all.

It’s not hard to hone in on the alternate Winchesters and the Bunker. He kills Castiel and Dean first, then finds the other Lucifer’s son, this knock-off copy of what he has. He steals his Grace, and kills the human part that’s left. No use for that, except maybe the bones and blood for ingredients, so Lucifer will have Azazel collect that when he’s done.

Not before dealing with the other Sam, first, though. He always was protective, even if this dimensions version didn’t carry Lucifer’s son inside him. Fitting, really, that Sam should still feel connected. Not like he’s going to get away from that, from one dimension to the next. Lucifer wonders if he felt his own Lucifer die. Considers asking, but he’d rather get home faster. He’s got people waiting, so the sooner he gets Sam’s soul where he needs it, he can head on home.

“Come on, Sam. Don’t fight it. Everyone you love is dead again. Least I can do is ease the pain.” Lucifer says, staring into this Sam’s eyes as he falls to his knees, Lucifer’s hand buried in his chest, ready to rip out the soul, so familiar and bright but not the same as his Sam’s. No comparison there, not at all. The potential just hasn’t been teased out enough…

Still. He has plans for Sam’s other versions of soul, after all. There are just so many uses for them. Spells. Bindings. Gives Lucifer chills just thinking about it.

These other Sam Winchesters should be grateful, really. He’s setting the rest of them free. No afterlife, just blank empty nothing while they are harvested as ingredients.

He can’t make his Sam ascend into the next stage of his new life without some extra soul-juice after all, and these all resonant at fairly similar frequency.

\--

Then Lucifer heads to the next dimension. These loops all crisscross over one another. Some are very different, yet some mirror his own dimension closely. The closer the decisions to home base, the closer the dimension itself is twisted over itself in space-time.

This version of himself is more pitiful than the last, no grace to even speak of. It's so pathetic Lucifer wears Jess, this time. Easier to differentiate himself from the posers that way.

"Ouch. What is this? Cincinnati? Excuse me, could you tell me where I am? Just a moment of your time, sir, 'cause I... I don't know where..." The paltry excuse for a Lucifer stutters, except he isn't Lucifer. Anything that disgustingly weak isn't even an archangel. Just a fallen mockery of all he once was.

Lucifer considers his own fate, and knows that he's doing God's work. Why else would this dimension exist if not for Lucifer to destroy it? I mean, just look at the state of things. Jeez. He doesn't wonder if that could've been him, if he didn't take matters into his own hands and fight the imprisonment God had planned, because then he just wouldn't be him, you know? It's not easy, being trapped in a vessel with no grace. Better death than submission to that kind of fate, really.

Some rich suburbanite with a fake tan steps around the thing wearing Nick's ill-fitting skin. "Oh, my God. When are they ever gonna get those people off the street?"

"Excuse me? Those people?” The pathetic Lucifer asks.

"No eye contact, Beverly." The brunette, who Lucifer bets was a bridezilla back in her day, gossips to her friend, who isn't even listening and keeps typing on her phone.

This other Lucifer pushes his way past and intercepts their trajectory. "You have no idea who you're talking to, lady." He says, pointing, with emphasis, as if his frail state isn't the most unangelic display Lucifer has seen in his life.

The lady hands him a wad of cash, disgust plain as day. "Here. And don't go spending it on drugs now."

The not-Lucifer musters whatever pride he can and throws the handout away.

"I'm Lucifer." He insists. He snaps. 

Nothing happens.

He spreads his hands out and gestures again, with more force and desperation.

Lucifer doesn't know why he's even watching this shit-show. It's almost arresting, in a kind macabre, twisted way. Schadenfreude, really. You can see the denial give way to bargaining in a split second on the other one's face as he keeps ho-humming away.

"Honey, you're not Lucifer. My ex-husband's Lucifer." Fake-tan says with some measure of false sympathy, couched in bitter dry cynicism.

Lucifer stretches and steps out into the sidewalk next to them.

"Yeah, see, I don't remember marrying you." He quips with Jessica's rich twang. "Not my type. Anyway." Then he tosses his head and snaps. Everyone within a hundred miles fall to the ground, dead. Everyone within fifty feet is all diced up minced meat. Except for Lucifer's doppelganger, that is.

His pathetic double stares at him, so lost.

Lucifer pats his cheek. "Spring cleaning, am I right?"

It's real satisfying, breaking his neck and mutilating the body beyond recognition.

Not even a drop of grace to bleed dry, for that one.

What a waste.

Lucifer's foot crunches over the sunglasses fake-tan lady left behind.

Next up to find this dimension's Fantastic Four, Team Free Will and all the baggage that implies. He assures them all the souls of this world will be put to good use, theirs included.

Then Lucifer skips to the next dimension. He can probably hit up three more before the hour is up.

He does have a schedule to keep.

He has to be home to make dinner.

And he hopes Sam enjoyed his alone time with their son. He doesn't get a lot of it, so Lucifer expects some appreciation for giving Sammy space. Not like Sam won't want to encourage him, frantically trying to shut Lucifer's operation down even if he doesn't know what he's dealing with quite yet.

\--

The next Lucifer on his hit list is working with Castiel at a bar. Of all the things except for one, that might just be what bothers Lucifer most.

"He is okay, though, right?" This Satanic ball of nothing that makes Lucifer want to tear up his own skin asks. He doesn't even feel sorry for the guy. He was asking to lose his son, dropping the ball this bad.

"Oh, I'm sure he's fine." This other Cas replies. Lucifer idly wonders what went wrong in this dimension that he isn't trying to stab this Lucifer on sight.

The other Lucifer has some sense and asks, "Well, you don't sound sure. Is he... Is he nearby?"

 _No._ Lucifer thinks and licks Jessica's lips. _Not at all._

"No." Cas says. He doesn't know the half of it.

"Somewhere more distant?"

_Yeah, pretty much. Seeing as, you know... And neither of you felt it. What wastes you two are._

"Yes, more that." Cas doesn't let this dimensions Lucifer's needling get to him. Not like it's hard.

"Oh, my Dad." Lucifer moans, holding his head. "You have no idea where he is."

_That's my cue._

"I do." Lucifer pipes up and pulls up a seat next to them, grace pinning them in place. "And, uh, sorry to be the bearer of bad news." Lucifer continues, not sorry at all. "He's dead. But I promise, you'll be joining him in just a sec. But I gotta ask- actually fucking Kelly. Kelly? Really? Like, did you lose all sense, or do you have no taste? I mean, like, wow. Avoiding Sammy, when he's right there, and touching other humans. I'm... actually not sure I want to acknowledge your existence. But, well, no way around it. Now, both of you hold still-"

\--

Last comes cleanup. Gotta make sure these rifts don't spread where they’ll be inconvenient, after all, and that the souls he's keeping on lockdown don't mess up everything.

Have to keep all the equilibrium of the different dimensions from going haywire and messing the physics of home sweet home up.

Then Lucifer cleans off the blood, makes himself presentable, and stops picks up some groceries. Strawberries and kale, for Sam. Hot sauce. Chicken wings, Noodles, since Jack loves Mac and Cheese. Celery. Blue cheese. Marguerita mix for Brady and Gabe. Pie, just to make Dean uncomfortable.

No need for Sam to get any ideas on where he’s been today, after all.

Then Lucifer flies back to the Bunker, with as much Devil-may-care panache as he can exude, being the Devil.

"Honey, I'm home." He jests, one hand cupped around his mouth even though it's not necessary. Sam and Jack and Cas and Dean are already in the kitchen. Jack's drawing with crayons. Sam's helping him learn Trigonometry and connecting it to Enochian and sigils. Cas is still arguing with Dean over a case, but has cut himself off the moment Lucifer came back in.

Then he's sitting on the kitchen table, ruffling Sam's hair, and looks at his son, who looks up, and then back at Sammy, who is right where he wants him, and asks, "Whatcha want me to fix up for dinner?"


	180. Settle Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by kimbra

Usually, mind-altering monsters instinctually give Sam a wide berth. That's half because they know who and what he is, even the for the ones living under a rock, although many monsters can't recognize the Winchesters on sight. But Sam gives off mental projections enough to make any sane monster pause.

That doesn't stop two types of monsters, though: the desperate ones, and the ambitious. 

Dean's not sure which category these fall under, but he keeps trying to pull himself off of the rigging he's tied to, blood bags slowing draining his life away as he watches Sam twist and turn, having been knocked out from behind and strung up before Dean could provide backup. Next to him, Jack keeps wriggling, not much better off.

Usually, they are more on top of things. But there's ten more djinn here than they were expecting, and Sam's been running on zero sleep for two days, Jack's grace still hasn't fully healed and replenished, and they all threw themselves into their work because Lucifer decided to give Sam three days for himself, and Sam's doing everything to counteract all the other things sloshing around in his head, after being used to having Lucifer near him against his will. Sam, when able to rest and actually recuperate, can adjust to being used to it, but when he's not in a good place, when Lucifer's got him beaten down again, when Sam's nights aren't safe even when his days are his own... All the fallout that inevitably arises when he just hasn't acclimated to the complete loss of grace around him turns into spacing out dissociation, with all of Sam's physical sensations unraveling around him, too.

For thousands of years, there was a painful familiarity in the raw pain of how Sam's body got used to the Cage. Now, after four years with Lucifer back without giving Sam any space, it's gotten used to him again, and not empty air or the total absence of droning grace, and the loss makes Sam twitchy against his will, his skin burning too hot, and with where he's at right now, all that makes him think of is flames.

Point is, everyone has bad days, and today they bit off more than they can chew, and they're clumsy, not on their A game.

Dean shouldn't have let them hunt, but he wasn't thinking, either. He's almost out of gas as Sam, albeit for different reasons.

The worst part is that Jack is captured, too. He's strung up right next to him, across from Sam.

Sam would try and reach out with his mind, but since he got hit first, he's already going under...

Still: the fact remains, that the problem with having your mind not be safe means anything inside it can reach out and nab the intruder. Get too close to a psychic with angel grace inside them and thousands of years of pain all bottled up without release, and anything with mind powers gets a niggling sensation of all that built up mental residue like a nuke that would annihilate anything stupid enough to set it off.

In Sam's case, that day just happened to be today.

The group of djinn weren't trying to be stupid. They just figured that not having to delve into Sam's mind directly, that injecting their poison intravenously would counteract the fallout.

It doesn't pay to gamble, though, when archangels and their vessels are involved. But that's why they took this chance, trying to make a mark on Lucifer.

Too bad they bit off more than they can chew, even if they didn't know it yet.

\--

Sam's inside his head. He knows that. Deep in the deepest parts of his subconscious is a field.

One single field, golden and windy, like every side road in Kansas where the wind blows so hard it will decimate houses without enough trees.

The wind never batters Sam down, though. It just roars, endlessly, as Sam stares out into the empty earth.

Lucifer liked to put him here when he got pushed down, the few times he did.

Liked the emptiness, liked the quiet, and the absence of all life around.

Sam always ends up here or the icy tundra of his oldest dreams when something tries to latch on to all his other memories without actually possessing him. It's like an unconscious dissociation barely lucid but still fighting. Or a waiting room, preparing Sam for the inevitable before whatever poison finds its way into his head.

Sam lets himself stand in the field, sunny and cold and empty, the grass rolling like waves breaking in the oncoming storm.

Sam has grown used to it, here. And it's the only way to stay safe from all the crackling memories welling up like magma below Sam's skin, from all the parts of his soul that were scar tissue down in Hell.

They always break through. But they haven't.

Not yet.

Sometimes Sam catches glimpses of the room they're in, pipes running down the wall and dripping with Dean hanging across from him, his own blood dripping out one slow drop at a time.

Sam is so scared he prays for mercy. He can't see what he wants most, not like this, not with Lucifer...

But Lucifer would show up on his own terms, and right now, Cas and the Devil were out of range, thanks to the newest dimensional invaders. 

And it's not death that scares Sam. Lucifer wouldn't let either of them die permanently, he's proven that much.

It's all the memories Sam knows are going to come for him again.

All his deepest, darkest, shameful secrets he can't let have him and eat him alive.

Not even Gadreel could use these: using them would just make Sam realize he was being used.

And Sam's scared of what he'll find.

He knew what he once wanted. What he wished things could have been.

\--

When the illusion finally comes for him, it feels like being smothered, but also like gently having all Sam's limbs fall asleep, one by one.

Sam's eyelids grow heavy, and then Jack and Dean fade as black smudges blur across his eyelids, which flutter closed-

\--

The sand tickles Sam's feet, warm but not too hot. He sips the strawberry daquiri from it's straw, not minding the cold, because the sun is beaming down on them, and Sam's thirsty as all hell. Dean and Cas have dragged him here as part of celebrating retirement. Sam's been archiving and documenting all the lore they've learned, while Dean's figuring out what he really wants to do, and Cas keeps volunteering as a lifeguard. He figures its the closest he'll get to his roots without giving up his attempts at emulating humanity, for personal reasons. 

Jack keeps trying to catch a blue crab that keeps scuttling away as Kelly tries to help corral it, with Jody's family and Rowena off in the distance playing the most competitive game of friendly volleyball Sam has ever laid eyes on.

Sam keeps lounging on a beach next to Cas and Dean's lawn chairs until Lucifer pulls him up and drags him into the ocean spray, laughter making his head tip back. His teeth glint so very white.

They've been happy, for so long, after Lucifer gave up the Apocalypse. After Michael gave up, they just drove off, anywhere they wanted. Everything else fell into place, and while leaving the hunting life wasn't easy, by now, Sam's considering trying to take the bar again, but he might just help fix cars at Bobby's, seeing as Bobby was close to throwing his own retirement party, too.

He never thought they'd get old and live.

Usually, hunter's lives end bloody.

But they achieved what they could. And they got out. They'll be okay.

They're all going to be okay.

\--

Out of the corner of Sam's eye, he sees Lucifer wearing in his hoodie. Standing on the corner with his hands in his pockets. Smiling the half smile that is so sharp it could cut something, and Sam immediately feels cold, feels terrified, feels the cold sweat wash over him-

\--

The part of Sam's mind rife with fury, rife with memory, screams, and all the djinn inside the room topple, covering their heads.

Sam's nose bleeds.

Dean is groggy, but the grace and psychic strain radiating off Sam is almost enough to stop him going under.

Next to him, Jack is out cold.

\--

Jack is in third grade and making a metal sculpture for art class with scrap he's borrowed from Bobby's. In between breaks, Sam's teaching him calculus.

Dean cooks his favorite chili recipe on the stove, and Sam can smell all the beans and bacon, and it doesn't make his stomach roil, because in this memory, this false, fake happiness, Sam never went to Hell.

\--

In every happy memory, Lucifer still stands there, on the edges of Sam's vision, on every street corner he passes, every mirror, just like Jess had after she died, and then he turns into Sam, wearing his skin, all the cruelty naked in his face, all the things he's promised to do to him, to make Sam into what he wants him to be shining out from every pore-

\--

The part of Sam that remembers everything melts that thought away, and everything becomes burning, seared flesh, and screams torn from Sam's throat, and Sam's hand being ground up into chop meat as Lucifer pushes Sam's arm further into Bobby's garbage disposal.

"What a mouth you have on you, Sammy." He hisses, mouth against Sam's ear. "Maybe I'll have to claim that part of you next..."

\--

The injections the djinn administer can't stand up to the Hell burned inside Sam's skin, every grace memory burning out the molecule of their physical invasion, one drop of blood at a time. To compensate, Sam's mind whirs, and good, real memories from before Hell crowd his mind.

\--

In Sam's deepest depths of his heart, Lucifer presence isn't overwhelming. He isn't always touching him. It's like what they had at Stanford: mutual consideration. Working together.

And every time Sam says no, Lucifer listens.

Lucifer never touches him without permission.

After everything he pulled in Sam's dreams, that's the one line Sam has stuck to, and it's enough, now.

\--

"You're safe." Lucifer promises. "Safe with me."

Only this time, Sam doesn't listen.

All he feels in the thing growing inside him, and the hand in his hair, and the weight, crawling on top of him no matter how much he wants to run-

\--

Under Sam's skin, Lucifer's grace flares, like he's realized just what state Sam's in.

Sam's teeth ache, ringing from the cold. Lucifer's back, then. He's noticed. He's coming for him.

The part of Sam that knows something is wrong can't stop shaking, a constant jabbing pain in his arm sending waves of throbbing pain up his temples and up his spine.

He knows he's helpless, and all he can do is hope Lucifer doesn't see the things he's wanted but doesn't want anymore, even though he does, when he knows he's never going to have it.

\--

"Sam, meet me on the roof!" Jess squeals, holding him close and breathing him in before stepping back and rushing off. After a beat, Sam puts the watering can down and follows her, the smell of foxglove climbing up the walls of their apartment filtering through the window.

The sun shines down, and Sam aced his last test, enough to get enough money for next semester, and when he reaches the roof Jess has a cake with candles in it on their tiny, rickety glass table, complete with soda with little umbrellas.

"Happy 19th birthday, Sammy!" Jess gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, and then pushes the cake towards him when he sits. "I made your favorite!"

Then Brady pops out from behind the sloping part of the roof, party hat on his head and a kazoo in mouth, and they both sing happy birthday, Jessica's voice on key and ringing out, loud and clear, and Brady's off-key and jarring with every single note while he still half plays the kazoo.

It's Sam's first birthday at college, and warmth wells up within him, chasing all doubt away.

This is his life, and he's free, and happy, and he's found people who love him without asking for anything in return, nothing he can't give-

\--

Then everything is red until the red fades into blue shadows, and then everything is burning light, light so bright it burns Sam's eyes and he can't ever look away, because if he doesn't look the pain is worse, as wings brush against his cheekbones-

\--

Sam is possessed, and he is possessing an Archangel as much as the Archangel is inside him. 

It feels like drowning, but Sam doesn't want it to end.

It feels like he's full, but it doesn't hurt.

It feels like adrenaline and constant stroking hands and gentle brushes of lips and eyelashes and promises, and it is the farthest thing from calm-

But it feels perfect. Like they were made to fit like this.

Like Sam is rising up and up and up into the sky, floating away, and he'll never come back down, but it's okay, because this swooping, perfect feeling warms him and feels right, and feels soft and welcoming despite the ice, and Sam is huddling close, not afraid, only feeling wanted, only feeling seen-

Then Sam's feet sink into the snow, red eyes staring back into his. Lucifer's true form hugging him close, bright and endless and it's all Sam can breathe in, because every bright starburst of Lucifer is inside him, making everything feel good

And Sam melts into the softness of wings and hands and mouths, always close, always beautiful, always gentle, and they keep holding him, like they'll never let go, forever.

"You don't have to feel lost anymore. You're safe here." Lucifer promises. "I love you."

And Sam believes him, because he feels it all, too.

He doesn't fear the possessive need he feels gripping him tight.

He sees Lucifer for everything he is, and he can't be afraid, because it all feels so right and Sam doesn't want to let go-

Even if it hurts, it doesn't, because it feels like everything Sam's been missing, everything that made him not feel alone-

\--

Opposite that desire, Sam's other greatest wish burns bright inside him.

What Sam wants most is freedom. Just his body. Nothing too close ready to eat him alive.

Just a feeling of peace. Where Jack draws with crayons next to him, sitting on the hood of the Impala, Dean and Cas sitting off to the side, all of them safe, all of them happy-

Just Sam. No one breathing down his neck.

He just wants gentle love.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer burns and burns into ash from where Sam stabbed him until there is nothing left and he's dead, wing-prints burning in the sand before the ocean washes them away.

\--

Sam's feet stand in sand dunes, the ocean lapping at his feet.

Lucifer has his arm around his shoulder as they watch the horizon.

And in Sam's memory, he thinks, everything will be okay. 

We chose this.

We're safe now.

We can move on and heal and fix this... Sam and Dean and Cas and Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Adam can live, peacefully, freely, no Apocalypse in their way, because they would break the script. They would find another way.

That's the last of Sam's disparate wishes. That the past was different, and none of what happened happened, and Lucifer chose him on that beach, not the Apocalypse, and everything would be okay, and nothing would ever possess him-

Sam could say no, and have it matter.

Love could solve things the way it did in stories, when Sam still believed the force of it would steamroll anything in their way, if they just believed, if they just trusted each other enough...

\--

Sam's mind wails, because his body is his, and he doesn't need Lucifer to be happy, to feel complete, to be free-

And for all of Lucifer's betrayals, that was the worst of them all.

Sam had loved him, and given himself over despite every no, despite everything he fought for, even if it was for a good reason, to save everyone else.

Lucifer had torn him apart in every way imaginable.

Sam's not sure if that's what it was like, the joy, the infinite feeling of sunlight, of being full, all of before the Cage, or if that's what Lucifer made him remember after he broke Sam into what he wanted.

\--

Sam's other deepest desire surfaces, a roaring inferno inside his every vein.

He just wants to be endless, to be unbreakable, to feel safe inside his body and have it not feel disconnected from him-

If he could take every part of himself that made him hurt and make it impenetrable, if he could just feel clean, feel like nothing could find its way inside and break him from the inside out-

If Sam could be as sexless and merciless as an Archangel, maybe he wouldn't belong to anyone at all.

\--

You want someone to love you, Sam. All you want is to be touched, to be cared for, to be accepted, to feel loved.

Lucifer had said those words so many times, they all blurred together.

And Sam could feel Lucifer inside him, and Sam could feel how he hated his body, hated every part of it that didn't feel right, that felt vulnerable, how nothing felt right-

And how Lucifer made him feel good anyway, until it didn't feel like kindness, like safety, anymore.

All it was were things he wanted, that still made him feel something, just like Lucifer did when he was the only one to make Sam feel safe and important, but it all ended with an ecstasy Sam still couldn't say no to.

And saying no was all he wanted. For his decision to matter, even if Lucifer could make him feel anything at all.

It was the principle of having choices, and all Sam wants is for them to not have consequences where his choices don't change what happens to him.

\--

Sam doesn't have to come to. The agony he feels, the pain, the knowing of how not-real all this is...

Sam's mental projections crack the floor, and the djinn all clutch their heads before they liquify from the inside out, blue light flooding the room, and all of the grace re-ignited inside Sam's skin burns them out as Sam's used body smites them where they halfway crawled out of the room.

Sam's mental kinesis also cracks the floor, and all the blood bags and tubes connected to them explodes into pieces of wet plastic.

\--

Sam clutches his head and can't move his legs, collapsed where the restraints holding him broke. His head throbs, and his tongue is bitten, and everything inside him feels like it's on fire-

Jack comes to slowly. Dean helps him to his feet on shaky legs and tries to rush to Sam's side, only to list over from the strain.

Lucifer has been standing there for a few minutes. Watching Sam, and now right there, crouched, in front of him-

He smooths back Sam's hair.

Sam gasps, speaking as he shudders, accusing, because he has nothing to fight with, absolutely nothing at all, "You could've stopped them."

Lucifer gently lifts Sam up, arms locked around Sam's waist as he keeps them chest-to-chest.

"I could have." Lucifer agrees, all amiable, a languid smile creeping across his face.

Then he cups Sam's jaw, mouth inches from Sam's own.

"But why would I, when you did so beautifully?" He moves Sam's head to survey the damage, then twists it back to look at him. Lucifer eyes are endless pits, keeping Sam drowning as he looks into the thing that lit him up from the inside and froze him until he shattered. "And why would I, Sammy, when all those little memories shut down all those lies you tell yourself?" Lucifer lips brush Sam's own, just barely, as he keeps talking, "You've always wanted me, Sam. Always belonged to me. Always loved me. I'm just giving you what you want, even if you won't let yourself feast."


	181. La La La

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by naughty boy
> 
> also post this chapter i was gonna have sam with his own lighthouse hiding spot/personal space area with some more stuff going on with Jack and Kelly and ppl but that never happened either and that's the other thing I'm working on trying to get to work with me

Sam's used to blocking Lucifer out. He's had to learn how, since he's always there, always talking, always present and touching him and inside his head and heart.

He's got more than enough to distract him, luckily, since so many people are alive.

Alive, because Lucifer was going to make them useful, sure.

But they're alive.

And if Sam is grateful, it only works in his favor.

\--

Sam used to try to distance himself from the past.

Now, with Lucifer always in the background, always finding a way in...

The past is a retreat, too. But not for the reasons Lucifer pretends.

No, for Sam...

Remembering what was good and what could have been only makes Sam's resolve stronger. It lets him pretend Lucifer isn't hurting him, that he can survive this, that he knows this, when things are good (for calculated reasons, always for Lucifer's benefit, really, to eke out what he wants from Sam, because Sam's the only person he wants real control over, because Sam loved him more than anyone else, and fought him harder, and Lucifer cannot lose that, always chasing something he tries to beat into Sam but that he can't, because it's like drawing water from stone, or silence from too much noise. It works, but not the way he wants it to. Never that).

Remembering gives Sam the means to see just how good things used to be, and how bad Lucifer is now, and reminds him that for all his threats and bargains and invasions, Lucifer can't rip what he wants from Sam, because he burnt this house down all on his own, with his own two hands, hands he used with Sam's own skin.

\--

Sam dances with Jack. Or he plays the radio. Blares it louder and louder, like "Broken Crown" by Mumford and Sons, or songs by Of Monsters and Men, or "Dancing in the Moonlight" by King Harvest. Or he plays Dean's favorite hard rock tracks, when he just wants to drown Lucifer out with loud, wailing guitars.

Or he sings in the car, be it the Impala or Lucifer's red Dodge or Bobby's beat-up truck or Castiel's newly acquired minivan he shares with Donna and Jody after their car got totaled on a hunt.

Sam belts out too loud and off-key, on purpose, the way he used to do with Dean, because Sam learned how to properly sing, before Lucifer drilled it into him...

Or he sits cross-legged on the floor of the war room and reads aloud "Snow White" or "The Dark is Rising" or "A Wrinkle In Time" or "The Silmarillion" or "Holes" or "I, Robot" or "Where the Wild Things Are," or "Goodnight, Moon" or "A Series of Unfortunate Events" or "The Wizard of Oz" or or "Journey to the Center of the Earth" or "Redwall," with a quiet intensity when Jack grabs a book off the shelf and begs him to read more, always the one picking the story, although he lets Owen, Magda, Claire, Patience, Kaia, and Dean, and Cas weigh in and vote. He's been into mermaids and robots and space travel these days.

When Sam can't talk, he finds things to do with his hands, or his body. Reminds himself how to move, how to keep every micro-action fluid and at ease, because after a while, the crackling ice rubs the skin of Sam's knuckles and ribs and nose raw, and it becomes too tiring to hold all the stress in, from Lucifer being so close, always close, even when he isn't necking Sam's unfortunate throat with barely any energy contained.

Sam does a lot of push-ups. Tai Chi, even, to control his breathing and his heartbeat, so often co-opted by someone who once made him so blissfully calm and who Sam could never let lull him into complacency again.

Mostly, though, Sam punches a lot of sandbags. Does lateral stretches with Jack trying for as many pull-ups as he manage, although he cheats putting his head over the bar sometimes enough to make Sam laugh.

Slow moments. Repetitive ones. Predictable things, things he can control.

Sam goes on a lot of hikes when he has time with Jack, or Dean, or Rowena, or Cas, or Charlie, or Kevin, or Max, or Amy, or Jody, or Donna, or Alex. Anyone whose up for it that week, really, and when they reach the end of the trail they go birdwatching or, when Balthazar joins and Jack is there, make marshmellows, because more than one angel and the children have a sweet tooth that borders on criminal.

Gabriel always avoids those nature walks. Hates them with a passion, because they remind him of things he'd rather avoid, of times when his brothers and him would just be, from the times before. Sometimes he goes on trips with Charlie and Rowena and Balthazar to the city and brings back all sorts of objects, some that make sense, like wormwood or other spell ingredients or alcohol, or others that make no sense, like a trumpet he found in an antique shop. Sam fiddles around with those, too, but draws back when Lucifer gets too handsy, himself.

Sometimes Gabriel takes everyone for a jaunty walk through the city, with Dean complaining only for the sake of it, even though he likes the hustle and bustle and people watching and bar scene.

But Sam prefers it quiet, more often than not, and goes kayaking with Eileen or Adam or Jack when that gets to be too much, or he drives the Impala himself to old historical landmarks, or goes to the nearby abandoned lighthouse to think and sketch out large murals of sigils and wards, in giant gobs of paint, with large strokes, enough to cover the inside of the lighthouse with all the scaffolding climbing to the top.

He's never really alone, Lucifer always stops by.

But he has space, in those moments. The absence of constant violence.

Otherwise...

Every other morning Sam jogs with Cas and Jo and even, Meg, sometimes, because Sam might hate her but she at least is a distraction. 

Helping Eileen in the garden, dirt on his fingernails, patting down the soft, loamy soil, damp from a sprinkler and a running hose that hisses and spits at a dull dribble.

At least, until Sam cranks up the dial and takes the hose and turn it into a water fight, with Jack and Eileen on one side and Sam and Max on the other. It doesn't even hurt when the hose gets turned back on his and soaks his shirt and it all ices over later, spiderwebbing across his chest as Lucifer holds him close until he forced to change his shirt into another flannel, one that always warm from the laundry that's always humming.

Sam's pretty sure the drier is possessed since it never stops running, just keeps shuddering constantly from whatever spell Max and Alicia used that went awry. Thankfully, the generator's powered by Archangels, so they aren't sucking up energy constantly from where it's needed.

When he's readying for a hunt, Lucifer's hand on his thigh or an arm around his waist, he polishes his gun, and makes sure to triple check Jack's safety, or his hand brushes Dean's, or he pats Castiel's shoulder...

And when he's trapped in the shower, alone, except for him...

He picks the shampoo up and lathers it before Lucifer sometimes makes up his mind. Or if the soap is in Lucifer hands, he guides it over his own skin, hand in hand with the Devil, because it's his movements, his slippery fingers, not just Lucifer, not just stasis...

It's the small things.

\--

The quiet moments are like waiting. Like inhaling.

The deep plunge into the cold.

Watching the first snow fall.

Smelling cocoa and watching the way whipped cream swirls over it as the steam wafts up and the rich, velvety warmth smooths some of Sam's chapped lips from feeling the phantom chill that stings there.

Eyeing the sunbeams that filter through the blinds, curled up under too-tight sheets with a tingling caress stroking through Sam's hair and down his spine, too-tight fingers wrapped around Sam's own...

The ruffle of the newspaper as Bobby sips hazelnut coffee and scans for cases or classifieds, for the coupons, as Sam brews another batch for the next wave of people when they wake up.

Dusting off old books in the library, inhaling the scent of old parchment and cracked leather.

The way flour puffs out and makes every cough as it dusts Sam's cheeks and Jack's eyebrows as they fail to make cupcakes from scratch.

Watching the way Dean mops up Baby's windshield, circling with bold strokes and scrunched sponge, suds released in a trail of bubbles.

Watching the slight tremble of fallen red and yellow leaves on the porch, ones that shiver until they fly off the wood grain and past the empty yard, into dew-covered grass and thickset pine trees.

The the wind howls. The ground rolls in with white fog.

The way Owen and Jack sneak candy corn and gamble with Gabriel, Cas, Rowena, and Patience, candy their newfound currency.

The pumpkins rot on the porch, carved faces Claire and Owen and Jack made with Dean and Kaia holding up their lopsided, candle-lit smiles like melted wax.

The sound of geese in the distance, honking distant noise, or the sound of crows as Rowena feeds them birdseed, crouched by the far side of the forest.

Sometimes, when the day is stormy, Sam will go outside and hold his arms out in the storm, rain pelting his skin, and he'll wash his bloody clothes by hand outside, and Sully helps scrub the evidence of Sam's own blood away, a silent companion.

Lightning barely makes Sam flinch any more.

He's conditioned himself to indifference.

It's not like it's even that cold out, in the driving rain. And it's not like he's going to get pneumonia unless Lucifer gets something out of it, and he gets bored with Sam when he lets him get sick, if he even manages to get sick at all.

\--

The loud moments are raucous laughter, or the claps on the back from a job well done, a day ended, and the crushing warmth of giant hugs from Mom or Bobby or Dean or Amy or Kelly or Jody or Donna or Ellen or Eileen or Jo or Adam, too tight, and sitting by the roaring, crackling fire, or the TV, yelling about what they're going to watch, or what case to take, or the jokes everyone clings to to hide from the prison they are all trapped in.

A Cage, really. Because that's what Earth is, now. Lucifer's Cage, with all of them players in a game they can't quit.

But Sam will make a Heaven out of this Hell, because he has to, and because the Earth was never Lucifer's to take, or own, or make into his own gilded terrarium to keep Sam and trap him there with all his loved ones as hostages.

\--

But the thing Sam does most is hold Jack in his arms, dancing with his son balancing on the tops of his shoes, singing and dancing with his son and or holding him up and spinning him around, letting the world blur as he makes sure he's smiling and finding something for Jack to latch on to, because he deserves to have a childhood, to have happiness, and Sam will make himself happy if it will give it to him.

And Sam is happy, when he can find it. He has people who love him.

He's not just beholden to the Devil-

He can see Dean smile and hold Cas close, can see Bobby and Mary bickering over a case, can see Jo and Ellen laying out on the lawn with blankets, can see Adam re-organizing the Bunker's whole archival records, can hear Rowena and Eileen laughing over some joke at Gabriel's expense, can watch Cas fail to help Claire ice-skate gracefully, Patience laughing her ass off at the sight-

And if Lucifer's fingers rub the inside of Sam's palm when he grabs hold of Sam's wrist, too tight when he draws his forearm back to bring Sam in close. And if he backs him up against the doorframe so his head hits the side of it when he leans in and kisses Sam's temple and his jaw, before he drags Sam down the hall and locks the door so Sam gets cut off from everything, well...

Sam still got to kiss his son goodnight, and tuck the covers beneath his chin, and hold his hand and sing him to sleep.

He can find joy, in that, at least, and Sam doesn't have to lose everything.

Even if that's a calculated move, Sam will hold on to what he has.


	182. Make Me Wanna Die

When Lucifer flies Sam back to the Bunker, Claire is the one to greet them in silence by the porch. Cas is with her but set back on the corners of the porch, behind the rocking chair Dean has passed out in while sitting and attempting to keep watch. Castiel's wings rustle out, two long shadows, all his blue-fire-and-burning-coal-eyes open to witness and catalog every sin the Devil would pay for, for every physical and spiritual mark he'd make on his vessel and carved deep into Sam's tired, tired eyelids.

Rowena tends the fire beyond the doorway, a few feet away. 

Claire helps Sam tug a jacket over his arm as walks past, and Cas gets up to try and stop her from what he sees her moving to do next, because it's not safe-

Lucifer's wings pin Cas to the wall, having thrown his focus off of Claire.

Ignoring the danger, Claire Novak intercepts the Devil by stepping between him and the one he claims to love.

And it was love. Claire saw. Had seen it. Had lived it her own way.

Claire knew the different shades of love angels felt.

She heard it in the way Balthazar's footsteps echoed as he danced carefully inside whatever man had let him in, through the careful clatter of his footsteps and the way he rolls his cufflinks and folds the edges over and combs his hair when he thinks no one can feel his own tentative, lost steps to a dance he doesn't know how to follow, long used to the trust of the man who had wanted no more awareness, only the peace Balthazar could promise him.

Had tasted it when she kissed Ambriel under the mistletoe on a dare, with both of them secretly too scared to muster the courage to ask the person they wanted to kiss out. Ambriel looked at her, thrown and distracted, not seeing her but looking inwards.

She'd observed it when she sponged down and tended to Raphael's other discarded vessel while Lucifer was still trying to bring Raphael back and his vessels wouldn't hold, only split apart at the seams while Claire filled in that one time Alex was off-duty in the med wing, and she pressed a pillow over the poor wretch's head to end it, after they looked into her eyes, nearly braindead, with only passing moments of clarity enough to beg for this and nothing else. They were slated to die slow, otherwise. And Lucifer had already chosen another skin to try for his brother, the last useless human as easily discarded as the next.

Had glanced it in the haunted looks Adam gave his own eyes in the reflection of the window sometimes, or the way he'd bow his head and not look at any angel at all.

Saw it in the half-asleep yawning disbelief as Dean looks at his own hands, sometimes, from the time the other Michael was inside him before he got forced out.

She'd seen it inside herself, when all of Castiel had looked at her, saw her mind, and said: **I can give you no peace. Only purpose.** Not fatherly love, never that, and not brotherly, either, uncanny enough to almost be akin to it but not reaching its mark at all. Castiel's love had been the same love a soldier has for a nameless stranger with a mind as distant as a sudden fog over a bay, love for a toddler he sees off playing in a playground, sniffing flowers, before the toddler tears up the earth and runs without any direction.

Lucifer's love is altogether feral and mindless and pure. Sharper, and more human, and all the more dangerous because he loves and carves and takes with all the fury of an Archangel. Covetous, jealous love.

Lucifer keeps hold of Sam's wrist. Not tightening around it with the challenge. But it's there. Cold. Constant. Nails glinting from the porchlight.

And Claire plants her feet, lungs in between Lucifer as she barely brushes against Sam, who doesn't stumble but doesn't anticipate this at all, being almost numb and unresponsive from disbelief and the exhaustion leeching out of him.

_Sam, this is your life. Where there is no way for anyone to protect you from all that you've earned, yet your buddies are still trying anyway, even though they'll never come close to honoring and earning the sacrifices you made for them._

Claire remains an obstacle in between the line that sings between the Devil and his prey for one second, staring Satan down.

She hisses, "I know what you are. You're ugly. You're weak. And," Claire inhales, then tilts her jaw up, eyes burning as she orders, "You will let go of him now."

Lucifer laughs, sudden noise all loud and throaty, and leans against the door.

Sam pulls Claire back and steps between them, reflexes responding, breaking the shield she had temporarily become.

Dean is out cold, so deep asleep that he doesn't even startle awake from the loud, sudden noise he otherwise would leap up and confront. Old habits have been retrained from the new situations, from constant sleep deprivation and drills and princes of Hell keeping him on his toes.

No one wakes him. Cas would, but the slight shake of Sam's head stops him.

Lucifer's laughter trails off as he wipes a fake tear from his eyes, fainter, dry chuckles and one sigh all genuine. He suffered more backtalk he otherwise wouldn't indulge from Claire and Cas. To prove a point, really. To show how powerless they are.

Because Lucifer knows Claire, too. Knows her from being inside Cas, because Cas had seen her soul.

Lucifer likes to remind the two of them in ways he otherwise wouldn't remind any other vessel he's ever known by allowing small rebellions that did little to change anything.

(Adam didn't need any reminders. He only got vague, bored disregard or calculating, shrewd consideration when Lucifer saw an opportunity to squeeze Sam by involving him, or icy furious rage when Lucifer thinks of how Adam said yes. John was treated with indifference, like a machine, a tool, to be kicked and broken when inconvenient, always reminded of his irrelevance and the way he failed. Mary didn't need reminders, either, except when Lucifer wanted to tear her apart. Otherwise, Mary received only taunts and baiting and smiles and whispered thanks for bringing Sam into the world and handing him over. Otherwise: Dean was always Dean. His script had been long since set. Lucifer's default setting with him was always impatient, bitter sass or a false, long-suffering fondness couched in contempt and their long history and the cruel need to torture, all spurred by the need to make Dean pray for Sam, to make Dean grovel and make beg and remember he was Lucifer's tool now, not Michael's, only treated with kindness to win Sam's compliance. To make Dean pay for ruining what Lucifer had drawn out of Sam and held on to, forever, for trying to take Sam away. Lucifer didn't suffer Dean because every interaction he has with him is a reminder of all he'd done and failed to do and would always fail to do- because Sam was Lucifer's, and Lucifer's alone.)

This isn't just about Sam, although she is trying to support him the only way she thinks will help. The only way that matters, one possession victim to another.

And Claire prays, in silence, like she never has since the day she once let Castiel in-

_I know what it's like to see. There's no space to hide when you're inside someone._

She says, aloud. "Sam knows you. He's seen you for everything you are. And he's going to be the one to break you one day."

At the bitten off declaration, Lucifer doesn't smile at her, and only tilts his head. Humans are so limited in their dimensions. Craning helps angels to see, to work through the refractions and angles and the bleeding colors of the human's own frequencies of soul. Helps pin down the fragile threads that are so thin and easily unraveled.

Lucifer taps his jawline. "Who says he hasn't already?" He answers. Ambiguous. Flat and blank and every bit angel working out a puzzle he understands but finds engaging anyway.

Sam looks at Claire without any expression except a mix of confusion and grateful support and fear, and the need to protect, until Lucifer tugs his arm back in a silent message Sam understands immediately. Sam gently guides Claire out of the way, steers her by the shoulders, gentle but sure, because if she didn't move Lucifer would lay a hand on her and if she didn't push, Lucifer would back off, not wanting to make actual contact anyway. The Devil was always cagey with touching people who weren't Sam when he could avoid it, unless he was ripping them to pieces. That hadn't changed.

Sam and the Devil step through the threshold of the door, into this home that was a home only because there was nowhere else to go. Because Lucifer made it theirs, no matter what Sam wanted.

Sam looks over his shoulder and gives Claire a small smile of thanks, but it's always tempered by the constant, hyper-vigilant swallows and small twitches Sam can't suppress after hours of being the sole focus of the Devil's attention. It's late, too. 

Sam gets led upstairs.

It's only after Sam is out of sight that Cas wakes Dean up and guides him into the Bunker. He knows Sam can't bear to have Dean destroy himself for this, can't look at the defeated expression on Dean's face, Dean's hand still bloody from the last time he broke a mirror-

Claire locks the door behind them so flurries of snow don't pile up past the doorway.

Rowena keeps sweeping by the fireplace, and then pulls out the Book of the Damned.

Claire joins her, Kevin, Ash, Max, Adam, Kelly, Bobby, and Jo in the library.

They have work to do.

\--

Claire never forgot what it was like to house an angel, not once.

In fact, she'd say it was a fairly definitive experience for her development.

The time before it all, when all she knew was her own small human mind.

The time during, where everything was light and sound and timeless crashing cymbals and waves of primordial intent, beyond the scope of any feeling, filling her beyond the brim so her soul felt like it could touch the edges of the solar system and pluck the planets from the sky-

And the time after. The time when you are emptier. Lonelier.

Free.

But really, it had started the moment Cas walked her father off the porch, out past the gate, and beyond the sidewalk, only blank lack of any recognizable feeling on her father's once comforting face.

Housing an angel had felt like her soul was melted wax dripping and congealing around itself only to twist into formless, seeping void.

At least until Cas pulled her under and made everything go blank, like medical anesthesia. Like falling into a deep, yawning sleep.

He hadn't wanted her to feel pain when he smote demons or healed her wounds. She could still feel pain of injuries or burn her eyes on the waves of his grace, even if she fit well enough and healed immediately.

Possession doesn't mitigate the pain.

And the vast, bright lightning of an archangel coiled too deeply inside was a nucleus ready to split apart, holding so much potential any human skin never felt big enough.

Not unless the host was a True Vessel.

But those are few and far between.

Jimmy had been that for Cas, almost. Just on the cusp of being perfect, with only a few flaws that reminded Cas how he'd still seared the man's insides where the angelic grace spilled and crackled against his soul, not enough to combust or corrode but enough to scrape and sting from the raw power of it.

Jimmy Novak had always been a pious man. Unflinching. Resolute. Trusting. That's why he was chosen. He and Cas believed in that much, just as they cared, in their own way.

But unlike Cas, who unlearned the skill through trials and hastily corrected errors tested in fire and rooms full of sharp grace and mechanical reminders, Jimmy had never needed to ask questions. He believed because it felt right. Because he felt how he fit into the world.

Because belief was enough.

Jimmy Novak had what he needed, and thus did not ask for much in return. He was only grateful. Mindful of his blessings.

But more than that, Jimmy Novak had been a gentle soul. Cas always remembers how it felt.

Just as he remembers how conflicted he became after Cas walked him out the door. 

The grief didn't start until a mile away, because denial came first, because Jimmy believed, and because Cas cared, on some level.

Not enough, not with any kind of human understanding, not by a longshot-

But he put Jimmy under after he explained the necessity.

Cas hadn't meant to cause Jimmy pain.

But sometimes, pain was part of the job. Part of upholding the will of the Highest. Of following Heaven's only true plan to usher in what must happen, what God had left for them to do-

Cas more than regrets almost all of it now, after all the humanity he's lived through, after all his mistakes and attempts to fix them, every experience he's lived with Sam and Dean and while sick without his own grace a stark reminder of all he did not know back then, no matter how much it had been necessary.

But he remembers how Claire felt inside, too. How her heart burned true. How determined and sad and full of blame she'd been, so scared and uncertain, with Cas unable to tell her to not be afraid, because even Heaven was afraid, and that's why they must adhere to it's justice-

Cas had answered: **_Do not blame yourself. You did not cause this. Your father has always loved you._**

In return, Claire had asked, had demanded, why he had chosen this, why he left, why he had led all of this back to them, why her mother wasn't herself-

And Cas imparted every feeling Jimmy Novak felt, being taken from his family.

Just as Castiel had tried to explain to Claire what possession entailed as best he was able, once he realized Jimmy did not know what he was in for and the damage that had caused, even if being an angel meant some things were beyond comprehension not just for a ten year old's experience to know, but for any human of any experience or any age, really.

Except now, these days, Sam knew. Sam had lived it all too long. But he was the exception to the rule, as always.

But back then, Cas needed his vessels to understand their true purpose. To be one with the plan. To not suffer, because Castiel did not wish them to suffer anything of his design, or suffer from the wounds inflicted upon him by enemies, unknowingly or otherwise.

He couldn't spend a long time making sure everything explanation was as thorough as he'd otherwise prefer.

Heaven had been angry and righteous and enthusiastic in fixing Castiel's swayed loyalties and correcting mistakes, or so he'd thought, based on how they retrained him upstairs after dragging him out from Jimmy's skin...

And this was an urgent calling. Claire had not been safe. Jimmy was dying. Sam was failing and falling prey to the blood, still heading down that path Cas knows he must follow, to elevate Heaven and end this strife once and for all.

Dean was in danger of not following Heaven's plan.

But Claire was a direct and inquisitive child. She wanted answers, and Cas was nothing if not direct and technical and did not sugarcoat his answers.

He did not hide what saying yes meant before he chose to let her small child body house him.

Nor did he hide it when he saw Jimmy's stricken face as he begged Cas to take him back, and spare his daughter the life he'd accidentally chosen for himself, from a thankless, dangerous task he could only shield her from, not protect.

No vessels are ever really safe.

The calling is in their blood.

But he could make them understand their Yes was a sacrifice that was needed, and appreciated, and part of something bigger than them.

These days, Cas can't say he feels the same.

He's not sure any price is worth it for any human.

Perhaps it makes him a traitor of an angel, of his kind, like so many claim. Perhaps he is only allowed such feelings out of hypocrisy, because he has a body now that doesn't hold Jimmy Novak or any human soul, because Jimmy Novak was dead and God had remade Cas for his own designs.

Perhaps the Leviathans ate any kind of symbiotic understanding of his own angelic self and after Lucifer they all left something vile and empty and twisted in their wake, so much so that even with them gone, Castiel knows how possession must really feel for the one being possessed, how imbalanced it is, how much it isn't worth it for the human.

Castiel once felt like angels were pure and right and perfect.

Now, he'd say humans have it more figured out than them, and were right to be wary.

Even when evenly matched, like Lucifer and Sam, because Sam withstood him, stood toe to toe with him and wrestled back control like Cas almost did once, but even that was uneven.

Possession made both the angel and the human feel too much, and those feelings were liable to tear them apart.

Maybe Cas was jaded, though. He'd seen too much, too many abuses, too many cruelties, visited by his own kind on the rest of God's creations and the humans they had been professed to protect and love.

Perhaps God's vision of love and trust had only ever been an illusion, because they had all disappointed God enough that God had left.

Except Cas refuses to believe that, deep down.

They could make themselves worthy and the protectors they were supposed to be, even if they had been made to be weapons, the mighty instruments of war.

Cas has to believe there is a way for angels to claw themselves back into grace and kindness and the vision that would not burn the world in their image, much like they had tried to do for so very long.

He has to believe living among humans could still teach the angels how to heal themselves so they are not scourges of the world, instead living alongside every tiny organism, from extremophiles to the largest blue whales. Not as overseers or guiding shepherds but lost sheep wandering in pursuit of something greater than themselves, just like humanity, only where humanity creates and imagines angels build and ward off the external forces that threatened to eat the world alive.

So that everything an angel is isn't light and awe and terror, too infinite and endless and burning for the rest of the world to withstand.

\--

By the next morning, Cas has made up his mind on his next move. The look Castiel sees on Sam's face from across the room as Dean holds his shoulder and Lucifer tugs him close and the way Sam flinches but has nowhere to go-

When Dean and Sam and Lucifer and Jack leave on a case, this time, Castiel follows Claire to the workshop and shreds one of his wings for the cause. They grind his feathers into dust for the components, imbuing the old ritual traps with wards and the particle oscillator, the radio wires, the sigils on the Angel tablet Kevin translated, and the remains of the cracked hyperbolic pulse generator to create their hybrid machine and angelic trap. 

Claire, Max, Rowena, Kelly, Bobby, Ash, Adam, and Kevin continue their work. Charlie and Ash's particle scattering field is still dormant, not yet tested until they know their ingredients and spells are pure and not liable to backfire.

But all that is left for this next ritual is the last ingredient, the one Gabriel is hunting down with Joshua, Benny, and Charlie, and then they'll see if this plan had any chance in Hell of making a dent in Lucifer's plans for all of them, for all those he's allowed to keep breathing on this earth.

He didn't resurrect them without having a plan.

The only question is if their continued existence was meant as a means to control Sam, or to use them for something else, or both.


	183. Soap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> young jack stuff that's out of order probably also i'm 99% sure this never was completed

Ever since Jack got injured and drained of most of his grace, Jack's stamina has been worrying. Jack can't run like he used to, is short of breath, gets a fever and complains of a sore throat...

Sam can feel Jack's barely there grace stuttering, pulsing faintly but without the robust notes and boundless warm energy it usually has. Lucifer assures both of them Jack's grace will replenish (and doesn't get any angrier after Jack snuck off alone, which both of them are grateful for), but it doesn't really reassure them.

Jack can't be healed by Lucifer or Gabriel or anyone, so far. His status as a nephilim apparently means some things just don't work, with makes Lucifer distinctly upset, and just as obsessed with healing Jack as Sam is, although Sam knows that any good will Lucifer has, while in play, is not mitigated by his own possessive, selfish interest and need for control over what he deems is his.

All in all, Jack feels useless and defenseless and exhausted, ready to collapse, but doesn't want Sam to worry. He can't shapeshift while depowered, either, so he's stuck looking nine and is not very happy with how short he is. He doesn't mind being picked up, though. Sam carries him from room to room, swaddled in blankets and trying not to panic.

Sam, Cas, Dean, Mary, Rowena, Jody, Donna, Gabriel, Claire, Alex, and Lucifer all remain keyed in to panic anyway.

It's when Jack starts coughing up blood that Sam decides enough is enough, and when not frantically researching everything he can, attends to Jack with anything he can think of.

Even cooperates with Lucifer.

It's weird, being on the same page. But Jack is first priority, so Sam tries not to think about it too much.

Jack's mostly confined to bedrest. However, being only almost two, he still can't exactly take baths unattended, especially not now, seeing as he doesn't really have any concrete survival skills when off-balance without his grace and if he has a coughing fit or passes out, he could fall over and drown. He's congested and his chest hurts and he keeps coughing up blood and phlegm, way too much for Sam's liking, and Sam and Rowena and Cas frantically try to make any remedies they can through witchcraft when Jack sleeps, to little avail. Gabriel tries to help but doesn't have much in the way of ideas, although he looks through whatever old stores of vaults he knows of for other options and ideas. 

Sam makes sure Jack has a way to contact him directly with whatever he needs, be it cell phone or otherwise, even if Lucifer can tell if Jack, and if no one leaves him alone unattended.

Otherwise, Sam and Lucifer try to figure out direct ways to replenish Jack's grace separately, seeing as Sam doesn't think having them all tired, and nervous, and in the same room is a good idea.

But right now, Jack is shivering, and he needs a bath, so Sam makes sure water is warm and steaming but not too hot to burn, and helps Jack wash. Jack's favorite rubber duck joins him, although Jack doesn't really have the energy to do anything other than sniffle and cough as the steam helps clear his airways. His head hangs, and there's dark bags under his eyes.

Sam washes Jack's hair carefully, so that no shampoo stings his eyes or that any tangles snarl in his hair when it's clear Jack is too tired to try and lather it himself.

Halfway through, Jack leans his head into Sam's hand and mumbles, "Can we add a bubbles?" Trying to smile, before having another coughing fit.

Sam helps him keep his chest elevated as Jack coughs into his shoulder.

Lucifer flies in, finished soup in hand, and sets it on the counter.

It's a sign of how tired Jack is that he doesn't meet his eyes and barely flinches at the surprise arrival, unused to not being able to sense Lucifer's arrival and feeling out of place, and he barely hunches in on himself, too tired to really commit to how vulnerable he feels.

"That chicken noodle?" Sam asks, voice raw.

Lucifer answers, "The one and only."

Doesn't joke, because he knows Sam will only turn on him, and because he's not too thrilled by Jack's condition, so it's not really a laughing matter. His son shouldn't even be in this position.

Jack is too tired to say anything, but seeing as he knows Cas and Dean made the soup themselves, and that he'd otherwise like it if his tastebuds worked right now and all he didn't taste was metal and phlegm, he almost smiles. Sam makes sure he doesn't list over in the tub.

With his other hand, Sam points at the cabinet, not looking at Lucifer at all.

"Can you get the bubblebath?" Sam asks.

Lucifer complies and retrieves it from below the sink without comment.

Sam snatches it from his hand without turning and pours some in, pointedly ignoring how Lucifer is crouching next to him or how one hand settles on his face.

Jack pokes at the bubbles and sighs. He feels better, having more cover, and pretending he isn't about to fall asleep if the pain in his chest would just stop squeezing so much.

Lucifer feels Jack forehead.

"How's the fever?" Sam asks, voice shot.

The moment Lucifer stops touching Jack, he leans further away without realizing. The buzz of grace feels much colder, now that he doesn't have his own to keep himself warm.

Lucifer shakes his head.

"102. Still better than yesterday."

Jack knows that's not ideal, but also can tell from the way Sam and Lucifer are trying to be nonchalant that that isn't exactly a good thing.

Sam closes his eyes for a second and inhales, trying to remain calm.

**Not by much. Have we found anything?**

_Well, after you came up here, I've found one thing we can try. After he's asleep though. It'll be less stressful for him that way._

**Fine.**

Sam doesn't have the energy to wonder what kind of process it is. Lucifer has no reason to hurt Jack, or let him languish like this.

Even if he's enjoying the small amount of power it gives him, even if he likes the fact Sam is forced to work with him about this-

His pride, as an archangel, as a father, means that Jack being sick is a personal affront.

And if he wanted to keep Jack and Sam compliant, he'd just let Sam get sick, instead. Much easier for him to deal with.

Jack... Jack's a different animal entirely. Lucifer wants him strong, so he can mold him into who he wants him to be.

Sam knows this.

And no potential weapon (weapon, because hearts are weapons, minds are weapons, get someone under their thumb, get them loyal and afraid and willing and they're the most terrifying weapons of all).

There's no point in keeping Jack sick.

So Sam can't worry.

And if it's something Sam won't like...

He's done worse, saving his family.

Sam will take the path that will keep Jack safest, will help him heal, in any form, if it means Jack isn't suffering.

And if Lucifer gets results, well...

He'd deal with whatever costs were accrued.

Part of Sam wishes he could hate himself for being manipulated so easily because of how much he loved Jack, how much he needed to protect him, how much Lucifer used him to keep Sam in line-

But Sam knows his priorities, and he knows his role as a Dad, and most of all, Sam knows that when push comes to shove, this is about Jack, and Jack's future, and Jack's well-being, and that comes before any and all history that might be making Sam nervous as to what Lucifer might have in mind.

Sam helps Jack out of the tub when he asks. Lucifer looks away at Jack's request, and Lucifer snaps, and Jack is dry immediately, no threat of pneumonia or bronchitis on top of drained grace and whatever immune system Jack has a threat, and Sam helps Jack dress and tucks him into bed, not leaving the chair by his side once.

After Lucifer's helped Jack sip down the soup and Jack's asleep again, Sam looks at Lucifer.

"What do we have to do?" He asks.

Lucifer waves an older, falling apart stone tablet in his hands and points out the relevant sections in Enochian, crouching as he leans one hand against Sam's thigh.

"This looks promising. Thoughts?"


	184. Do You Need Someone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by beth ditto

Jody rubs her eyes and places her glass down by the sink with a thin, ringing reverb of cut off sound, and keeps looking out the window. Outside, the lake is like smooth glass, placid and still, although underneath Jody thinks she can feel the channels of salt and groundwater rushing under their feet, as close enough of a natural protection as they are going to get from the earth while everyone's stuck bunking with demons and angels. The clouds are low to the ground, mist and fog choking the long grass peeking up from beyond the edges of the gravel driveway.

"Do you think we're all going to be okay?" Jody asks, fidgeting with her hands, her eyes dropping to the tile floor.

Donna rubs her back and envelopes her in a hug.

"Jodes, I think, that whatever happens, long as we got you and me, we can bash and smash every obstacle in our way." Then her tone turns less bombastic and cheery, quiet in a way she gets with Jody later at night, when she's not too sure herself. Then Donna takes one step back to give Jody space, but also to look at her properly. "I know you got a lot on your plate. But you can't keep being a lionness for everyone. Even hunters need rest."

Jody lets out a breath. "Yeah. I suppose... I just... I feel so useless!" She exclaims throws up her hands, and then they fall, holding Donna closer, and Donna rubs her shoulders. 

"We all do, Jodio. We all do." Donna answers sadly.

"Our family..." And Jody's voice breaks. "All of them... It's like trying to fight smoke while the fire keeps on burning." She clenches her teeth and crosses her arms, all the unused energy she can't fight anything with curling under her skin and tightening in her throat. She feels dizzy and claustrophobic and useless- and she hates that. She's used to always pushing forwards, always moving.

Donna was always good at centering her, though. Helping her wait things out. Re-assessing and dialing it back. They were good together, that way.

"Hun, I getcha. I really do. But don't you forget- we're all tenacious, no matter what odds we're playing against. Claire and Alex are rooting-tootin' and ready to fight fire with fire, and Sam and Jack and Dean and Castiel, they all got each other's backs... And all of us, we aren't giving up on each other. And we can play the long game, too. We're survivors." Donna comforts, and then she smiles, gesturing outwards with a sweeping motion. "And if anyone tries to mess with my clan, well. They don't call me Donna the Disreputable for nuthin'- I played defense on my hockey squad when I was yay big," Donna holds out her hands to her waist for comparison. "And I used to faint at the sight of blood. But look at me now! If I can square up and face all this angelic celestial nonsense, well, it can't ever top the time we had to deal with the flock of geese that got loose in the precinct. Ain't too different, now that I think about it, actually. Angels seem just as hostile and hard to herd. That's why you had to run at them head first and choke 'em out, so they couldn't peck you to death. Guess we'll just have to fight this head on, too."

Jody laughs, and Donna smiles, glad she could lighten the load. But then Donna turns serious and contemplative, massaging her own temples, too, as she scuffs her feet. Her voice is still light, though. Still hiding her own uncertainty.

"And dontcha know by now, after all those poker hands-"

"You mean the one's you always cheat?" Jody goads, mumbling.

"Hey, there's cheating," Donna argues. "And there's taking initiative when a poor sucker is blinkered out of their jimmies and is just asking for a reality check. And as far as my hands with you, well, strip poker does not count." Then Donna waggles her eyebrows, and Jody laughs again, although her shoulders still slope, and she keeps leaning into the hug, not wanting to look at anything, just holding Donna and not letting go. Just listening to her words like it will make the static pins-and-needles melt away.

"Point is, when I gamble, I win. And I'm looking out for my family, every last one of us. So don't you fret. You don't got to carry the load all the time. I'm here. And we can share the load and watch each other's backs. Just like we always do." Donna kisses Jody on the lips, looking serious again. Then she adds, quiet but sure, "And far as Owen is concerned... He'll pull through. I know he will. He's a real trooper, fighting the good fight. Just like his mama."

Jody rests her head on Donna's shoulders and puts her hand over Donna's own, their wedding rings twining with their fingertips together, and leans her head on Donna's shoulder.

"Thanks, sugar."

"Anytime, Jodes. Long as we're alive, I'm fighting the good fight with you." Donna assures.


	185. Old College Try

"-And I didn't get resurrected from nothing to pall around with you sorry sights, yet here we are. " Balthazar starts in, scrunching his nose at Ruby and chugging more bourbon than necessary. Sam suspects he stole it from Crowley sometime in between his attempts to stare at nothing, but to be fair, he doesn't care. He's just doing his best to ignore the cold hand kneading into his shoulder and keeps pretending Lucifer isn't _this_ close to flying him and Jack somewhere on their own again for an impromptu vacation.

So if it means making small talk with angels and demons in the meantime and pretending to be as aggressively untouched as possible, then that's what it takes.

"Keep it civil." Sam warns in Enochian. The last thing they need is another bloodbath from everyone not getting along. That, and Lucifer's grip is definitely pinching a bit harder, which only means Sam will order whoever he has to around if it means keeping Lucifer from deciding he needs to take control instead.

Balthazar takes the hint and shuts up.

Dean looks at Sam, then Ellen and Bobby, and tries to redirect and take back the reigns as best he can.

"Instead of focusing on the unknowns, let's look at what we know for sure. It's not a wendigo." Dean argues, crossing it off the whiteboard.

"Or a ghoul." Jack supplies, not looking up from crafting a friendship bracelet as he passes the grainy photos of the scene to Mia, who chews on the edge of a pencil.

"Or a chupacabra." Mary sighs, crossing the other options off the list.

"Or Bigfoot." Gabriel chuckles from across the room, and Bobby gives him a look, which does nothing.

"What?" Gabriel shrugs. "All those small time shambling eyesores all kinda blur together, and I had way more important things to focus on than whatever Eve took a fancy to."

"This coming from the guy who turned Loch Ness into his own personal fishbowl." Crowley mutters under his breath.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Nessie is a sweetheart and not bothering anyone, thank you very much. She helps keep down the kelpie population, too, so you can thank her for your precious ecosystem."

"And she's older than you." Balthazar pipes up. "Been swimming around since the Cenozoic."

"Yeah. Show some respect." Meg laughs, stealing Jo's bottle of scotch out of her hand as she drapes herself over John Winchester's lap just out of principle. John tenses and has to hold back from stabbing her with the nearest sharp object, mostly because the last time this happened, Mary and Azazel were trapped in a room again as a consequence, and no one really wants a rerun.

Sam keeps his eyes on the table, or on the rainbow yarn he's steadily unrolling for Jack's project. There is a lot more alcohol in the house lately, and that is saying something. Then again, angels and demons and archangels haven't exactly been buddies with each other or humans since forever, and Sam honestly prefers this to the alternative. Particularly since Alastair is still hunched over in the corner, sharpening a knife, and Dean can't help but not turn in that direction even as he keeps pacing.

Sam clears his throat.

"Maybe it's imitating the kills of other types of monsters to throw hunters off the scent?" He murmurs, rifling through their notes.

Rowena keeps drawing more sigils on the corner of her notes. "Might be relative to a banshee. Less flashy-"

"Banshees pick people off one by one." Eileen says as she signs. "And this shows more than one person dying at the same exact time, like clockwork, the coroner's report here proves it-" Charlie challenges.

"Sure, but the EMF levels, the range of kills, the spread of the bodies, the vic's MO, that matches a banshee-" Kevin's leg bounces as he constantly readjusts in his chair next to Bobby.

Ash leans on the table next to him and points to the spread of the photographs. "Yeah, but the kills themselves... I mean, we're looking at something that is clearly eating it's victims and dicing them up first, which doesn't match anything else."

"What about a gorgon?" Eileen signs, pointing at one of the killsites. "It seems to be a step ahead of the hunters who it's caught."

Sam reopens another book on gorgons and their relatives, and Abaddon takes her chance to run her mouth the only chance she'll get.

"Shouldn't this little murder mystery be easier to solve? No disrespect, Boss, but this is the worst game of 'how many hunters does it take to kill a monster' I've ever had to watch. I'm actually feeling secondhand embarrassment." Abaddon mumbles and looks down the moment Lucifer makes eye contact.

"If you're so good at it, maybe you should kill it, how's that sound-" Dean growls, and then she's looking up again and baring her teeth in a smile that's a bit too plastered on to be anything other than a threat. Lucifer holds up a hand, though, and she doesn't move an inch.

Brady deflects from the minefield that at the new threat plus the look Sam shoots him, and motions to Jack, "This is what I don't get. Why don't you just airdrop Boy Wonder Jr. into the area, have him shazam-up, and then decimate whatever the thing is? He can already fry soft targets without smiting the whole town, so why all the hardboiled sleuthing?"

Lucifer detaches his grip from Sam's arm and leans forward, open palms not exactly making the gesture any less threatening. "Same reason I don't deal with it myself or fly Sam and Dean here to an area and let them run wild. Not everything is a show of force. Sometimes, you just have to work for results. The whole point of this is to foster creativity, innovation, and teamwork. To learn patience. Something you all should relearn, if this exercise has proven anything. And if Jack wants to solve the case their way, then, who am I to say no?"


	186. Diamond Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by kerli
> 
> this never got completed but donna is hard to write and i'm still happy i got at least a paragraph for her

"Alright, sheriff coming through! Move your keisters, folks, we got an emergency!" Donna shouts, pushing through the crowd of hunters. The crowd parts like water, recognizing the take-charge no nonsense timbre of Donna's tone.

What she sees stops her in her tracks.

Dead angel wings imprinted on the ground. Damaged from the fall, the imprint is hazy and broken, but it burns and keeps the ground singed all the same. But this kind doesn't look like the run-of-the-mall dead angel. No, there's veins climbing and creeping out along the grass. Like the way polymers and soot binds like spiderwebs after housefires, or like mold growing in webbed paths.

It doesn't look right, and Donna steps back on instinct.

She knows who to call.

"Hey, fellas. Betcha wanna come out here and see this, if you can. I'm sending over the evidence now. I think we've got ourselves lead."


	187. Chandelier

"I need something to take the edge off." Sam pleads to the group before Lucifer flies him away again.

Mia, Rowena, Kelly, Max, and Donna put their heads together. Alicia, Kevin, Bobby, and Charlie join the fray soon after, brainstorming. Everyone gets involved in some capacity after that, even if it's just to add one suggestion.

It's a weird thing, planning a party when no one feels like celebrating. But everyone's been so scared, it's almost like a release that stops everyone from losing their minds. Sam wants everyone to have that, needs a break himself, so everyone tries to be as festive as possible and the planning ends up going all out. Not even angels and demons can ruin the party when they do show up after everything gone full swing. (They don't even want to, after the day they've had.)

Amy, Mick, Eileen, Alicia, and Meg start a betting pool over who can get the demons and angels drunk faster. Lilith and Dagon and Abaddon actually get into a really intense battle over who can win after that, and Dean only knows because he's been avoiding them trying to get him involved in their stupid challenge. Ramiel and Gabriel help him out of that situation real fast, and Dean hasn't a clue why those two have been so buddy-buddy lately. Maybe its the apathy. Dean doesn't see Alastair, Ruby, Asmodeus, or Azazel anywhere and thanks whoever is keeping them occupied and out of the way.

Dean admits, loudspeakers and streamers and cake and copious amounts of booze does help with the whole process of letting loose.

Dean got to the party late, around 10 pm, finally showing up after Jack has been tucked into bed and watched out for by Cas, who elects to stay upstairs with the kid where it is quiet.

Dean thinks maybe the reason Cas is avoiding the party might have more to do with Lucifer than anything. Wonders if its something to with what he knows about Sam, or if Sam asked him personally to keep an eye on Jack.

By the time Dean gets down there, Sam is more drunk than anyone else and having the time of his life. Dancing with everyone, singing karaoke, the whole nine yards. Lucifer remains within five feet of him no matter where he goes.

And as it turns out, when drunk, Sam's powers also manifest differently. Still project so every sees what he sees, but not entirely zapping everything away, and his radius isn't consistent while the settings change on a dime. Dean recognizes a fort they built outside once, a club they visited, an old oyster shack with the best lobster rolls, the backyard, Bobby's, the beach-

At one point Sam even manifests a pole that he swings on for fives minutes before wandering away, because Lucifer keeps flying him all over the place whenever Sam says something. Dean watches Sam pour down rows of shots and drinks Meg, Crowley, Jo, Ash, and Ellen are all mixing on and off for hours. No one cuts Sam off even if they wanted to, partially because of Lucifer and partially because Sam requested they didn't before he even started drinking.

Dean keeps his distance. Sam had asked him to earlier that morning. Wants him to have a good time.

Dean thinks its more to hide how not-okay Sam is underneath it all. 

But Dean dances with Kelly and Mary and Charlie and Claire and Mick and Eileen and Lily and Gabriel and Kevin and Pamela and even Crowley and Bela and Balthazar, anyway, just to get his mind off things.

Balthazar keeps trying to get him to try the baked goods Missouri, Patience, Kaia, Bobby, Mick, Rowena, Crowley, Jesse, and Claire collaborated to cook up for the night before the festivities started, and some who couldn't bake still stuck around for the company. There's even pizza and appetizers and full catering thanks to Gabriel and Ash pulling some strings.

Dean sees John by the door at one point, eyeing Mom, but then loses him in the crowd. Something tells Dean he was forced to join in the party against his will, but Dean doesn't really care. Raphael, oddly enough, sticks by him on the fringes, which makes sense since they both aren't really interested, but Dean is surprised he's even invited.

Dean doesn't let himself get too distracted, however.

He's too worried about Sam and whatever Lucifer is doing to him behind closed doors that led to him asking for his in the first place.

\--

By 12:45 am, Sam is back at the counter of the kitchen pouring shot glasses, his own psychic ten-foot hallucination making half of the kitchen appear like some veranda outside in the daytime surrounded by pale yellow and white and indigo flowers. The sunlight and blue sky clashes with the strobe lights and streamers in the other room.

Weirdly enough, all the furniture remains visible no matter what hallucination Sam's mind jumps into.

"He just downed 12 shots in one minute flat." Kelly notes abruptly as she looks away from the ruckus back towards the kitchen at Sam, who is still being trailed by Lucifer like he's physically attached.

"I counted him downing 24 at the beginning of the night." Donna adds.

"How is he still standing upright?" Charlie asks, and Dean's heart clenches as they see Sam whispering into Lucifer's ear. The two fly right next to them, Sam stumbling and tottering as he lists to the side slightly. The hallucination changes to some bar no one except Sam likely recognizes.

"I love you," Sam sings as he hugs each of the huddled posse. Sam always was a happy and delirious drunk when he got far enough.

"I'm been ensuring he doesn't die from liver failure." Lucifer cuts in, still keeping one hand on Sam's shoulder at all times. Sam breaks away and laughs and then leans into Lucifer's chest.

Sam remains completely and totally wasted. He'd be blacking out and puking up his guts and having organ failure if not for divine intervention.

"Angels! No hangovers!" Sam sings, and then he's laughing and dancing again, pulling Lucifer closer.

"You disgust me." Rowena hisses at the Devil as he dips Sam, movement fluid and without pause.

Lucifer's eyebrows raise as he pulls Sam upright and keeps him from falling over.

"The feeling is mutual, Red. Now, if you'll excuse us. Sam's got a lot of stress to work off. Busy night." Lucifer assures too easily.

The two of them wander off back into the rest of the party. Sam's hallucination changes the streamers and strobe lights into the night sky outside. They can hear an ocean crashing in the distance even though the real ocean is nowhere near the Bunker.

Dean catches the eyes of the huddled group and leaves them to go intercede and to stop Lucifer getting his brother all alone.

"Dean!" Sam cries, and then he's hugging him again. Dean hugs back, and then Sam reels out of his grip, mindless of his own size and strength.

"Look, just leave Sam alone, just for one night." Dean starts in, actually pleading. Lucifer's arm drapes over Sam's waist as Sam looks around the party without a care.

Lucifer gives him a distinctly unimpressed look. "Afraid I can't. Sam needs a chaperone. And you don't want me going anywhere, do you, Sammy?"

"No. Stay." Sam answers, his wandering attentions only gained from the grace sliding lightly over him. Even Dean can feel the cold bleeding through.

Dean gets pushed out of the way as Sam fucking hugs the Devil.

"Too hot." He murmurs into Lucifer's shoulder. Sam's lips are practically blue.

"I know, Sam. I know. Best I can do." Lucifer's hand weaves in his hair.

Sam draws back. His eyes narrow as he looks at Lucifer accusingly, trying to form actual words.

"Untrue." He manages to grate out.

Lucifer sighs at whatever unsaid amalgamation of words Sam's drunk mind sent on over. Dean can tell from the way his wings ripple and shift, unseen, around Sam and the way Lucifer's expression scrunches.

"Sam, I'm not possessing you. Especially not like this." Lucifer answers, although his tone is far too fond and his face flickers with a smile.

"Why is that your line?" Dean can't help but ask, so angry he's too calm.

Lucifer turns his attentions back to him, but not for long.

"Pardon?"

"You've ignored Sam's consent before. Why is this your one line?" Dean clarifies.

Lucifer looks back at Sam, stops him from stumbling, then turns back, and shrugs.

"Dean, I always give Sam options. You can't choose when drunk." Lucifer's voice is too light and matter-of-fact, like a knife cutting into Dean as he weighs his words with consideration, hands still all over Sam in every way they shouldn't be. "Second, it doesn't teach him anything if Sam can't remember afterwards." Lucifer adds with a tilt of his head, then finishes with a careful hiss, "And as easy-going and adorable as he is like this, Sam's much more flexible and fun when sober."

Lucifer winks.

Dean would punch him if that wouldn't chance punching Sam, whose movements are too erratic to predict.

"If Sam weren't wasted he'd be telling you to get off him." Dean growls, drawing himself upright.

"Fortunately, Sam is very, very wasted, just like he had planned, so you can get your ugly mug out of my face." Lucifer's tone becomes all ice, but Sam taps him on the shoulder.

"Outside?" Sam asks, too hopeful, his pupils dilated.

Then he fucking kisses Lucifer like he isn't scared to death, and Lucifer flies them off again.

Dean wants to scream or break something.

\--

(insert Sam and Lucifer scene?)

\--

When they come back, Dean catches them flying into the kitchen. It's not hard to spot, because Sam is singing very loudly.

However, a minute after their return, it gets quiet. Too quiet. The music starts to fade, but it's not them, it's Sam-

Something sets Sam off, a glint of metal maybe, and he collapses into himself on the floor. Lucifer cradles his fall.

The music cuts out completely and all anyone can see is the Cage for and the miles and miles of red light and fire outside it. All they can hear is a dull roar and pounding of blood in their ears. Sam's hallucination branches out and infects the entire first floor, and this time, it takes everything familiar with it except the people inside the building.

Dean runs to catch up to them, Rowena and Kelly not far behind.

"Sam? Sam, you with me?" Lucifer prompts, crouched down to next him.

He holds out an arm, grace instructing, _He needs space._

Like hell he does.

Sam remains curled up on the floor in a ball, crying.

"It burns." Sam wails, and then Lucifer is holding him, cradling him closer, wings wrapped around him so that even Dean can see the shadow of them.

"I know, Sam." Lucifer says. He's too calm.

Sam's pulse visibly jumps in his neck and then he's flailing.

"Don't let go." Sam clings to Lucifer like he's drowning.

"I won't." Lucifer assures. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam."

Sam starts hyperventilating and then they can hear screaming and he curls back into a ball and the fire is closer and it's so _hot_ -

_Sam, I've got you. You're okay. Breathe. I'm here. I'm right here._

They all hear Lucifer's grace whisper at Sam, the Devil not bothering to muffle it as the frost covers Sam and the area around them, keeping the flames back.

**Don't leave me again.**

Only it's Sam's shaky thoughts they hear now, louder than the projected grace, ringing in their heads clear as a bell.

_I'm not going anywhere, I promise._

**I love you please don't leave me here again please I'll be good I need you don't leave-**

"Sam, I'm going to sober you up now. Okay?" Lucifer says at the same time. It's not a request.

Archangel blood gets forced down Sam's throat, and then the sight of the Cage and the burning and the fire fades, and all that's left is people standing aimless and scared in the kitchen, air conditioning whirring and strobe lights still flickering and music blasting away as Sam remains crumpled on the floor. 

Sam shakes, silent, and then Lucifer presses two fingers to Sam's forehead. Sam's his breathing calms, but his eyes remain squeezed shut as he remains in Lucifer's arms.

The party keeps going as Lucifer waves and sends everyone darting away with a few pointed words, no one anxious for Lucifer to make good on his threats.

Dean stares at the Devil, fists shaking at his sides and sweat dripping from his brow, wishing he could do anything to hurt him, anything at all-

"Sam. You wanna stay here or have me move you?" Lucifer asks.

Sam shakes his head and just curls tighter into Lucifer's arms, not actually deciding...

"Get me off the floor." Sam finally rasps, voice low and shaky and not carrying an ounce of the levity that it did while drunk.

Lucifer flies him to the couch in the other room away from everything, where it is quiet. Sam still doesn't fucking move away from him.

Dean follows them back over the long way. Mary and John are sitting there already, Cas flying in on the periphery until Lucifer pointedly sends grace keeping him at a distance. Cas flies off again, still glaring at Lucifer even as he heads back upstairs.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asks.

Sam doesn't respond, his eyes still closed.

"You get your hands off him-" Dean snarls, but Lucifer pokes Sam's shoulder, making a point.

"You know, I don't think I will." Lucifer drawls, and then keeps touching Sam more, his wings already draped like a blanket over him.

Sam stays curled up and keeps leaning against Lucifer, almost nestling closer. Its strange, how small he can get in comparison to how tall he is.

_What do you think, Sam? Want me to leave you high and dry?_

**No.** **Just let me rest. Please.**

"You heard him." Lucifer answers, tongue flicking as he pops the syllables. "Not going anywhere."

There's a pause while no one speaks, Mary and John and Dean all glaring at the Devil.

"You know, I never properly thanked you for making this so easy." Lucifer starts in, eyeing John, Mary, and Dean with glittering, ill-disguised malice as he cradles Sam closer.

Mary tries to get up and leave, but finds she can't quite move from her place on the couch. A muscle ticks in Dean's temple.

"You're sick, you know that. Sick." Dean hisses.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. "This coming from you. You know, I never understood why Sam always gave you more chances than he did me. Never made sense. Until I realized..."

"Spare me the speech." Dean answers.

"You came over here, Dean. I'm just making conversation." Lucifer maintains, all faux-innocence.

"Sure you are." Dean growls, and then he has to look away from the Devil's too drawn face, from the thing he can almost see leeching out beneath his human skin.

"Mary, you're awfully quiet." Lucifer changes tact. "You mind starting us off?"

"I have already said everything I need to say." She answers stiffly. She wouldn't say anything at all if it wasn't for Sam being trapped as he is.

"I doubt that, but fair." Lucifer purrs. "John... We haven't talked much. Hellhound got your tongue?"

John doesn't respond or look at the Devil until Lucifer waves an arm and makes him.

"Because it sure looks like I was interrupting something when we got here. Something tells me Dean probably would be interested."

"Look, you clearly have something you want to say." Dean snarls. "So just get it over with."

"If you insist." Lucifer's smile is all teeth, but his eyes glow. "This discussion is long overdue."

Sam is so still he might actually be asleep. Dean thinks he is. His breathing is less labored.

There's still ice on his eyelashes.

"The reason Sam gave you so many chances is all because he loves you less." Lucifer starts in, idly flexing his palms as he glances at his nails.

Dean's hand digs into the armrest of the couch. Lucifer continues to card his fingers over Sam's forehead.

"You do realize that makes zero sense, Satan?" He manages to force out, laughing a little, but it isn't happy.

"At first, yes, but hear me out. After you sold him to Azazel, Mary, what do you think Sam's life was like? John and Dean clue you in yet?"

"I know enough." Mary answers softly, glancing at Dean.

Dean looks down at the coffee table between them and wishes he could brain Lucifer with it.

"That's not evasive at all. Let me give you the quick and dirty rundown. John here," Lucifer points, tone acid, "Lied to Sam. Said your death was all his fault. Only, it wasn't even like that, was it? More like... this."

Lucifer waves, grace singing around them, and then the scenery around them is melting into a memory of Sam's, a memory Dean recognizes because he was their. It's one of their old bedrooms. Dean also knows this memory, and he fears it, because he's pretty sure even John doesn't remember it, was too drunk to know. Neither of them told him what he did...

Sam is four. Wearing pattered dress pajamas. Hair short and curly around Sam's ears.

"You don't ever talk about her, you understand?" John is crouching down level with Sam, and Dean is off to the side, unable to say anything.

Sam can smell the alcohol on John's lips and doesn't move, eyes wide.

"But-"

"Samantha Willow Winchester. You do not ask about her." John growls, face too close too Sam. Hands on Sam's sides.

"Why not?" Sam challenges, eyes watering.

"Because you killed her." 

Then John lets go, stumbling away, and Dean grabs Sam and gets them both to bed, comforting, but also too young, not knowing what else to say except, "He doesn't mean it, Sam, don't cry-"

The memory ends.

Mary looks green. John looks away.

Dean can't keep his eyes off his brother.

Sam still doesn't even flinch.

Motion catches Dean's peripheral gaze as Lucifer motions, "Some way to raise a kid, am I right?"

"Why are you doing this?" Dean asks, swallowing. "Just... They're Sam's memories."

"Exactly, Dean. You all blame him for everything. I'm just showing you how much you failed him. Why I won't leave him. How I am still protecting him, after everything. I think everyone could use a reminder, since I'm sure none of you ever sat down and discussed any of this."

"We don't need your weird mockup of a family therapy session-"

"I beg to differ. And you are going to listen, one way or another. Because, Dean, you need to learn by now. Sam is mine. Sam will always be mine. And you should just let him live his life without interfering, just like he always wanted."

"You can't claim that this is what he wants-"

"What I want is what he wants, Dean. He made that choice when he threw us back downstairs. Didn't you, Sammy?"

Sam still doesn't move.

Lucifer allows the disobedience without punishment. Sam's already too out of it by now. "And he's always needed me. God made sure."

The next memory is one Dean doesn't know.

_Sam is five. The clock reads 5:40 am next to him. Dean is asleep, out cold in the bed next to him._

_"God," Sam starts, very small. Moonlight spills over the bed in slatted lines, past the drawn shades. "Can you make sure Dean is okay? And Dad? And Katy from down the street? And all those people in the grocery store? Amen."_

_Sam tries to roll over and sleep, but after a second, rolls back over and keeps looking at the window. "And can you take care of Mom in Heaven?"_

_Then Sam rolls over again._

_"God... Will you listen to me? Dean says so, because you have to. And I have no one else to talk to because everyone is asleep." Sam continues on, instructive. "I saw something in my dream. But I don't think it's a dream. It feels real. Dean says only crazy people think dreams are real, but Dean didn't think I could get the cookies from the jar over the 'frigerator, but I did, I floated them down, so what does he know?" Sam yawns, and then continues, mumbling, "In my dream, it's cold. It makes all the burning go away. The thing in my dream... I think it's scared and trapped. Like me. And it wants to be free. Maybe you can make it better? Maybe it can be my friend? And then it can take me away so we can go outside and Dad doesn't yell or scare me and Dean anymore? Amen. Goodnight, God."_

_And then Sam goes to sleep._

The memory wanes.

"See, Sam prayed for me. Prayed for me because of what you did." Lucifer gloats.

Dean doesn't look at anything, until he's staring the Devil down in his red, red eyes.

"You have no right to be showing us this." He grits out. "Sam-"

"Everything Sam is and ever was belongs to me, Dean. It's not like you can use it against him, or that he minds. He's got other things to worry his pretty head about."

"What is the point of this-"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out."

And then the room is shifting again.

\--

(more flashbacks and discussions of childhood neglect, abuse, triangulation, the works, Lucifer being a evil asshole preying on Sam through pretending to be not awful)

\--

(insert s1 and s1E20 memories and the fight memories and Sam stuff from the show)

\--

"You know what, Satan. Let's say you're right. Let's say Sam loves you more than he did any of us because of what we did. Do you think that's going to matter? After everything you did to Sam yourself, do you think he's going to forgive you?" Dean asks, too loud.

"I think-" Lucifer cuts in, all danger, all stillness, all quiet, voice as sharp as a knife-

The room shifts around them, into a tundra, all ice and sleet and cold, and even Lucifer seems surprised for a second-

Sam's voice startles them all. "Just shut up, Lucifer. I can't fucking sleep."

Then he shifts in Lucifer's arms like he doesn't have anything left to give.

The echo of whatever memory that was tapers off, and they are sitting on the couch again. Dean hears all the music has stopped in the other room. The clock on the wall reads 3:30 am.

Dean wonders if maybe this whole show wasn't meant for him or Mary or John at all.

Before Lucifer can say anything else, Priscilla bounds in, having left Jack sleeping in his bed. She attempts to start licking Sam's face, but Lucifer gives some order in Enochian so she instead curls up next to Sam, licking his bare feet. Dean's not sure when he lost his shoes. Sam's out cold.

"Sam'll stay here for the night, I think." Lucifer decides.

Dean knows that his cue they are dismissed whether they want to be or not.

_Oh, and John. Don't think you aren't going to pay for everything you did. I am, after all, the only one whose allowed to hurt Sam from here on out. And you have a long backlog to make up for._

Lucifer's grace calls after them.

Dean doesn't sleep at all that night.


	188. Laughing With A Mouth of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by st. vincent
> 
> also there was a part that was unfinished in here somewhere it was supposed to bridge a conversation about Dean and the Mark and being a demon with the rest of the demon hierarchy and what's happening with heaven and hell and Cain and Lilith stuff but I never got to that part

“Oh, don’t mind Lilith. She’s just jealous.” Meg interrupts, a conspiratorial, mischievous smile on her face.

“You little insect-” Lilith hisses, reaching across the table, but Azazel and Abaddon stop her. Ruby hides laughter.

“See, she loved Lucifer first. But he doesn’t love her, not like he looooves you. ‘Cause, he hates humans, right, that’s why he twisted her up. Twisted us all, although Ruby and I were... delegated. Just the price you pay for power, we all took it. And then… You come along, and you’re his _favorite_ , and he’s over the goddamn moon, and he doesn’t want to turn you or anything, no, because you’re his One True Vessel, made for him, God’s fucking gift. One gift-wrapped Samuel William Winchester, just perfect as you are. And then, to add insult to injury, she has to die to let him out, and you get to kill her? After everything she did for him? And you take forever after dragging your feet, and aren't even properly grateful afterwards? So don’t take it too personal, Sammy. She’s got nothing on you… Especially not after Lucifer is done with you, with his plans.”

Lilith keeps spitting fire, but Abbadon pats her shoulder, also smiling.

“Meg here is right, Lils. Don’t go knocking her for being honest. Jealousy doesn’t look good on you. Besides,” Then she turns to Sam, red ringlets bobbing, lips red as blood as they enunciate clearly, “Look at Sam here. He’s like a little caterpillar, trapped in his cocoon until he gets turned into a itty bitty butterfly and-”

“I think that’s enough from the peanut gallery. Don’t you agree, Abby?” Lucifer’s voice cuts in. Sam can feel wingtips caressing his thighs as Lucifer’s grace slides on over, a phantom touch against his spine and neck, an ice cube down his back.

Every demon stills and looks down.

“Of course.” Abbadon bows her head and looks the picture of fucking reverence.

Then Lucifer sits down next to Sam, one of Nick’s fingers trailing from his jawline to shoulder, the contact just nicking below Sam’s shirt.

“No need for such petty squabbling. We’re all better than that. And all of you, my children or not, have our parts to play. Azazel, you’re my right-hand man. Reliable. Innovative. A one-of-a-kind talent scout. Cain, you are a commander, you know how to get things done, how to bring out the best in the recruits, and you get it done, no hesitation, once you're brought back into the fold. Ramiel, you’re a jack-of-all-trades. A machinist, a weapons dealer, a salesmen and a hunter, and even when you need some encouragement, you know your craft. Asmodeus, you’re my jailer, a ringmaster, and an entrepreneur. Your ideas might not always pan out, but what you lack in finesse you make up for in ingenuity. Dagon, you’re my spy, my assassin, a supple knife, sliding in where people least expect it, getting what I need done without anyone seeing it coming. And Abby dear, you’re a precision strike nuclear bomb, destroying everything I need destroyed without leaving a trace, unless I want you to. Lilith… You know what I made you to be. You know people’s weak points and you exploit them. You’re an enforcer, but you can use that tongue of yours to rally the masses and bring people to their knees, like they should. Alastair, you’re an artist, you keep the cogs of Hell running like a well-oiled machine. Meg, what you lack in raw power you make up for in enthusiasm, cunning, and creativity. And Ruby, well, you are my dark horse ensemble, you thrive on the element of surprise. All of you, a work of art. As for Sammy, here...” Lucifer trails off and licks his lips. “He’s special.”

Lucifer yanks Sam out of the chair by the roots of his hair, sending Sam toppling to his knees. Lucifer keeps going. “He doesn’t need to be managed the same way as you did to get where you are. He’s something entirely different. Made just right. How about that.”

One hand presses into the nape of Sam’s neck until the whites of Sam’s eyes are level with Lucifer’s navel, Lucifer’s own legs splayed wide, kneecaps facing outwards. Pointy and bony and sharp, like the angles stealing over his face.

Sam doesn’t look into Lucifer’s red, red eyes or cutting, glacially white smile or the ridge of his jeans or-

Or at anything at all.

_Don’t you worry, I’m not one for an audience. Too messy, too many voyeurs sucking the fun out of everything. But you know that. You know how much I prefer getting you all alone._

Sam swallows. His throat is too tight.

“What do you think you are, Sam? You want to sing it out for me?”

Sam feels the pulsing of a vein in his neck and forgets to breathe.

_Oooh, you delectable, shy little bitch. You are such a tease sometime, drawing this out._

**Lucifer-**

_What are you, Sam? I want to hear it._

**Yours.**

_And?_

Gabriel and Raphael pointedly don’t look at anything, Gabriel’s eyes engaging with a piece of lint.

Dean grits his teeth. Feels the rage surging back all over again as he is reminded how useless he truly is.

Lucifer’s head cranes downwards.

“I’m not hearing words, Sammy.”

Sam speaks aloud, the sound barely anything.

_Good enough. Not English, but I always love it when you talk dirty. I am such a good teacher, don’t you agree?_

And then Sam is scooped up into Lucifer’s lap, kept from shaking only from the grace bearing down on him and the wings blanketing him, too soft and close. His back presses into Lucifer’s collarbone, Lucifer’s chin resting on Sam’s shoulder.

Lucifer acts as if the conversation never got derailed, arms wrapped around Sam to keep him upright. One hand keeps idly playing with the top button on Sam’s shirt, poking it in and out and in and-

“So. Moving on to business. You’re all here because we all need to work together. That includes you, Dean. Especially after what the Mark did to you, once upon a time. Opens up a whole new can of worms.”

\--

(conversation about what the plan for the hierarchy of Hell and other main plans Lucifer has go here- until things get derailed)

\--

And then there’s an Archangel blade sticking out from Lucifer’s back. The table catches fire from the Archangel’s palms, his true form bursting out as it burns, sparks flying, waves of grace collapsing in over themselves. The sight of it fries every demon in the room. Castiel’s wings shield Dean’s eyes, while Gabriel backs away from the flames as if they are contagious, eyes averted, because Lucifer is still his brother, still a remnant from the beginning before Gabriel’s creation even if he knows he deserves this and more, but mostly because Gabriel is also an archangel and existential terror wins out, the concept too close to home.

Sam watches, unharmed, because Lucifer’s true form, alone, is all his to see in all its glory.

Sam’s hands shake where he holds the hilt.

The light and fire fades too quickly.

Sam lets go, knees shaking. No air is enough to keep the ice out.

**Not dead not dead not dead-**

_No, Sam. Despite your best attempts._

Lucifer turns around.

Very, very slowly, pulls the Archangel blade out.

“Sammy-”

Sam stands, frozen in place.

Watches, a cornered animal, ice coating the walls and the floor and Sam’s lungs and heart and-

Lucifer’s grace is silent again. A vacuum.

“Who gave this to you? Hmm? Kelly? Gabriel? Ramiel? Dean?”

Sam can’t breathe as Lucifer reels him in close, arms locked under Sam’s as sharp fingers dig into Sam’s clavicle, always that haunting, unforgettable face inches from Sam’s own.

“Sam. Do not make me ask again.”

Icy breaths gust out between them.

Sam stays silent.

Lucifer snaps. And Dean and Castiel and Mary and Kelly and Bobby and Jack and everyone else in the Bunker, human and angel and demon and monster, everyone who wasn’t present for Lucifer’s eye-melting lightshow bleed-through (except for Cas and Sam and Dean), are lined up right out the gate.

“Jack.” Lucifer says, tone flat.

Sam finds his voice then, feels the compulsion, eyes tearing up. “It wasn’t him.”

Lucifer silences him by just narrowing his red eyes. A white-knuckled fist jams under Sam’s throat, not quite circling it yet. 

“Compel Castiel and Bobby to tell you if they gave Sam the blade he tried to _murder_ me with.” Lucifer continues, as if Sam hadn’t said anything. The nerves of Lucifer's fist twitch against the ridges of Sam's throat.

Jack complies, because he’s terrified of how Lucifer is looking at Sam, only Sam, never looking away-

Both Castiel and Bobby answer in the negative.

Lucifer doesn’t smile, merely undoes the fist and points to the door.

“You. Watch my son, make sure he stays where he's supposed to. Jack, keep Priscilla here. Listen to Bobby, for Sam's sake, if not mine. Castiel, escort the two of them out of here. Then, come right back. Think you can do that?" Lucifer adds. His lip curls, nostrils flaring.

_Or I will make you._

Castiel listens despite the fact he’d rather do absolutely anything else.

Lucifer lets the silence drag on longer, both hands both again holding Sam up against him, their faces centimeters apart. Lucifer hasn’t looked away once.

“So. Here’s how this is going to go. One of you is going to tell me who gave Sam the blade. If you don’t play ball, I will torture all of you, until each and every one of you breaks. Sam, I’ll make you watch. And then I’ll give Sam more than enough reason to never try this little stunt again. Get to it.”

No one looks at each other.

Then Mary steps forward, head held high. Her fists tremble at her sides.

“It was me.”

Lucifer’s grace surges back, clawing at Sam, screaming-

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Speak up.”

“I gave it to Sam. Please-”

“Sam, is Mama Dearest telling the truth, or is she covering for you?”

Sam stares, all the blood drained from his face. He feels fingers wrap around his throat, holding him up, tips of his toes barely not quite touching the floor. He can’t lie, he can’t fight, because Lucifer survived, somehow, and Sam knows the rules, knows they are all in for it now, that fighting will only make this last longer-

Sam's voice is barely a whisper.

“She did.” Sam gasps. 

_Don’t worry, Sam. I believe you._

Lucifer’s voice has grown too amiable, too calm. “Did she now? Bad move on her part.”

Lucifer lets Sam go, hugs him close again as he gasps, wheezing.

Then there’s movement, Lucifer left hand shoots out, and Mary is forced to her knees by something invisible, starts bleeding, starting burning, only she never stops burning because Lucifer doesn’t let it get that far, just keeps her going and going and going, and no one else can move to help her because Lucifer is keeping them frozen-

_Move one inch without my permission, Sam, and I will make this even worse._

Sam stays still, too still.

Minutes pass. Eventually, Mary stops being burned alive.

Instead, the cold crackles out again, physical, too real, encasing the room in a thicker sheet of permafrost than before.

Then there’s a squeeze of grace, the swooping emptiness of flight, and everyone left is unfrozen, but they aren't in the Bunker anymore, they’re locked in the vacated throne-room of Hell-

Lucifer hasn’t let go of Sam once, although he shifts his grip from the nape of Sam’s neck to both his shoulders.

Lucifer bursts forth from his skin. Everyone except Sam, Castiel, Gabriel, and Dean (because Castiel shields him again), falls to the floor, eye-sockets smoking. Sam watches their souls stick around, floating above their bodies, trapped.

Wings draw around Sam like a cocoon. 

"Tell me, Sam. What should we start with?" Lucifer asks, still too quiet. Sam's head is forced to turn and look at the other three left standing as ice smothers Sam's lips and cheekbones and stays caked on his eyelashes. "What do you think will make the best first impression?"

Sam knows he must answer, but his mouth won't work.

**I don't know-**

A backhand snaps Sam's head to the side, staggering him, soon followed up by an elbow to the face.

Sam holds on to Lucifer's shoulders to keep himself upright, still praying, until he takes a knee to the groin and crumples. A foot shatters Sam's lower ribs, and Sam curls up into a fetal position out of instinct until he remembers he's not allowed to, but it's too late, now he's broken another rule-

"Looking for a verbal response here, Bunk Buddy." Lucifer snarls.

And Sam starts babbling in Enochian, rapid-fire, long past desperate, "I don't know. You know best. Please, take me instead. You don't have to hurt them, it's my fault-"

_That, you're right on. This is all on you, Sam. And I do know better._

Lucifer talks over Sam's rattling gasps, completely dispassionate. "Then again... Hurting you first gave them a decent teaser, don't you agree?"

Sam crawls to his knees, hugging Lucifer's legs, wheezing, "Please, please-"

**Please, I love you, I fucked up, and I deserve to be punished, not them-**

Lucifer drags Sam to his feet, the Archangel's fingers tight against Sam's scalp. A steady stream of blood pours out Sam's nose, rivulets dripping down Sam's mouth and chin.

"You know, now that I think about it, you're not really the problem here, Sam. You just follow whoever takes the lead." Lucifer answers, and there's a finger wiping away some of the not-yet coagulated blood from Sam's face. It rises to Lucifer's mouth before he sucks most of the droplets off, then casts his free hand off to the side. It flexes. The other hand keeps its stranglehold over Sam's hair. 

_It's high time I cut the problem off at its source._

Lucifer twists his bloodstained hand.

Everyone else’s souls start shrieking and rending and tearing, not torn into pieces but ripped up, mangled, half-severed by invisible claws and teeth and wings. Dean and Castiel and Gabriel are on the ground, still trapped in their bodies, and there’s so much red, so much screaming-

And then Sam is crying, wrapping his arms around the Archangel who just wouldn’t die-

“Do whatever you want to me.” Sam's voice cracks, stammers, as it keeps pleading. “Please. I need you.”

**I'm sorry, please don’t hurt them, I love you more than anything, and it’s my fault, I broke the rules, punish me, I need to pay for what I did, please make me-**

Lucifer kisses him, and Sam responds, because whatever it takes, whatever might end this-

“Oh, Sammy. I am going to take you up on that offer. I was going to before you even gave me permission." Lucifer assures as he pauses, tongue receding. "But I’m not mad at you. I’m not. I promise. I’ve forgiven you already. See, it’s everyone else I’m worried about. They just don’t get the message. They’re confusing you. Enabling you. Bringing out all your bad habits. This is an intervention, a long time coming.”

_Wait your turn. I promise we'll get there._

And then Lucifer is forcing Sam to turn, to look away from him towards everyone else, and he holds Sam up, holds him steady, stops him from falling to his knees again.

Sam doesn’t know how long he’s forced to watch.

Eventually, Lucifer stops torturing everyone. Snaps, and gives every disembodied soul their body back, heals every battered and bleeding wound he’s inflicted. Makes everyone stand, shaking, unsteady.

Then Lucifer flies Sam away, Sam doesn’t know where. It’s not the Cage, but that doesn’t matter.

It’s dark and empty. Dead quiet.

Sam can’t hear his own breathing or his heartbeat very well. Everything is muffled.

But he can hear and feel Lucifer’s wings and hands and voice and grace like eyes spot a flashlight turned on in a pitch black basement.

“You take some time to think about what you’ve done, Sam.” The Devil assures too softly.

_I promise I’ll come back for you when I’m done with my teachable moment._

"Please, Lucifer, please-" Sam wails because he knows what's coming, and he's never gotten used to this, never will-

_While I'm gone, I expect you to remember everything I've taught you. Understand, Sammy?_

**I need you please don’t leave me-**

And Sam is grasping, reaching, crying, can’t feel or smell or hear or taste, or see his legs or his arms or anything as he tries to hold on to the space Lucifer occupies, tries to stop him from flying away-

Lucifer is gone. Less substantial than smoke in a fog.

Sam breaks too quickly. A moth, wings crushed by cupped palms, who barely hangs on as it twitches.

Sam curls himself into a ball and stays still and silent and numb as he counts, until the panic pulls him under, and then he whispers all the rules Lucifer has made for him, instead.

It’s a long, long time before Lucifer comes back.

\--

Lucifer takes his time in Hell. Makes sure he pays special attention to Mary Winchester for all her daring.

Takes some time to resurrect his burnt out Knights and Princes and other demonic children while he's at it. Delegates his tasks a little when he goes to check on Sam every few hours, because too long without contact and Sam would lose it completely.

Lucifer will never allow that. Sam is his, to keep and mold and torment and love.

And Sam needs to remember every second of what Lucifer has done and will keep doing to him from here on out if he doesn't behave.

Such is the price for moving on.

\--

At one point, Sam is flown into the throne room. Only this time, it's just him, Lucifer, Dean, and Castiel. No one else.

Lucifer lounges on his throne. Dean and Cas are bloody and bruised, bound to a post and trapped in an Angel Trap, respectively, but in relatively better physical condition than they were before, by comparison.

There's a snap! And Sam moves from Lucifer's lap to the space in front of the Devil, kneeling, kneecaps colliding with stone, one hand out to stop him from falling on his face. Hair falls in his eyes.

"All right, Sammy. Here's the deal. You list out every rule I've made for you, in order, in English or Enochian. You mess up... Well, you know. The longer you go, the longer I put off torturing them. How's that for incentive? Sound good?"

Sam nods, opens his mouth-

"Oh, and once you reach the end, you are welcome to start over. We can go as long as you need."

 _Or however long it takes for you not to forget_.

\--

Everyone except Mary and Sam, demon and human and angel and otherwise, are returned to Earth, to the Bunker, after a week by Earth’s standards. Lucifer doesn't bother to tell Sam.

He does, however, leave explicit instructions for both parties. Threatens any upstairs mutiny with the fact that Sam and Mary are still down there, and that Lucifer will know if anyone tries absolutely anything.

Lucifer looks at Dean, Castiel, Kelly, and Gabriel in particular at that.

Tells Jack to try and keep himself busy, assures that he and Sam will be back soon once they have some alone time to themselves.

Waves goodbye, tells Jack to keep looking after Priscilla while Sam's away.

Adds that when they comes back, everything will have all been worked out.

\--

Lucifer doesn't always leave Sam in the dark empty nothing all alone.

Once in a while, he brings Sam back to the throne room where he has Mary strung up.

Sometimes, he crushes her skull. Burns her on the ceiling. Plants his thumb over her eyeballs and digs in.

Other times, he allows Sam to try and save her from the room as it burns and burns and burns. Sometimes he even lets Sam almost succeed.

And once in a while, Lucifer stops torturing Mary entirely. Lets her off the hook early, lets her rest, provided Sam gives him what he wants.

Mary tries to argue, tries to convince Sam its not worth it, at first. She stops entirely when she realizes the consequences for Sam.

"Oh, come on, you two." Lucifer chuckles, hands leaning on Sam's shoulders as Sam kneels, silent. "I get you are trying to protect each other, but let's be honest. Only one of you has actual leverage here."

Then Lucifer leans down, mouths into Sam's ear. "It would be a shame if you passed it up."

And Lucifer whisks Sam away. Grants Sam his undivided and solitary attentions, while Mary tries and fails to figure out a way, any way at all, to somehow protect her son who she has failed over and over... Has failed more than enough.

Lucifer's mood improves exponentially once he knows both lessons stick.

\--

Two more weeks pass before Mary is sent back up to the surface.

Lucifer leaves Sam in the empty room of nothing whenever it strikes his fancy.

Intermittent reinforcement and isolation brings out the best in his True Vessel. Has, for a long time.

Lucifer tests all such hypotheses thoroughly.

\--

The next time Lucifer returns, the Devil lets Sam throw himself at him, lets him embrace and kiss him even as Sam promises he loves him, that "He'll prove it, he'll do anything."

Lucifer returns the contact and the kiss in silence. He allows Sam to keep begging Lucifer to hurt him, to let everyone else go, to do anything, just, "Please stay."

Lucifer pretends to consider, then abandon's Nick's form for his incorporeal one as he wades into Sam's soul.

Sam takes everything Lucifer dishes out.

Lucifer brutalizes Sam as best he's able, and then he stops, because he can make this as painful or as pleasant as possible, and the latter is more his speed. It's not long until Lucifer fucks Sam's soul, does so with even more endless patience and resolve than he would any other torture, although Lucifer doesn't consider torture its proper label.

The Devil makes the whole ordeal so exactingly kind and tuned to Sam's own needs that its almost feels as if Lucifer is truly inside Sam, as if Sam said 'yes,' again, so much so Lucifer can almost pretend Sam never threw him away. 

And after enough time left like this, Sam's mind grows malleable. Lucifer runs with it, presses his advantage so that Sam is almost convinced all their bad blood never happened, that it isn't real, that it never was, that it is just something the Cage made Sam hallucinate, that Lucifer never did all those things Sam thinks he did, don't worry. No need to fear, everyone is safe, Lucifer never touched them because he never jumped in with Sam, that he left Sam when he opened the Cage, and then he got him out because he wouldn't leave him there. He assures Sam he's just confused, has mixed things up, that Jack wasn't conceived against Sam's will, Sam just couldn't remember right from the Cage, but everything is going to be okay now, that they'll never be kept apart again, Lucifer will make sure.

_Just kidding. Well, except that last bit. It is going to be okay, Sam. So long as you stick with me._

Sam never fully bought into it. He's too sharp for that, and there's too many inconsistencies, and Sam is submerged deep enough to feel the truth, since he can hear Lucifer's grace laughing at him. But Sam makes himself feel anyway, had made himself want to buy into it because there is no other choice, and both he and Lucifer know it.

Once Lucifer and Sam have no lies between them, Lucifer puts Nick back on.

He doesn't stop. Only plays Sam's body and soul on both frequencies, harder and rougher and more demanding. It's nothing Sam doesn't want, because Sam says so.

Lucifer keeps it up until Sam can't speak or pray anything except Lucifer's name, "I'm yours," and "I love you."

And then he keeps going until all Sam can pray is, "Yes."

When he finishes, once Sam truly can't pray anything or take anymore because he's spent, can only shake from the sheer endless need, from wanting-

Lucifer leaves Sam alone and in the dark all over again.

\--

It is four full months before Sam and Lucifer are topside again.

Castiel lets slip everyone else has been out of Hell for longer, sends out a whisper of grace in one of those infinitesimally brief moments when Lucifer is preoccupied with Jack, because that's the only thing that might be a comfort at all.

It helps, but only barely.

Sam jumps at every small movement and doesn’t look anyone in the eye for weeks.

Only speaks when Lucifer allows it, although he relents after a month.

More often than not, he trails off into Enochian as English fails him, gaps of memory not enough to fill in the blanks. Jack and Dean and the others actually manage to pick more words up after a while, considering the frequency. Otherwise, usually, Castiel, Gabriel, or Lucifer translate. (Jack can only understand Angel Radio from the grace, not the language itself, and it's one thing Sam is glad for, because then he doesn't know all the horrible things Lucifer says. Sam couldn't bear Jack having to handle all that on top of everything else.)

Sometimes Sam presses into his palm, tries to apply pressure until it bleeds, but Lucifer usually catches the movement and stops him before his hands even clasp together.

Sam flinches, but doesn't squirm away at any contact Lucifer decides to make.

A thought floats by, prompted by some offhand metaphor Lucifer uses: Forty years wandering the desert in Exodus does that. Forty more years in Hell does more.

\--

Dean breaks all the windows in the Bunker one night when he can't take it anymore. Does it one by one, by hand, fists covered in glass and blood.

Because he failed him, failed his baby brother, and Sam's face haunts him in his sleep.

Lucifer sends Castiel to fix them. The windows, that is.

Tells Dean by proxy next time it'll be his head sent through the glass if he keeps it up, because other people are sleeping, and more importantly, the sound startled Sam.

Dean doesn't break anything he can't muffle after that.

\--

At 6:45 pm, a month and a half after Lucifer's return with Sam in tow, Dean walks into the room next to the kitchen, beer in hand. His hands are still bandaged in white gauze, cleaned gently and thoroughly, courtesy of Sam, who still wouldn't look at Dean directly head-on. Jack, Castiel, and Gabriel were still banned from fixing any damage Dean did to himself, with the excuse being that Dean still needed to learn how to think more about how his actions affected other people.

Jack, Bobby, and Cas sit on the third couch opposite Dean, parallel to the fridge in the other room. Rowena, Gabriel, and Meg take up the couch in-between, a box of pizza divvied out among them.

Light flickers over all their faces from the TV, still black and glossy and fingerprint-free, shiny because it had been newly installed a week ago by one Archangel (not Lucifer), a Seraph, and a half-human kid. Would have been hilarious to watch, if Dean still wasn't preoccupied with what actually matters.

Speaking of which, Sam is lying down opposite them, eyes closed, his head pillowed in Lucifer's lap. Priscilla lays curled up in a ball on top of Sam's legs, still painted pink from heads to paw and sticking out like a sore thumb. Sam's limbs take up every other available inch of space over the the entire couch, except for where Lucifer sits underneath him, too relaxed, by the edge. 

Lucifer keeps playing with Sam's hair.

Dean fights down the urge to attack the Archangel, to kill him, because they've been there, done that, and apparently it wouldn't do anything.

Cas and Jack stop fighting over the remote when Sam says something, too low for Dean to hear.

Rowena's lilt cuts across, "What about the X-Files?"

Bobby gives it a hard pass. Cas almost looks put out.

Dean sits on the couch in the middle of the others, next to Gabriel, Meg, and Rowena. The others were all scattered throughout the Bunker or on hunts or are avoiding the immediate area as much as possible. No one really blames anyone for that. You almost had to divvy up shifts to keep Sam company when Lucifer was around, considering how draining he is. He's an attention whore who likes to talk too much even when discounting how quick he is to torture people.

Anyway, it is what it is. Most days, though, everyone tries to act as normal as possible since Sam got back, and they all almost managed to get it together for a while when Lucifer was gone. It doesn't last often. Not even when Satan completely ignores his plans for whatever type of world domination he's clearly got planned when he acts as domestic as possible.

"We could watch Kill Bill-" Lucifer suggests, joking. "Might be more Sam's speed."

Sam doesn't open his eyes or move.

"Jack isn't old enough for that." Sam murmurs. English, this time. Priscilla licks his hand.

"He's seen worse." Lucifer argues, but not with any real conviction. "Real life and otherwise."

Sam doesn't say no, but after whatever nonverbal words pass between them, Lucifer sighs, stops petting Sam's hair, and relents anyway.

"Okay, no R rated movies." And faster than you can blink, Lucifer is touching Sam again, only this time he keeps his hand on Sam's hip, fingers drumming. Sam still doesn't move.

Dean wants to stab something. Someone specific, preferably.

"We could watch Star Wars again." Gabriel cuts in, eyeing Dean speculatively. Dean glares at him, too.

Damn Archangels. Useless and cowardly, or pure evil, the whole bunch. Castiel still thinks Gabriel's biding his time. Dean doesn't care and isn't inclined to feel charitable.

Jack shakes his head and frowns. "We watched it last week."

Except the kid, half-blooded as he is. Kid's a good kid, when all said and done. Dean is proud to be an uncle. And Sam did his best to keep it together, has been trying to keep it together as best he can, with his parental situation. Sam has mitigated all the damage he can, and Lucifer almost lets him, because that was one thing they united around half the time, even if Lucifer was an unrepentant piece of shit, and Dean, Castiel, Kelly, Mary, Bobby, hell, everyone pitched in on that front. Otherwise, Jack was the only thing that still brought the fight out in Sam, because Sam was going to protect him from everything Lucifer is every single way he wasn't. Lucifer doesn't seem to mind that, though. Maybe he thinks its a sign he's won something.

And Dean has no clue why Lucifer picked Bobby over Kelly to watch Jack while they were all... gone.

Maybe because he knew Bobby would play it safe. Actually, scratch that, Dean can guess. Lucifer simply hates Kelly that much. And Dean will admit, he liked her, weird as she was, because she was practically Sam's best friend. And mostly, she was kind and mellow and pious, but all that went out the window whenever Lucifer was around. She took no shit from the Devil even when it was much safer to do so. Also had a dab hand for using heels as weapons, even took out a werewolf with one, once she got trained to hunt. Sam had been real proud of that.

Anyway, Dean thinks the kid's enthusiasm for the show waned recently. Probably after Sam started laughing hysterically when Lucifer mentioned "A New Hope" in passing, maybe three weeks ago now? Dean's concept of time is growing hazy, now, too. Not just from Hell, either, although Alastair and Azazel and Lucifer certainly didn't make that any easier. But Dean was too tired, too angry, to be scared more often than not. Sam needed him too bad for Dean to go cracking up. Especially since Lucifer has remained a permanent freeloader in the Bunker for too long now...

It's been at least five years.

Nowadays, Dean sees how Sam doubted reality so easily once he got his Cage memories back. Lucifer is a bit too skilled at his own game. Dean wonders if maybe that's why he's so good at lying, so good at playing Sam, because the Devil himself doesn't believe anything he finds inconvenient.

 _Fuck you_ , Dean thinks as he glares at the Devil, as usual.

 _Castiel would be scandalized, he loves you too much for you to cheat, even with whatever open relationship plan you two might have going on. Plus, Sam's more my type. And might I remind you, we're happily engaged._ Lucifer sends over to Dean, alone.

That was even worse, now, too. Lucifer just knelt down and proposed to Sam a freaking week after he brought him back from Hell, while Dean and Cas and Jack and the two of them were walking somewhere on a hunt (because those were still happening, Lucifer always an unwanted tag-along, because, "Sam needs support and a consistent schedule, and its best if he keeps himself busy. Great boost to his self esteem when he knows he's helping people," and Dean almost considered driving Baby into Satan if it would shut him up for once. He didn't. It was a close call.)

The area wasn't a place Dean recognized, but Sam knew the spot, Dean could tell. Some kind of bar or diner they passed in Garber, Oklahoma.

Sam accepted, after he stood stock still and staring and probably had some other freaky, manipulative conversations with the Devil no one else could hear. If Dean knew that had been a thing that Sam had been going through earlier, before Castiel spilled the beans after their jaunt in Apocalypse World (against Sam's initial wishes, if Dean had to hazard a guess, because why would Sam want Dean to know), he would have tried to do something about it. Still would, if there was anything to be done. 

But the damage is already enough, and Dean can't really fix the rest now.

Apparently, it's just a side effect of being a True Vessel. Who knew.

Dean doesn't know why Michael never tried it with him, and only wishes he had tried so Dean could have helped Sam out earlier. Then again, he knows why Sam never told him, especially back then. Made a lot of things going on with Sam make more sense after the last seal broke, in hindsight.

"What about Princess Bride?" Sam interrupts, eyes opening as he looks at Jack. "You seen that yet?"

Lucifer actually pauses and looks at him, head tilted, as Jack shakes his head no.

"I'll admit, I'm surprised you still like that one." Lucifer comments, a bit too lightly. There's something bitter lurking there, Dean can tell.

Sam smiles, and he hasn't smiled in months, and the sight almost seems terrifying.

"You would think you would get used to it." Sam says, eyebrows raised, but it's Enochian. Dean only follows because Cas translates. "Being caught off-guard. Thought that's something you appreciated about me."

Lucifer stills in that way everyone recognizes as almost violence by now.

"Doesn't matter," And Sam's switched to English again, and Lucifer's relaxed again, although he is touching Sam more. "Still a good movie."

Dean thinks he can guess the unspoken words there: **Despite you trying to ruin it for me**.

He's getting better at intuiting the things he brother can't quite say aloud. He'd lost the skill for a while, because he didn't want to know, and because Sam came back too different, both after the Cage and after his soul was stuffed back in, an ocean of lifetimes to cross between them. But Dean was getting better. Slowly. It got easier after he apologized for letting Gadreel trick Sam way back when. And killing Amy, although once they found her kid, things smoothed over for both of them more. Sam didn't fully forgive him, never would, but it made things... easier. Cleared the air.

And Dean will admit, he's taken a long, hard look at himself and his choices, and the decisions he'd decided for Sam, screw whatever Sam thought. It is harder... Alright, impossible, to justify them now. Especially when you have the Devil throwing his weight around, doing the same thing. Makes self-reflection a little more necessary, if your brother thinks you are in any way similar to Lucifer. (The comparison still makes Dean nauseous).

Jack considers, but he's already caught Lucifer's earlier expression, no matter what it is now, and backpedals. "Maybe another day."

A door slams closed too fast and Dean turns around to look as Mia and Kelly wander in, winded and covered in blood. It's not theirs, and Dean doesn't rise. Charlie and Eileen follow suit, although Charlie doesn't bother to change before she walks past and deliberately falls in Rowena's lap with a kiss hello. Dean didn't even know when that started. Eileen and Kelly change and wander in soon after, deciding to sit near Bobby and Jack. All of them look at Sam, say hello, then look anywhere else once Lucifer keeps staring at them as if he's going to mount their heads on a pike.

Back near the kitchen, Mary skitters from the edge of the doorway, lagging behind that crowd by ten minutes. She makes her way without a word to the opposite room. She's been avoiding Sam, and Sam her, ever since they got back.

Dean has a feeling Lucifer doesn't want those two in the same place. You know. Just a hunch.

John comes in through the doorway the opposite way. They stop and try to walk around each other in silence. Dean's heart constricts. Eventually, Mary brushes past, her shoulder catching his.

John looks after her, stricken, still holding a can of diet soda. (Lucifer had banned him from alcohol at some point. No one asked why, although Dean could guess.)

Things hadn't been the same for the two them after their resurrections. Or after the argument.

After... everything, really.

Dean isn't sure who he agrees with as far as tactics for dealing with it all, if he's honest. But who is he kidding? His opinion doesn't matter there, anyway.

He thinks Bobby probably won whatever hushed conversation they ended up having, although no one heard what he said to them except that they were being, "IDJITS, THE BOTH OF YOU. GET YOUR HEADS OUT OF YOUR ASSES AND ACTUALLY BE THERE FOR YOUR SONS, IN THE HERE AND NOW. IT'S NOT ROCKET SCIENCE."

Dean doesn't doubt Dad put in some rejoinder that Sam's actually his daughter. He hopes Mom and Bobby gave him hell for it.

It's not a hard guess to knows they were arguing about him, and Sam, and the deal with Azazel, and the Apocalypse, and the way John raised them, Adam, and Sam leaving... Even Sam's sexuality and transition process, knowing Mary's reaction when she found out about John's attempts to 'fix' him, times she knows about from Bobby and from when Dean had to explain all the stunts he pulled to try and shield Sam from the brunt of it, since it was part of the reason Sam left.

They for sure argued about Lucifer. Maybe even Jack.

Definitely Lucifer, though.

And Dean still can't believe how early the Devil got his claws into Sam. The Jessica detail was more than a shock, it was... Well...

Worse. Worse than anything Dean could have considered, even with all the things he knows Sam dealt with in the Cage.

He knew how much Sam loved her, because he loved her more than anything. And Sam had thought he got out, although Dean didn't get it, because he didn't want to, wasn't built to, not after how John drilled into him what he was... But Sam just walked out thinking he was free, he was safe, that he found his family and new life he always wanted. Only to have Lucifer reeling him in closer, beckoning Sam "home" with open arms.

Dean wonders why the Devil even bothered with Ruby, when he could probably have just used Jess to convince Sam to let him out, but Dean can guess why Lucifer did that, too. He's seen that song and dance, lived in close quarters with the Devil and Bobby and Cas and Sam before. He still hates him for that, too.

Lucifer liked Sam catching feelings. Always avoided jeopardizing that, wanted to keep control, until it didn't matter and Sam was trapped and Lucifer couldn't hide his true colors anymore.

That had been more than a disaster, and even then, Sam bought it up until the end, even after Lucifer bailed and blamed everyone else for him deciding Sam was not worth stopping the Apocalypse. Wanted to have his cake and eat it too, Sam's feelings be damned.

And then Sam fell. Really hard. Both literally and figuratively.

Dean will never get over it, his brother's swan-dive. Checks on him every once in a while, has been for years. Just in case.

Sometimes Dean wonders if Sam chose the Cage because he couldn't let go of _him_ , of Jess, or Nick, or whatever. But then he tells himself that's a horrible thing to think about your brother, particularly when he didn't ask for any of this. It's not fair, having feelings for the Devil, especially when the Devil is a possessive fuck who wanted to wear your goddamn skin, and then gets pissy when you beat him, fair and square. And then tortures and stalks you and... well, everything that happened. Dean doesn't need to make a list.

Worst ex ever, Dean admits. Sam never had luck there, and Dean wonders if that was Lucifer's fault, too. Either Sam's flames were sweet and kind ladies and guys who got murdered in untimely ways, or they were lying, abusive, evil assholes who dragged Sam down with them.

 _God, Sam. God, Chuck, why did you let that any of that happen to him?_

But Dean knows Chuck is never answering. Not after what Lucifer did.

It always came back to him, to the Apocalypse, to the Devil. All his fault. Dean pretends he's got him on the rack, and then doesn't, because then he's thinking about Hell, again, which he'd been trying not to do, and he might tense up, and that would scare Sam, too...

Instead, Dean remembers the time Kelly marched up and set Lucifer on fire without a word, just because he was talking and Sam had flinched-

The ensuing incineration as Lucifer's true form glowed had been worth it, that thrown Molotov hitting its mark better than any other sight Dean has seen before or since. Even Sam agreed there, despite the price they all paid afterwards.

Dean loves that woman to pieces, in a purely platonic, fraternal sense. Sam deserves people like her in his life.

"How about Monty Python and the Holy Grail?" Dean cuts in, too casual. Everyone looks at him. "What? Could use some laughs around here."

"Dean, if you make me watch that movie, I will scoop your eyeballs out of your head with a spoon." Meg vows, staring as she rips her half-eaten piece of pizza in two. Dean doesn't know what damage she has to hate that movie and doesn't want to know. Can't tell if she's serious or not, but plays it safe.

"Okay, Kayako, don't get your panties in a twist-" Dean snaps.

"What about Jurassic Park?" Gabriel asks too quickly, eager to change the subject. "Or Firefly. Or literally anything else."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Do we even want to watch a movie?" He asks. "We can just change the channels and decide as we go. We do have cable, now."

"We could do something else." Jack pipes up, excited. "We could make a pillow-fort!"

Jack's been very fond of covering almost everyone in soft objects recently, too.

"We could go camping." Sam's voice drifts by softly. "I almost miss it. And I've never taken you camping before, have I?"

Everyone looks at him.

Lucifer has a look on his face Dean doesn't understand or trust at all.

"When did you go camping?" Dean asks. Doesn't say: We never went camping. Not properly.

Sam shifts and sits up a little. Priscilla topples off the couch and rights herself, and gets her head pat for her troubles.

Lucifer still holds an arm around Sam's waist.

Sam's eyes are faraway again. "A long time ago."

Lucifer eyes, in contrast, are glittering. Blue, not red. Dean thinks he almost sees the imprint of his wings shift, or maybe the air ripple around Sam.

There's a pause. Dean hopes Sam isn't asking permission, although something tells him he is.

"Anyway, why don't we ask people?" Sam comes back down to Earth. "See who is on board? What do you think, Jack?"

"I'd like that." Jack answers. "I'd like that a lot."

\--

A lot of people, more than Dean expects, are on board for the impromptu camping trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was gonna be a camping chapter after this with some key points of the growth for ppl in this fic but I never wrote that either, that's one thing I'm still trying to get to stop fighting me


	189. Bloody Tears (DRAFT)

"Actually... What are you doing?" Lucifer asks, breaking off from his one-sided conversation with Sam to talk about the very son their parenting tactics collide over.

"Playing a game." Jack answers, all business, not looking up from the screen.

"Which one?" Cas asks, looking over his shoulder. Sam recognizes the mechanical tune humming from the speaker, gritty and shrill, and taps along to it despite himself.

"Castlevania." Jack answers quickly, eyes darting as he keeps his head still.

"Sheesh, son. You hunt vampires in real life. I would think you'd avoid hunting them on that-" Lucifer gestures to the old gameboy, still stained from the last hunt it was the unfortunate victim of.

Jack snorts and keeps pressing buttons with a fervency that puts most angel's reflexes to shame.

"I like the plot." Then Jack's brusque manner turns thoughtful, and he gives an angelic tilt of his head even as he keeps pressing buttons with abandon. "I think you'd like it, actually. See, Dracula has lost faith in God and turned to the Devil to fix what he thinks is wrong with the world. And you play as his son, and he seeks to right the wrongs committed by his Father and set things right..."

"Sounds like a message I can get behind, even with the additional misinformation and slur campaign." Lucifer answers, adding with a low murmur, "I am not affiliated with those bloodsuckers, that was Eve-"

"And then the son stops his Father from destroying humanity and upholds the beliefs of his mom. It's very heartfelt." Jack adds, cutting him off.

Sam glances over at his son and inside, his soul beams at the sheer audacity, even if he's afraid Lucifer might just snap...

The Devil's eyes are riveted to Jack, torn by hurt, fury, and the blank mask that means he's not quite sure if rising to the bait proves Jack's point and renders his previous arguments about parenting against Sam's methods moot. It's a balancing act of priorities: proving Sam wrong, or punishing his son? Or letting it go and appearing calm to keep the upper hand?

Lucifer would weigh his options, but Dean sees the opportunity for what it is and takes his chance.

Dean clinks his beer against Castiel's and says, voice low, but not low enough, "You owe me five bucks. Knew the kid would like that game. Uncle of the Year, right here. Guess I'm his new favorite person."

Cas looks at Dean with something that isn't quite patience, but recognizes Dean's ploy for what it is.

It takes the heat off Jack and Sam and rivets Lucifer's displeasure all on him.

And while it's not the nicest feeling in the world...

Collectively, for all of them, it almost feels like a win.


	190. Caught Like A Fly (DRAFT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by falling in reverse

"I'm just saying, Raff, you already thought God was dead once. How is this any different?" Lucifer asks, lacing his fingers together.

\--

"Really, what I'm doing is a public service."

\--

"You really want what's out there coming in and turning this place into it's own personal playground? You really want Dad's greatest failures stealing what is rightfully ours?"


	191. Blame It On the Kids (DRAFT)

Lucifer levels Dean with an unimpressed look, the flinty sharpness of his gaze cold and implacable.

All the tension drains out of Lucifer's frame immediately as his shoulders slump, head tilted with a half-smile that by now, Dean knows well.

"All right. Have it your way," Lucifer concedes, then he cups his hands to yell, "Hey, Sammy. The floor is lava."

Sam, out of it as he is, can't stop the Cage seeping through, trigger words and probing icy grace all together too much to ignore as his exponentially growing psychic powers interact horribly with everything else he isn't dealing with. He does manage to lift Jack up, with Jack frantically whispering attempts to get Sam to calm down so the illusion fades, but then Lucifer snaps and sends Sam to the other side of the room, next to him, out of harms way but also out of anyone else's reach.

Dean, Cas, Bobby, Amy, John, Claire, Magda, Jacob, Owen, and Mary all scramble to escape the floor, which is rapidly turning to actual lava, and they climb on top of the tables with are also starting to burn.

"Let's test your adaptability." Lucifer decides, then pats Sam's thigh. "Sammy, you just sit tight. No one gets hurt if you listen, I'll make sure of it. And Jack, how about you think of this as a comprehensive exercise to test your powers. You can't stop Sam from altering the terrain, he's too strong for that, but you can work with it. Let's see what you can do. Everyone else, well... How about an obstacle course, hmm? If you're going to be fighting monsters from other dimensions, you might as well get used to hostile terrain and situations beyond earth."


	192. BRN (KEEP AS DRAFT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by aviva

"Today, we're going to be learning how to smite the lowest of the low." Lucifer starts in, clapping a hand over Sam's and Jack's shoulders.

**Are you counting yourself in that category? Because if so, I'm on board.**

_Oh, don't be such a tease, Sammy. We both know you're most comfortable when you're pinned underneath me. Besides, we're higher than all the rest. You know that by now._

Sam almost regrets the sass, but not enough.

"I already know how to smite people." Jack protests.

Lucifer looks at him as if he just said something naive and adorable.

"I know, Jack. But every type of smiting has it's own distinct style and technique. It's important to learn nuance and control, and to experience the way smiting changes from subject to subject. I mean, smiting far away targets is nothing like smiting close up ones, and smiting demons differs from smiting angels, or humans, or vampires, or-"

"Okay." Jack bites out, hoping the concession makes Lucifer stop listing everything one by one. His grace flares a little, the tiniest, **_we get the picture_** , humming over the line. Lucifer ignores it. Sam is grateful he does. Jack usually doesn't let the annoyance out; that's the only reason Lucifer has spared him.

That, and he's looking at Sam like he's going to be the one paying the price.

"Good. See, everything angelic worth its snuff can do it, and so can this beautiful, perfect specimen right here." Lucifer pats Sam's head, hands curling through his hair before wrapping around the nape of Sam's neck, possessive and tight. "How about it, Sammy? Mind giving a demonstration to teach Jack the particulars?" Lucifer wheedles.

_Fun times all around._

Sam doesn't think, **Go to Hell,** this time. It's not worth the energy. He'd be thinking it every second of every day at the rate they're going.

It's not like he even likes the proposed test subjects. They aren't exactly on board, either, although Azazel is predictably unbothered, and Ramiel is his usual bored mask.

But they all know what they're in for.

It's not even like the death will stick.

But that's the problem. Lucifer wants them to get used to this, wants to have Sam kill, over and over, even when he just wants to rest-

"Is there a reason we have to be the volunteers?" Lilith dares ask. She's still on her knees, but doesn't avert her eyes like the others. Bit too close to home, for her, to have Sam smiting her yet again.

Lucifer kicks her in the stomach.

"Lils, Lils, Lils." He sighs, and shakes his head. "Might I remind you, God made you first. Only fitting you got to die to kick off the big shebang. And you were grateful, weren't you? You knew your place back then." 

Lilith's meatsuit crumbles, bone shattering from the force. 


	193. Drunken Whaler (DRAFT)

Lilith is sporting a new look, which is to say she's currently possessing some poor child.  
Crowley normally isn't fazed by stuff like this, but considering Gavin's still being held by the scruff of his neck, he's trying to maintain his composure.

\--

"I did hold your deal, sweetie. You never really got the full VIP treatment, really..." Lilith taps her nails on Dean's cheek.


	194. Hushh (DRAFT)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by aviva

"Not like you two are strangers to the concept. You've done a lot of killing and slicing and dicing over the years- big brother probably gets off on it, considering the blood on his hands, what do you say, Sammy? Too on the nose or...?"

"Shut up."

Lucifer's holds his arms out, only to have them fall to his sides abruptly, the movement sudden enough to make Sam duck and lower his gaze.

Lucifer doesn't comment, but he always notices, and then pulls Sam closer, arm around his waist.

"Yeah, okay, I'll concede your point. Not polite enough, even if we all know that the line between the brother and the things he hunts, well, there's a reason Purgatory agreed with him-"


	195. Oh Ana (DRAFT)

Heaven itself is a bit more sterile than Sam remembers it. Whether or not that's due to the fact it's infrastructure has just been crumbling and then reorganized under new management and a reintroduced influx of angels, or if it's just Lucifer being indecisive before decorating, or it's the default setting for Heaven when not in a particular state, Sam doesn't know.

What he does know, is that Jack is not exactly calm. There's a lot of pressure on him, and Lucifer, instead of being distracted, is mostly hyperfocused on him right now.

Which he needs to derail.

The problem is... In this case, he doesn't know how.

Being trapped in Heaven or Hell never really ended well for Sam when it came to Lucifer, and it's hard not to let that dredge things up.

\--

Anael isn't sure how she feels about Lucifer Jr.

Sure, he's powerful. And he's got a very sunny disposition. And, for someone who should be far less naive and who has had suspicion drilled into him due to Sam and Castiel's paranoid habits and the nature of everything he's been thrust into, politics or parental disputes or otherwise, he's still incredibly trusting. A liability to both be capitalized on, provided she can get the right opportunity, and to be wary of, because if he trusts her he might just blab to anyone else he's unfortunate enough to consider a friend.

But that alone does not make him something she can use, or weaponize, or make a deal with. Not without some kind of failsafe in case someone else catches on.

If she's going to gain more power... If she's going to be a player... She needs to find an in.

And while she can't jeopardize her standing with Lucifer too much, she also isn't going to pretend his changes are any more thrilling than the old regime's used to be.

She just needs to find an opportunity.

Which is why she sticks around. She might not get a chance to do much, not with Sam sticking to the kid like glue or Cas sniffing around like a bloodhound even with Lucifer keeping them both on a lease, but the moment something goes pear-shaped, she knows what her point of attack will be.

The kid needs allies in Heaven, and a way to keep all that anxious, desperate-to-prove-himself energy from overwhelming him.

And that means he needs to feel like someone is in his corner, someone who he isn't worried about being the subject of Lucifer's ire or attentions that he can lean on when things get tough.


	196. Hold Up (DRAFT)

"Sam. You look so peaceful when you sleep." Lucifer purrs, naked and right on top of him, so heavy Sam can feel Jessica's elbows digging into his arms. Lucifer is Jess tonight, face to face with Sam with Sam on the ground. There's a tree root digging into his back and the sky is an impossible shade of red with clouds and too many stars and there's roses larger than his head growing over the trees. He knows it's a dream.

Jessica's lips are red, so red compared to her white teeth.

"Whaddaya say, baby? Fancy something nice and slow to wake you up and ease you into your day?" Lucifer asks, and there's manicured fingers sliding over Sam's thigh, and then too-dry fingerpads making sure Sam is tenting, guiding Sam inside, tight and wet and wanting even though he wants to puke and shiver...

Then Lucifer is kissing Sam, and Sam pushes against him, only it just makes everything worse, makes noise and makes Lucifer slide over him, and then Lucifer is laughing in his ear. Teeth graze the edge of Sam's neck, featherlight contact that soon turns into a kiss right on Sam's lips, Lucifer sucking while Sam tries to inch away on the ground, on his back, like an inverse worm crawling from the early bird.

Jess slides over him, more insistent, using Sam's momentum against him, and Sam's still inside her, Lucifer forcing a rough friction over Sam that's slow and uneven. Sam tries not to respond.

_You need to learn to let go, Sam. Let me support you, when you need it. You can't always do everything alone._

Sam growls and forces himself to wake up. Pushes his mind, with all his being, sings with Lucifer's blood and saliva in his veins and mouth...

He almost succeeds. Lucifer doesn't really fight him from waking up, this time.

Only Sam isn't fully awake yet. He's still half dreaming. Every limb feels trapped, pins and needles stabbing through his arms and legs, all too heavy to move. Lucifer's already undone the buttons on the silk pajamas so Sam's arms and chest are uncovered, wrists restrained by the fabric bunched over them, and Sam's waistband is already rolled down past his knees, elastic taut against his skin.

Sam knows it isn't Lucifer keeping him still. Lucifer holding him down felt more substantial.

This is just Sam's body, not awake yet, still paralyzed from sleep even though Sam is mostly lucid. Useless.

Awake, Lucifer isn't Jess, though. He's Nick.

Only then he turns into Sam.

_You're so worn out, Sam. You need a body that can take the edge off and give just as much as you can take._

He kicks the remainder of Sam's pant legs over and off Sam's feet, and then he's pushing Sam's legs, the same legs Sam can't move himself, open wide, and is Sam frantic and aroused even though he doesn't want to be, and then Lucifer is inside, less focused on the buildup and more on immediate surrender, and Sam chokes from the cold filling him up, the doppelganger of his own body too much.

"So what do you say we experiment?" Lucifer growls. Jessica's voice is low, Sam's own voice overlaid with it, even deeper. "Let's up your threshold of pleasure, fucking your body and subconscious at the same time."

Lucifer always knew how to use Sam's body as a weapon, always aggressive, taking up as much space as possible.

Sam's face is still flushed and clean-shaven from where Lucifer took the razor to it, Lucifer's rendition packing as much stubble as Sam did before the forced alterations.

Still half-asleep, Sam struggles against the dream, of the superimposed Jess still on top of him, still cold and wet and tight around him, and Sam burns except where Lucifer touches him, and Sam rasps, unable to speak, and Lucifer keeps kissing his chin and eyelids and chest.

"Does that feel good, Sam?" Lucifer asks. "You can just make noise, I know what each one means."

Sam whines in his dream. Topside, his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth right, jaw clenched, throat tight because he feels like he's suffocating. Then his lips are guided open by a nudging mouth and tongue, and Sam's like a puppet, strings pulled taut as Lucifer directs him where he wants to go.

"Not enough. Got it." Lucifer answers, drawing it out.

And Sam can't fight both fronts, can't fight the feeling of being inside Jess, of the weight of her on top of him, so snugly pressing against him, or the sensation of Lucifer being inside him.

Lucifer fucks Sam, keeps fucking him, all wet and purposeful and controlled, Sam's body filling Sam up so he feels too full, and Sam's head rolls back as Lucifer cradles his neck. In the dream, Sam bites down on a garbled scream.

Lucifer turns back into Nick, both inside the dream and out.

There's a hand on Sam's thigh. It has never left. Just keeps sliding against skin, burning and tingling and cold.

Sam still can't move. He wants to close his eyes so he doesn't see Lucifer's wings against his jawline or around his back or to see Lucifer's deer-skull-like true faces with their elongated lips and sharp teeth and eye sockets staring back at him. So he doesn't see white, pale hands pricking him and stroking him and impaling him, and he's not sure if that's a hallucination or not. The paralysis makes everything hazy. But he opened them and now Lucifer won't let him blink away, and the pressure of grace builds, all light buzzing between Sam's eyelids, so much of it and so persistent that Sam's thoughts blur...

"Tell me where you want me to touch you." Lucifer orders as his hands roam. A tongue uncurls against Sam's, barely making contact.

**Get off.**

_That's why I'm asking. We'll get you there, don't worry._

Then there's lips brushing his sternum and fingertips sliding over Sam's sides and stroking the inside of his arm, so light the contact makes Sam want to slam his head against the headboard and feel pain so it doesn't feel like it's not nearly enough.

"You want me to kiss you here, or fuck you there, or...? Ha, you liked that one, you always do..." Lucifer breathes, and a thumb brushes Sam's chest around the fragile skin of his nipple so pain rings from Sam's forehead all the way down past his navel... "You want this?"

**Let go.**

_Sammy. I'm asking real nice, here. Pick your poison. Don't make me guess._

Sam knows that tone and recants. He's too vulnerable already.

**Here**. Sam directs, **and there, and there**.

Sam's soul gasps as Lucifer hones in. So close. 

_Like that?_

**Yes-**

_How about this?_

**Yes-**

_Here?_

**Please-**

_What about...? Mm, definitely, you didn't even have to say anything for that one._

**Lucifer, please-**

The hickeys lining Sam's hips and ribs burn against his skin. In the dream, Lucifer's body hugs Sam tighter, fingers tangled up in Sam's hair.

Ideally, Sam wouldn't be an active party in furthering his own debasement and maintaining this illusion, that Sam has control or a choice, but he is too desperate and will do whatever he has to keep the Devil at arms length.

The Devil keeps following Sam's frantic instructions to the letter until Sam can't quite keep up.

_That's my little bitch. Don't worry. I've got you._

Sam's breathing hitches as Lucifer strokes him, neck and wrists and chest and thighs.

_There you go._

Then Lucifer starts arching Sam's hips, hands cupping Sam's ass a bit too tight as he does...

Every hair on the back of Sam's neck rises.

And Lucifer pushes all the way inside Sam on both fronts, dream and reality.

His fingers rub the head of Sam's cock, then glide over its entire length. The bite of the metal of Nick's ring stings until Lucifer massages it away with the pads of his fingers, and Sam arches into him against his will, wings pressed into the small of his back.

Sam can't bite his lip. His mouth still won't obey him.

Sam counts breaths in triplicate.

Each thrust is slow and measured until they aren't anymore, all quick and sharp and almost warm from the friction.

Sam thoughts turn to incoherent screams.

"Sam, I can feel how you just want me to take care of you, don't worry, I'll spread those legs of yours wider, pinch you here, kiss you there, make you go wild, there you go, you even shuddered a bit, must be getting proper movement back now that I've warmed up you. You're welcome-" Lucifer gasps.

Only Sam's body goes online too late, and Sam can't help but mirror his movements because by then, everything is bliss and shame and Sam being too hot, with Lucifer the only thing to cool him down.

"You're breathing goes all funny when your body thinks it can't move." Lucifer notes with a smile, nose to nose with Sam, so close his eyelashes brush Sam's own. And Sam thinks the worst thing Lucifer has ever done is turn torture into something that makes Sam feel good, because it isn't good, this isn't kind, this isn't pleasant, but Lucifer can still make Sam sing, because he knows this body and he knows what Sam likes and he has always made Sam's body the enemy.

Sam finally regains use of his limbs and spits in Lucifer many faces, in Nick's face, arms and legs kicking and struggling for escape.

Lucifer tongue licks it from the edge of his mouth as he rolls Sam over and they fall to the floor, and then Lucifer is fucking him harder, with more purpose, so it almost hurts, so the pressure is too full and Sam can only think of one thing, and that's Lucifer inside him, wet and cold and electric and too much, and his mouth glued to his, sucking and kissing, stubble digging into Sam's chin.

Twenty minutes pass. Sam knows thanks to the digital clock on the edge of his bedside table, barely visible, red lines a blurry 4:04 am. And Sam heaves in oxygen and whimpers as Lucifer slows down again, each thrust gentle and even. He wipes some blood off Sam's thigh with one hand, but keeps the other against Sam's face, although it de-tangles from a fist against Sam's hair to a flat, splayed palm. Sweat makes Sam's hair stick to his forehead and face.

"That make you feel better?" Lucifer asks, mouthing against Sam's throat before he's kissing it again, and then he's easing out, slow and steady, Sam's head still pushed against the wood floor by a hand on his jawbone, thumb digging into the soft skin of his cheek. "You've been so restless, lately."

When Sam struggles away he props up on one elbow and tries to pull himself up with the nightstand, hands shaking and slipping off the drawer handles, but Lucifer just picks him up and lays him out on the mattress again, true form restraining Sam while his knees are bent and his ass sits perched on the edge of the bed.

Sam's ankle twitches and he feels his pulse in his mouth as Lucifer spread his legs.

Sam closes his eyes from the brightness as Lucifer's wings spread out him.

A mouth closes around his cock. Sam dips with each bob of Lucifer's head, forked tongue gliding into more than one place, and Sam gasps mutely from the strain, breathless, and he's so shot, the prolonged contact throbs through every nerves in his body.

Every muscle burns. 

All Sam sees is the imprint of red, of his own blood, over his closed eyelids.

When Lucifer finishes, he hauls Sam up by the undersides of him arms, and with one hand still under Sam's left arm and a hand against Sam's back, he's dragging him to the bathtub. Lucifer has already filled it.

Steam hits every pore of Sam's face. In the reflection of the water, he can see his pupils, too-wide and glistening.

Sam shudders and bucks on instinct, but doesn't fight, fingertip-bruises concentric circles still dotting his wrist. Lucifer lifts him up and steps over, Sam's knees draped over one arm and head and back supported by the other.

The water is warm even with Lucifer there. Not too hot or cold.

Lucifer doesn't fuck him in the tub. Just sponges Sam off and holds him against his ribcage, whispering things Sam makes into gibberish while his fingers comb suds through Sam's hair. He makes sure none of it gets in Sam's eyes, and his hands are soft when they brush Sam's neck and face.

The water doesn't turn red. The small amount of blood diffuses quickly.

Then Lucifer heals every bruise and bite mark and tear, hands finding each individual wound and healing them, one by one, and he grips Sam's ankle when he turns Sam over, so Sam is straddling him as Lucifer massages every muscle of Sam's body so nothing hurts.

Sam huffs out a sigh and hides his face in Lucifer's chest so he doesn't have to look at the expression on his face.

"You feeling relaxed yet?" Lucifer murmurs in Sam's ear in Enochian.

Sam's eyes sting, and his lip stings where he broke it open again, and his voice breaks, "Please..."

"Sam." Lucifer warns.

"Yeah." Sam answers, throat too tight. He nods once, then lets his face fall.

Lucifer sighs, one thumb still sliding against Sam's spine. 

"Good." His voice is low, and rumbles in his chest.

\--

Sam doesn't wear pajamas to bed for a week. Just jeans and as many layers of flannel he can get away with without overheating.

It barely slows Lucifer down, but Sam will take any delay he can get.


	197. Exile Vilify (DRAFT)

Sam wrenches his arm away. Lucifer ignores the stray gashes Sam scored over the sides of his face, although the monster spills out to show the thing leaking out from flesh and bone.

Lucifer starts inching Sam's fingers towards the drain, Sam straining from the iron grip on his wrist, stuck against an immovable object, whole arm blood-slick and twitching.

"Remember the Goonies? Always thought it would be a bit below the belt to go this route, but I can't say you didn't have it coming."

Then Sam's hand gets fed into the garbage disposal.


	198. Judas (DRAFT)

Demons using cell phones as a rule are relatively new. However, in Sam's opinion, it beats cutting people's throats to make long distance calls from Hell, and the only reason they were implemented was mostly to prevent as much murder as possible. Being King of Hell might suck, but Sam (and Jack, by proxy) would eke out whatever control stopped the worst from happening.

The unfortunate side effect is that now everyone who lives in the Bunker all have visceral reactions to certain songs, on the radio and otherwise, with no one emerging unscathed.

Much like Sam had a list of songs that instantly made him check out thanks to Lucifer and their history, the demons all had personalized ring tones.

Meg prefers Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation," Abaddon has the Black Eyed Peas' "Pump It," Cain picks "Heaven Knows" by the Pretty Reckless, and Brady favors "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga. Alastair's ringtone is Rihanna's "S&M". Lilith made hers "Circus" by Brittany Spears, Ruby has Lady Gaga's "Poker Face," Dagon, "Pumped Up Kicks," with Ramiel breaking the mold with, "Don't Stop Believing," and Asmodeus using David Bowie's "Ashes to Ashes," something which upsets Dean to no end.

Azazel tried to set his to "Stacy's Mom," but Sam incinerated his phone before he even managed to blink, and Mary stabbed him a few times just for good measure. Then he tried "Jeepers Creepers," some old tune that freaked Jack out so much Sam ordered him to change the fucking ringtone before he incinerated the phone again, with Lucifer's holding Sam back from already setting it aflame. In retaliation, Azazel picked "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds," something Lucifer found mildly hilarious but was otherwise indifferent towards.

On the other side, Sam keeps Lucifer's ringtone as the very same ringtone that played inside the dinosaur in Jurassic Park, which, on one hand, means he flinches every time Jack watches the movie, but on the other, means Sam can immediately dissociate whenever Lucifer drops a line whenever their soul link is close to being cut off due to interference from the newly created dimensional rifts Lucifer has been keeping on lock-down.

Dean and Cas both set Lucifer's ringtone on their phones to "Fuck You" by Lily Allen, until Lucifer yelled at them for inappropriate language around his son (despite the fact no one really adhered to the rule and slipped up frequently) and made them change it, so they settled on the Imperial March and called it a day.

All in all, it's the most stressful set of phone calls and ringtones anyone has to handle.

And it would lead Sam to destroy the fact they get cell service in Hell at all, but then it's back to blood rituals. So it's a price everyone manages to grin and bear as best they are able.

However, some days, all it does is serve as a distraction. A tool for derailing Lucifer temporarily and nothing more.

Like now.

In the kitchen, Lucifer's phone rings, singing out the bridge and chorus of "Judas" by Lady Gaga. A song Sam can't stomach, much like the other songs Lucifer had chosen for Sam's caller ID for the last phones Sam had trashed and thrown in the sink before electrocuting them, including "Mr. Brightside," "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," "Milkshake," "Gives You Hell," and as usual, "Stairway to Heaven."

The Devil lets it ring for one beat, then two, then finally picks up, grace re-distributing itself as he eyes Sam from across the room.

"Yes, Sammy?" He sighs.

"The wifi signal has a message for you from beyond. Hold on. Luci, it's telling you to shut the fuck up." Sam finishes the last sentence in Enochian.

Lucifer rolls his eyes.

"He learned this habit from you, loverboy." Lucifer hisses out of the side of his mouth to Cas, pointing. Then he turns his attention back to Sam, huffing as he pouts, "Was the phone call really necessary?"

**Is anything you do necessary?**

_I mean-_

**Trick question. The answer is no. No, it's not.**

They both know what lies unsaid there.

Sam had just wanted the fastest distraction on hand and panicked as angrily as possible, considering Lucifer's immediate eyeing of Dean like he was going to swat him like a fly.

Sam can't stand that look.


	199. I Put A Spell On You (DRAFT)

"I can't believe we're doing this." Dean grumbles as they exit the Impala, a festive orange bucket clutched with as much violence as he manage in his hand, his other fist constantly checking to make sure the Colt is still secure. 

Behind him, Rowena and Gabriel keep poking at Castiel's plastic halo and chinzy wings, the cheapest, smallest pair they could find at the nearest gas and sip, with Rowena's equally chintzy pointed witches hat her only actual costume. Gabriel is dressed as Elvis Presley, glitter and giant sunglasses easy to spot in a crowd. Castiel's trenchcoat flaps after him as he tries to speedwalk away from their prodding without appearing to be doing just that, and the red and yellow leaves rustle on the sidewalk, crunching under his feet. Balthazar skips behind them, his own devil horns and pitchfork something he'd chosen just to mock Lucifer. It hadn't worked, seeing as Lucifer didn't really care, but it was the fuck-you-Satan spirit that mattered, and for once, he and Dean were not at odds but actually in agreement about something. Balthazar mocks Lucifer when he isn't looking, but even that does nothing to improve Dean's mood.

Jack is dressed as Charlie Brown, and Sam follows with a completely normal pumpkin in his arms. It has carved-out face that he's hallowed out just so he can wear it as a mask and use both hands if need be, and otherwise is dressed entirely casual, wearing orange flannels and jeans, but still willing to play his part. Halloween costumes were one thing Sam wouldn't change his mind on, and thankfully, with Jack's help brainstorming ideas, Sam got away with not really being forced to adhere to Lucifer's whims, being that it was something just frivolous enough that Lucifer deemed not important enough to push... Although even that hadn't stopped the ideas for couple costumes or other hushed comments about the good old days that Sam otherwise would ignore before they'd made their decision. That, and it had been almost a compromise, seeing as Lucifer decided not to wear Jess or the nurse outfit again. Or any clown. Or Beetlejuice, with Lucifer's reasoning hinging on the technicality that he's not "actually a clown, Sammy," but who Sam still maintained was a clown in all the ways that mattered.

Sam was the Great Pumpkin to Jack's costume, and that was good enough for him. Dean wore a cowboy hat and spurs and an ascot, just for the look and the Scooby Doo reference. Priscilla was covered by a sheet completed with a red glowing nose, the perfect ghostly dog companion that Eileen kept on a false lease, Eileen's own suit the same one she'd used when under cover for hunts and an easy thing to modify.

"If you're forcing Jack to assimilate to human culture, Dean, then he deserves a chance to appreciate all of it's aspects." Lucifer corrects him and waves a hand. The axe he carries swings like a pendulum, low on the ground, and Sam suppressing the urge to freeze. Behind Rowena, Benny and Meg keep talking in low voices, a very real knife in Meg's hand as she hikes up her Jason mask, while Benny is decked out as a period-accurate, New Orleans version of Van Helsing, wearing some of his original, not completely ruined original closet, thanks to Alicia and Max's spellcrafting. Alicia, Max, and Clea are dressed as Frankenstein, Dracula, and Medusa. Next to Ellen, Missouri is dressed as the gaudiest, flashiest caricature of a fortune-teller she could manage, mostly because it made Patience break out laughing so hard she fell over.

Trailing behind them, Abaddon and Lilith and Dagon all whispering to each other in a way Sam finds distinctly suspicious and would otherwise eavesdrop on, all of them dressed as the witches from Hocus Pocus. Brady, dressed up as a priest, notices Sam's interest, then nods, and gives him a wink, and Sam forces himself not to react as he faces forwards again. One foot in front of the other. He can get through this long, long night, and the never-ending, grating whine of Lucifer's words. He's used to it, and if he tries hard enough, maybe he can make him sound as indistinct and comical as the adults did in the same cartoon Jack had decided to latch on to. It doesn't quite work, but Lucifer does sound a little farther away when he adds, "It's not like you're scared of things that go bump in the night."

**This is your life now. Trick or treating with your son, and the Devil, and demons and angels and a bunch of hunters. On the anniversary of your transition. The day we'd promise would be a good day, every time it came round, no matter what gets thrown at us. This is our life now, but not forever. You will be okay. Everything will be okay.**

Sam then recites every version of every exorcism he knows inside his head to calm himself down. Sam's thoughts remain apprehensive and more than a little uncooperative, even if his Latin remains flawless, able to be recited in his sleep.

 _You keep working on breathing evenly, buddy. Otherwise, someone might notice you're not feeling too hot, and then I'd have to fly you away and do a very thorough job of making sure you aren't falling under the weather._ Lucifer warns, and Sam forces himself to try and be stone, for all sound to be as vapid and vacuous as a butterfly's flight, and it still doesn't work.

Sam inhales and exhales, having not said a word in except to check in with Jack and Owen and Jody, although Jody is quiet, too, almost as much as he is. Sam tries not to think of blowing off Owen's skull to save Jody the trouble, and fails pretty horribly every time he looks at him. To compensate, he keeps glancing at Jack, who keeps looking back at him as if he's worried he can mess trick-or-treating up. Otherwise, Sam looks at Castiel's sunglasses and fake wings, and tries to find the stupidest thing he can focus on to distract himself. Like Balthazar's exaggerated faces, even if they don't really get Sam's mind off of anything.

"Yeah, well, the last time we had to deal with trick or treaters, we had to deal with ghost-busting hacks who all nearly died. Oh, and let's not forget the time we had to literally stop Samhain, thanks to you." Dean growls, not backing down.

Lucifer gives him half a smile, but there's no merriment to be found. Only ice and the tilted head that seemed to be considering whether to get all up in his space. Instead, Lucifer opts to lean closer to Sam, and Sam forces himself not to flinch like always.

"You're welcome for not resurrecting him. Quality over quantity, merry Christmas, all that jazz." Lucifer slings back, loping an arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam tries to shrug him off, which Lucifer, for once, allows, only because it means he can heft the axe over his own shoulders again. "For Dad's sake, live a little."

"Yeah, look on the bright side." Gabriel interrupts, rolling his eyes as he throws up jazz hands. "Candy, booze," And then his loud voice turns softer as he leans in close and whispers, "And ogling people in sexy costumes, provided you aren't staring at this fashion disaster here." To prove his point, Gabriel pokes at Castiel's halo again, and Cas steals his sunglasses in retaliation and takes them for his own. Gabriel blinks, and Castiel's serious expression doesn't change, neither Dean nor himself endeared to Gabe's typical way of trying to diffuse the tension when Lucifer is in one of his more playful moods.

"Exactly, bro." Lucifer chimes back in, easing into the fake calm easily. "This has to hold some kind of sentimental value for you, Dean. I know it does for Sammy. He's had some honest milestones this time of year." And then he's mussing Sam's hair, and it takes all of Sam's willpower not to drag the axe out of Lucifer's hands and hit him with it, even though he knows Lucifer would just fly him away and turn it around on him, like he always does with objects capable of bludgeoning or blunt force trauma when the mood hits him. "Halloween has so many memories. Sam and Cassie became friends, you all failed to stop a seal from breaking, Sam smote someone just below Asmodeus' paygrade..."

Then Lucifer's grace washes over Dean, never something he's used to, not even after the whispers following the Mark, and Lucifer isn't playing around when he adds, _And from what my little birds tell me, you get to remember all that time down in Hell, like the good little screw-up you are. Is that why you didn't go with a Freddy Kreuger mask? I mean, I'm sure Alastair could find someone's peeled faces to make something custom made, but you've done a pretty good job yourself, when you put your mind to it._

Dean bites his lip and Cas grabs his hand, keeping him from actually lunging at the Devil and doing the same thing Sam had considered mere seconds before.

As they keep walking, Jody and Donna and the rest of the group exit Donna's minivan parked past Baby, everyone deciding it was better to remain together for now, seeing as it's not just a resurgence of new-and-improved Leviathans they have to worry about on this hunt, but a giant group of monsters hiding in plain sight. Seeing the potential issue for mass hysteria, they thought tag teams would be easiest to manage. Mia's dressed as a doctor, stethoscope and all, adjacent to Ellen and Kelly, whose costumes are a motorcyclist and an aviator. Donna just wears her sheriff suit along with Jody, only able to get away with it because it's easier for when they need to get into an actual crime scene. Likewise, Bobby stays closer to Claire and the kids to keep watch, with his "costume" being a lumberjack, with his only actual prop an angel-blade upgraded chainsaw. Mary walks with him, dressed as an FBI agent. Before they had left, Azazel had tried to give her a white bedsheet stained with suspiciously red liquid and said she'd make a good ghost, but no one's seen him after she punched him in the face and Sam exorcised him back to Hell, however temporarily that may be. Other than that, the only resurrected people who have been permitted to stay behind and avoid the field trip for Halloween are John, Rufus, Cain, Amy, Asmodeus, Alastair, Ruby, Crowley, and Ms. Tran, who only stayed behind to either do some recon of their own or to work on some pet project assigned to them, and, in John's case, just because Lucifer didn't want him distracting Sam, Mary, Dean, and Cas by proxy via Dean, seeing as they tend to get distracted from the Devil's own attempts to keep their attention when he decides to be a blabbermouth. Or, in Crowley's case, he was still being tortured in Hell, or the basement, whichever Alastair preferred. Raphael and Azazel were stuck tagging along, but so far hadn't done so visibly.

A ways ahead of the group, Owen and Magda lead the group of trick-or-treaters in the front along with Jack, with Claire, Patience, Kaia, Jo, and Adam following not far behind. Up in front of everyone, Owen is dressed as a zombie, most of Rowena's makeup helping to complete the look. The concept is one Jody certainly wasn't exactly on board with, but Owen had asked if it was okay as part of the process of coping with his memories of being undead, and Mia had agreed that this was something he'd need to work through. Lucifer approved the concept with glee, seeing as everyone's costumes had to be approved before their "team building" was given the green light. Next to Owen, Magda is dressed as Scarlet Witch, followed by Claire and Kaia arm in arm as Gabrielle and Xena, while Patience smoothes her skirt as Velma, next to Jo, who is Daphne, Adam as Fred, and Amy's son Jacob dressed in an oversized hoodie as Shaggy since he liked the color green. Jacob might not be able to eat candy, only brains, and maybe soda once in a while, but with all the makeup and extraneous getups, he'll be useful for sniffing out actual blood and injuries and tracking victims or injured teammates down, much like any of the demons or angels or Benny can, as well. Eileen lets him walk Priscilla once in a while, even though the hellhound can slip out of her harness easily. Behind them, Kevin, Garth, and Ash, are all decked out as Charlie's angels (although the bodysuits all make them look more like a generic glam band from the eighties, Ash's hair and getup making him look like a knock-off David Bowie), with Charlie playing Charlie, suit and all, all of them absorbed into the new tracking device and sonar all of them have been investing time creating. Bela is right in front of them, dressed at Catwoman, while Jesse is Batman, both of them trying to keep tabs on Abaddon, Dagon, and Lilith as well. 

Their cover for this hunt is trick-or-treating, then investigating two "haunted" houses (when the most likely culprit is hotbed of energy radiating off the corn field surrounding both properties), and then finally hitting a few large Halloween parties and some upper echelon witches houses for a few busts (which Sam suspects might also cash in a few deals for people's souls, something he isn't looking forward to having to deal with). At least, that seems to be the way this was mapped out, once whichever lucky chaperone for the kids gets to bail on this trainwreck and take the younger ones back to bed, although that might be delegated to Sully instead depending on Lucifer's mood. Everyone else was stuck hunting this way, and Sam's not sure what Lucifer intends to get out of this other than amusement and watching their group dynamics. Rowena would generally be fine with raiding other witches resources, but because Lucifer is the one making them do this, she's as unenthusiastic as everyone else.

Sam knows he's sizing everyone up for something. Sam just isn't sure what.

**You know, technically, this is Pagan custom.**

_All the more reason to correct the human need to celebrate, Sammy. This is another teachable moment, for Jack, too. And you wouldn't begrudge the kid candy, would you? I didn't think so. You were always generous with the sugary treats when divvying them up between me and Cassie way back when._

Notes:

I was gonna make Garth, Kevin, Ash, and Charlie do a wizard of Oz reference, but after tormenting everyone else, I just didn't feel like Charlie remembering her dead GF was one more thing to add to the angst pile. Also, Lucifer is dressed like the dude from the Shining.

Otherwise, Lucifer didn't really want to resurrect John because he doesn't really like him and because he's like PAY ATTENTION TO ME, not him, but he resurrected him for a purpose, so it's just a bullet he bit for this story. Actual sub-microscopic smallest violin.

Priscilla is the dog from Nightmare Before Christmas. Azazel, while not pictured, totally would dress as Freddy Kreuger or Hannibal Lector (the Silence of the Lambs version with the mask).


	200. Gold (DRAFT)

"We're going to make it ourselves." Lucifer promises.

Sam can't quite keep his eyes on the outdoor forge in their backyard. Or anything really, although he flinches every time the hammer comes down.

Sam watches the Archangel blade melt down into golden specks, and finds everything feels remote, his stomach sinking and far away, the future an undefined thing Sam can't quite escape.

"I thought it would be fitting," Lucifer says, too soft. Too casual. "Something from my family, something from yours." 

\--

"You remember when you made me watch that movie... What was it, Lord of the Rings? Well, I've always wondered. What happens if the ring didn't have malice poured into it? What if Sauron poured in his love instead? And speaking of which, wouldn't pouring all your malice and cruelty into something make you not have it? Anyway... What I'm getting at, Sam, is I want us to pour some real thought into this."


	201. Viva La Vida

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by coldplay

"We are not having Azazel officiate our wedding." Sam's hands slam on the table. The lights flicker.

Lucifer chuckles.

That's what finally brings Dean into awareness that morning when he comes down for a damn cup of coffee. He doesn't enter the room, just stays huddled outside where Cas, Mary, Bobby, Kelly, Eileen, Charlie, Rowena, Kevin, Gabriel, and Jack are huddled in the other room behind the almost-closed door, peeking through the cracks, or, in Rowena, Eileen, Kevin, Charlie, and Gabriel's case, watching Sam and Lucifer in the kitchen via some basin on the table by the couch that must be some scrying-puddle or something. They can't see much, just their heads, the chair and the table obscuring them from direct view and no one wanted to deal with violating Sam's privacy like that. They know how Lucifer gets.

Lucifer probably knows they are there. Sam... No one is sure about that one by now. Could go either way.

Normally, they wouldn't pry, but asking Sam about the wedding is off limits, and Lucifer isn't giving any helpful information and has just been bothering Cas and Mary about it or giving a few excited hints to Jack, who was asking about it until he caught the look on Sam's face and promptly shut up. Otherwise, it's been a point of contention and thinly-veiled stress for two weeks now and everyone is on edge.

Sam probably wouldn't mind the intrusion. Probably. They'd rather not spy, knowing how Lucifer is, but they need to eavesdrop. The whole wedding has been too hush-hush, and everyone who matters is still trying to find a way to derail it, or somehow waylay the Devil in time so Sam doesn't have to tie the knot, which Sam would likely appreciate if he had anything to say about it. Only way they can do that is if they know where it is.

Truth be told, they would go in and try to change the subject or try to get Sam away if it would help him, but trying to unglue Sam from Lucifer right now is about as easy as evaporating the ocean with a spoon and ten times more impossible, and if things get worse, there isn't much they can do. That, and interrupting Lucifer about the wedding when he's discussing it with Sam was a one-way ticket to Sam being splattered with someone else's blood and guts or Jack being absorbed into the discussion, and Sam specifically doesn't want him to have to be around Lucifer right now, so they've been avoiding that, too.

"Fair point, just saying, he was technically cleared to be a pastor-" Lucifer can't help but jest as he ruffles Sam's hair.

"No." Sam smacks him, but his voice remains flat. "Hard pass on Gabriel, too."

"Okay, Sam. Fine by me, you get your pick there. Gabe was already out of rotation, he's needed on my side for the best man speech so long as he isn't going to be too much of a mess."

"Wouldn't count on it." Sam's voice mutters. "Not unless you're planning on torturing him into submission."

_Nah, no fun. Plus, even a less-than-thrilled Gabe can concoct the best and most gripping speeches. Sure to keep the crowd occupied while I have my hands full with you. And he is my brother, for all his faults. Besides, you've said ex-nay on any demons, so unless you are on board with Brady doing the honors-_

**No. I didn't even think we were inviting him.**

_I mean, he introduced us officially. I couldn't leave him out of the proceedings._

**Fuck you.**

_Sam, you may be an early riser but you have never been a morning person. Do I have to put you in a better mood?_

Lucifer decides to ignores the interruption with too much ease, still absorbed in his own thoughts. Sam accepts the suspension of the threat hanging over him, his odds of being dragged back upstairs now roughly 20% once Lucifer let Sam's slip go.

"Plus, Michael is not invited, and I thought you wanted Castiel to stay seated with your side of the family, seeing as he has his whole thing with Dean... They should have tied the knot already, maybe we can get them to catch the fucking bouquet? It's been actual decades watching them dance around each other. Blech." Lucifer pretends to moan, and Sam snorts to try and dispel more of the tension that he'd help escalate.

"They think the same of you. Also, Rowena and Charlie are going to fight them for it. It will be a bloodbath. Donna and Jody are going to die of laughter watching them, seeing as they've been married for what, ten years now? Seventeen?" Sam answers, deadpan and trying to wrack his own memory, all while trying to find anyway to muffle the persistent fear and to rally his own denial that he is involved in any part of this happening.

Then Lucifer is eyeing Sam with a glint in his blue eyes and a quirk of an almost-smile, knowing every bit of everything Sam's thinking from his tone and the way his trembling body betrays him.

Sam immediately sobers at Lucifer's next point, "Not sure, they're your human friends. Moving back to my point, Sammy, if the little engine wants to apply himself-" Lucifer suggests, and opens his arms wide in possibility. "I won't raise a fuss."

_I could see him doing the rites. He's got the holy stamp of approval._

**No.**

Sam's voice turns to steel as he interrupts, "Cas isn't officiating our wedding unless a powerful monster with enough juice to kill us all, yourself included, reigns down from the fucking sky and sets us all on fire." Sam hisses, adamant. Doing that would ruin Castiel's life along with Sam's, and Sam doesn't want him to have to feel that kind of failure, of knowing he let Sam down and that he never actually managed to protect Sam from Lucifer in the end, all promises to the contrary. Sam wasn't going to be a part of that on any level. 

Lucifer plays nice, because that's not his biggest priority. "Okay, I hear you. So who would you prefer?" Lucifer asks, and throws a conciliatory arm around Sam's shoulder. "And what denomination are we going with? All of them? None? Doesn't matter much, since Dad's..." Lucifer breaks off, tone a bit too calm as he settles on, "Gone, and I'm pretty much your poster-child for blasphemy now that I'm running the show, and you... Actually, did you ever convert to anything? I know you've considered it once or twice, but I never bothered to pry after you said yes to possession the second time and all those other times after. Too distracted by everything else, all those other little sensations..." Lucifer's voice rumbles in his chest, and Sam bites his lip as Lucifer eyes him, pupils wide, "Still, you've always sought out a community... And have always been big on praying." Lucifer trails off as he winks and kisses Sam's cheek, his other hand squeezing Sam's thigh, but Sam doesn't flinch much this time. Seems to have seen it coming.

"Judaism, actually. Reform. Found some old family journals about it which made up my mind." Sam bites out, ignoring the passive-aggressive hinting and hating the constant physical contact and the fact that they got derailed for the billionth time this morning, but anything that isn't involving fucking demons or things that would ruin his family's life in his own wedding is a welcome subject change.

"Thought you were a fan of churches and priests."

"Too many associated memories, not a big fan of confession after you possessed me the third time, and I dress as a priest too often for cases not to feel a bit guilty otherwise."

"Makes sense." Lucifer's voice turns speculative, his hand moving from Sam's thigh to tapping his own face as he answers, "And you have the lineage on Mama's side even if Great-Grandma didn't practice, and going back to biblical times and all that, courtesy of Cain and Abel, although they predated it all. Does Dean know you officially shacked up with organized religion, seeing as he's in self-imposed almost-atheist denial despite everything? How'd he take that?"

"Not his business, and I can't say I'm all that involved, but I prefer the philosophy. You know, act like God isn't there and do good anyway."

**Seems fitting and relevant to the work that needs to be done.**

Lucifer smiles as he coos, "Of course you would."

"Look, are you going to leave it alone?" Sam grunts, squirming as he glares at Lucifer with narrow eyes, "Or do you have somewhere you are going with this?"

Lucifer runs his hands through Sam's hair like he always does, his other hand still propped against his chin before he shrugs. The shadow of his wings fans out, embraces Sam, and scoots his chair closer with a grated scraping noise courtesy of the floor.

"Not really, Sam. Mostly academic interest." Lucifer answers, waving a hand before he points. "That, and I have to say, I am always halfway pleased when you surprise me with the little things. I should be able to extrapolate, but I like... guessing."

Lucifer's other hand floats back over and splays over Sam's chest, and Sam doesn't bother to move, since he knows it's pointless. Lucifer's thumb slides slightly as he feels the jump of Sam's pulse with too much single-minded emphasis.

"Whatever." Sam's mouth draws close, each syllable too terse as his tongue flicks out. Then Sam licks his lips, more than nervous about the fact Lucifer has a 40-60 shot of laying him out over the table to do whatever he pleases, including make out with him, all while Sam suppresses an instinctual wince. Sam keeps babbling to distract him and keep Lucifer's attention from jumping there. "If you're so curious, Bobby introduced me. Think he and Rufus actually were involved in the community for a while before stuff happened."

"Sounds like a story there. But if that's your preference," Lucifer withdraws and rubs his hands together, then refocuses. "He know a rabbi he could hook us up with that won't be an annoyance?"

Translation: That Lucifer won't make a bloodstain on the wall after the ceremony or during it.

"Bobby or Magda should know someone. Bobby might be cleared as one. I'd have to ask. Would you be on board with him, if he was?" Sam tries for civility but his voice still can't keep back the bitter edge he's been trying to keep down.

"I don't see why not. Bobby has always been very straightforward and no-nonsense about all this. I've always appreciated that about him. He fights, but he knows when it's best not to make waves, and he's always been mostly decent to you compared to everyone else. For a human, he's a step up from others." And that would be glowing praise, coming from the Devil, if his opinion mattered. "He doesn't bore or annoy me that much, when all is said and done."

"Good, then I'll ask him..." Sam trails off.

**Provided it doesn't break his heart.**

_He'd want to be there for you, Sam. He might even walk you down the aisle, if Dean or Mama doesn't do so instead. Which reminds me- you inviting John._

**Yeah. Not like he has anywhere else to be.**

_You don't seem as conflicted as you used to be about the idea._

**He always said I'd marry the Devil if I stayed queer. Serves him right to see it with his own eyes.**

Then Sam eyes the Devil, cautious and suspicious and exhausted, the bags under his eyes clear as every unmarked bruise Lucifer's ever given him and healed over. "Why do you even care so much? Religion isn't exactly relevant to us, all things considered."

"True." Lucifer shrugs again, then wrings his hands together until one settles on the chair, the other the nape of Sam's neck. "But I'm not really sure what umbrella I fall under, seeing as I predate religion. Does that make me Jewish by default?"

"I highly doubt it." Sam says quietly, but with heat, his mouth drawing back into an almost snarl before he forces himself into pseudo-calm. 

That's a good one. Lucifer, being pious. He reserved that for his own brand of self-righteous ego worship where God's plan is what he decided it is, nothing more and nothing less. No, concern for people's welfare or mensch behavior there.

"I'll follow your lead on that one. Although, I will say, odd choice, seeing as Judaism doesn't properly believe in Hell as we all know it, so unless this is you trying to subsume our experience into something more positive, which I suppose I almost understand, I don't get it. You never were on board with my whole take on our time together down there for what it was."

"Get used to disappointment, because you aren't getting anything out of me on that one." All in all, Sam doesn't sound too put out by this dilemma. "And if we're being honest, you've always struck me as more a fan of Christianity, at least with how you co-opt their theology. You know, emerging from churches, crossing yourself ironically, focusing on people's sins, demons not being fans of Christo or crosses and holy water, the whole patriarchal complex you have, even the chain of command seems like something you and Michael love, seeing as Heaven's all about blind obedience and you like not being questioned." Sam even chances mentioning Michael, gauges it should be safe enough right now.

"Objection. I am the saint of not following orders, thank you very much." Lucifer objects.

"Maybe, but you expect everyone else to listen, even if you do whatever you like." Sam argues, then keeps going. "Add in all that history of crusading, pillaging, and you've got your whole humans-are-the-worst spiel ready to go, plus that whole militant type of holy mission that's your bread-and-butter for justifying yourself. And it must be real nice, having people prioritize the afterlife over living in on the Earth, gives you a lot of vulnerable people to manipulate and pervert to your own purposes, considering the history Christian extremism has, with the Inquisition and pillaging, and the current stuff, with priests and their internal review boards. Must be a riot for you."

"Minus the slander. And you have my worst vices pegged, Sam." Lucifer pushes Sam's plate over, since Sam's stopped picking at his food. "Not the nicest way to put it, but still true."

"Don't pretend like you don't prefer their over-the-top reactions to you and theatrical renditions of you, either. You like making an entrance." Sam keeps going because if he keeps talking, he can ignore Lucifer touching him and he can ignore Lucifer laughing at him, the laughter too close to other laughter Sam hates.

Lucifer's laughter breaks off. "Guilty as charged. Guess we do need a pastor on board, to make this an interdenominational ceremony. Don't want it to be courthouse wedding, too mundane for my tastes." Lucifer takes the acerbic answer in stride and steeples his fingers together, for once, his voice not carrying much hidden weight, more infused with pure curiosity as it becomes more serious. "Otherwise, Sam, to answer your question. I care, because I want to do this right, through any and all the channels at our disposal. Won't change what we have, considering God's whole gifting you to me and our bond and everything we are, but it's a ritual. You know how I get with those. It's binding, official, and it's symbolic, because it reflects your culture, and, well, your..." And then Lucifer's hands are on Sam again, his mouth too close as he scoops Sam up and deposits him in his lap, as his lips pop over the word, too much infused in the four syllables, "Humanity."

Sam freezes, Lucifer kissing the side of his neck, the kissing his collarbone, both hands running up and down Sam's torso in a way that Sam wishes he knew how to derail.

Lucifer speaks a bit more softly, "And you did go ring shopping all those years ago. So think of this as making up for lost time. After all, Sam. I did promise you everything."

Sam doesn't have an answer for that, only a heady mix of severe pain, aching love, unwanted want, pure discomfort, and seething hatred all coming up to choke him along with the terror of possibly being fucked on the kitchen table again. Lucifer notes it, but decides to be a slightly less handsy and goes back to explaining his thought process to keep the peace.

"That, and I met Jesus before I was put in the box, but he wasn't all that to write home about. Another piece of Dad, all that jazz. Not something I found appealing or messiah material, let's be real, even if Michael and Gabriel were totally on board with hyping him up. And the Bible? Don't even get me started on all the things they got wrong about yours truly, although you've heard it all before. I will say, though, getting down and dirty with a pastor in a church for the occasion just makes me vindictively happy after the fact."

Sam forces any words out of his mouth he can. "Well, that answers that. A rabbi and a pastor are marrying us in a church, an archangel and a human-"

"True Vessel." Lucifer corrects.

Sam keeps going, "With angels, demons, witches, hunters, psychics, a nephilim, and more as witnesses. Good thing we're handling this in house, or a wedding planner would freak." Sam's laugh is more than forced, and he inhales when cold hands settle over his hips. "I take it you aren't about involving any Pagan Gods or rituals in this, seeing as we're not too involved there." Sam's voice is matter of fact and every movement pointedly stilted. Lucifer sticks out his tongue, although his eyes are flat and dead.

"Mm. Hard pass unless you want the ceiling painted red." Lucifer answers, then waves a hand. "Your little friends, whatever-their-faces, Alicia, Max, whoever, they can be there, as will Red and Gabe."

"Fine." Sam bites out, Lucifer kisses the underside of his neck again, this time sucking harder, and Sam feels icy hands straying lower again and tries not to throw Lucifer off only because he knows Lucifer will actually drape him over the table and start fucking him without hesitation. He can feel it from the way the grace prickles, trailing goosebumps over his skin.

"No Pagan Gods allowed. Although, if Gabe invites that other one as his plus-one, I'll allow it, provided she doesn't set anything on fire. You bring that up since Red's been teaching you stuff on the side?"

"Sort of. I wanted to make sure you weren't throwing something at me from left field, like a blood pact or something, seeing as you like spells and all that." Sam pointedly keeps ignoring the wandering hands that he can't ever quite ignore.

"Tempting, but we just need the words and the ceremony, Sam, not magic. We're already tied together in every way that matters. This is just the icing on the cake."

Sam finally caves and turns himself around, both legs draped over each side of the Devil as he kisses him on the mouth, with tongue. Lucifer responds, this time with tongue and then more teeth, and his hands stop tormenting Sam's waist and ribs and inner thighs, the concession being what it is.

Lucifer breaks the kiss first, and thankfully only holds Sam by the shoulder-blades, not touching anywhere else. "Speaking of. What kind of cake you want?"

"Vanilla buttercream, black forest, or strawberry shortcake. I don't really care which. And we'll need an extra ice cream cake with blue frosting for Jack, that's his favorite. Not angel food, though, not unless it's a gag for Gabriel or something." Sam clarifies, trying to keep himself from blinking too much or swallowing or moving very much at all because moving might encourage Lucifer all over again.

"We can get all of them, Sam. So I'll ask the guests what they'd like the most of. And no red velvet?" Lucifer prods, eyebrows raised a bit too pointedly.

"Ew, no." Sam makes a face. Lucifer smiles at him, warmly, like he already knew the answer, because he did. Then his face brushes Sam's again, and Sam keeps his eyes on the Devil.

"You sure you mind if I pick the location?" Lucifer re-affirms with a tilt his head.

"Not Ilchester." Sam growls, finally ducking down and breaking eye contact.

Lucifer smiles at him, all teeth. His voice is a throaty almost-laugh as a hand strokes the nape of Sam's neck. "Sam, I wiped that one off the map."

"Point still stands." Sam murmurs as he looks at the half-undone buttons on his shirt and starts re-buttoning them. Three fingers caresses Sam's spine for a second too long, and Sam tries not to jerk, only shivers. 

"Okay. How about this one?" Lucifer leans into Sam's shoulder, both hands back to keeping Sam from falling out of his lap, as he points back to Sam's laptop on the table.

Sam turns and follows his gaze. (Their unwanted spies catch the name and the location as well, then scatter before Lucifer can wise up or at least acknowledge to their presence.)

The place looks... nice. Ornate blue and cream-colored marble floors, stained glass. Bit too similar to Ilchester for his taste, but all churches probably would be a bit too close to home, after all was said and done.

"Looks fine. We both picking out flowers?" Sam asks. Lucifer leans back and rubs Sam's arm, his other hand rubbing the inside of Sam's thigh (near the underside of his knee this time), still doing so over the fabric of Sam's pants so he only feels slightly cold, the friction counteracting that, but mostly just to make Sam's pulse jump.

Lucifer hums an agreement, then adds, "Roses are nice."

"White or red?" Sam manages to reply, Lucifer once again hiking Sam closer as he leans inwards, both hands now cupping Sam's ass. Sam ignores the curve of Lucifer's jeans pressing into him as best he is able as Lucifer kisses Sam's lips again, one hand squeezing ever so hard enough to make Sam's heart jump in his throat.

"Red, Sam. Although we could mix them on the tables. What do you think?" He says and tilts his head.

Sam ignores the implications there, overt and otherwise. "Fine. I want day lilies though."

"Yellow or orange?"

"Both."

"Colorful. Jack as a ringbearer? Or do you think he'd prefer to throw flowers?" Lucifer asks as Sam starts to shut down.

"We can ask him." Sam says, voice a bit too high pitched until he inhales and it modulates, going flat. "Jack and Magda can figure out who'd prefer what."

Sam is pointedly ignoring the hand on his waist now, Lucifer's bitten fingertips digging into the half inch just below his belt buckle, one thumb tucked in the belt-loop closest to Sam's navel.

"Sounds like a plan. You pick a best man or woman yet? Or is Dean," Lucifer's voice hangs on the vowels of the name a bit too long, "a shoe-in there?"

Sam gives Lucifer a withering look even with the metal taste blooming on his tongue. "What do you think?"

"Okay, I deserved that. Still, I have to say, Sammy, you've been very..." Lucifer stands them both up, still fishing for the word as an excuse to kiss Sam again, "Accommodating."

The kiss is wetter than usual and Sam almost gags at how hungry Lucifer is, how suffocating... Sam hates it when he chokes on his own spit and has to fucking swallow it and Lucifer's. He does, though, because one hand moves from Sam's back to the edge of his throat, not wrapping round but still curled and close and stroking it with enough pressure Sam's phantom and not-long-since-healed bruises almost feel like they burn at the contact.

When Sam can breath again, his voice stays carefully neutral.

"Not like we didn't talk about this before, way back when. Not too much to change from the original plan. Why make this harder than it has to be, right?" Sam almost regrets the words, but parrots them anyway, because maybe then Lucifer will actually take Sam up on the one thing he needs to have happen. "Lucifer. If we're doing this... One last thing. One week before the wedding and during the ceremony, you don't touch me at all." Sam demands. He doesn't let his voice shake.

Lucifer goes still. "Sam-"

"One week. Only fair. If you want to do this the right way? You want me to be on board willingly and not make a fuss on purpose or check out the moment we walk in? Then you don't fucking touch me until after the fucking ceremony. You don't even get to look at the suit before we get to the church. Promise?" Sam stands his ground, Lucifer still staring at him with that same alien blankness that Sam rarely sees except when he's royally pissed Lucifer off or taken him by surprise. Or both.

 **Please.** Sam amends, as if that will help anything.

"Okay, Sam. Whatever makes you happy." Lucifer's tone is a bit too light when he finally breaks the silence, and his expression is a bit more drawn. Sam knows he's probably going to be felt up more in the meantime, but at the rate Lucifer is going, there's no derailing the rest of it. "I'm just going to have to treasure you in the interim."

Sam's more-than-suspicions are proven correct when Lucifer grabs him by the front of his shirt and flies him away. He saw that coming, even without his ultimatum.


	202. N.M.E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by set it off

Lucifer gives Bobby a very pointed death-glare, and tightens his grip on Sam's wrist to stop him from shifting from foot-to-foot.

Sam doesn't look anywhere but the floor.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace." Bobby says, not without a whole lot of bitterness and silent prodding. He still looks like saying the words are like nails on a chalkboard, but for Sam's sake, he at least will try to make this practice rehearsal not devolve into another torture session.

Maybe trying to sabotage a practice rehearsal isn't the best plan. But honestly, it's about the only plan they've got. And the rest of them aren't off the chessboard, even if Bobby is still serving a useful distraction.

Dean jumps out from behind a pew and holds up the new and improved Colt to the Devil's forehead.

"I object."

He shoots and Lucifer crumples to the ground.

Still not dead, but man, they know it hurts like a bitch.

Then the church erupts into carefully organized chaos, Rowena, Mary, Charlie, Jody, Donna, Jo, Ellen, Ash, Garth, and Kevin all going to work while the younger folks keep Jack occupied in the other room and blissfully unaware until it's safe to ask for extra firepower.


	203. Goodbye, Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by supertramp

"You can't do anything to stop me." Lucifer laughs. Eyeing them all with his hands settled at his sides, too casual, but his eyes burn red, revealing the real rage underneath.

John says nothing.

Only raises his gun, levels it to the Devil...

Then shifts his target, and John shoots Sam head-on.

He crumbles, neither anchored to this world nor allowed to pass on, and Tessa cradles Sam's soul in her hands, away from Cas or any other angel or demon who gets any ideas.

And Lucifer snarls, true voice reverberating but muffled by the warding around him, one hand reaching out to claim what's his, yet still constrained by the angel trap Dean had fortuitously set up without knowing how his plan would be hijacked.

Dean lunges for John, caught off guard as much as everyone else, only to stop short John holds the archangel blade to Jack's throat.

John doesn't even look his way. His eyes are only for Lucifer, narrow slits of hate, ready to end this monster and break him the same way he was.

"No. But I do know what you care about. And I can take it away."


	204. Cemeteries of London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like, before the ending section for this (because it was gonna be the attempt at a wedding reception), sam was gonna just... snap and have a bunch of flashbacks of ilchester church and ruby and projecting stuff from his mind at the audience because hallucinations becoming real due to psychic stuff but that never got written and it's the other thing I am trying to get to still work with me.
> 
> anyway... chapter title a song by coldplay

It's like the calm breaking after a hurricane has upended the area and left nothing but destruction in it's wake. 

"Has anyone ever told you bottling things up and compartmentalizing are not healthy coping mechanisms?"

Sam doesn't give that a response.

Sam lays on the steps and looks up. "Can we change the venue?"

"What were you thinking?"

"The beach." Sam answers.

Lucifer nods.

"Same one I'm thinking?" Lucifer prods.

Sam nods.

Lucifer raises his hands to snap! And send everyone there, but Sam holds out a hand.

"Can... Can we wait, though. I could use some air." Sam's amazed his voice doesn't break.

"Take your time, Sam. We have a lot of it to spare."


	205. Victorious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by panic! at the disco
> 
> also I had a whole section where charlie and rowena and kelly protect Sam from Lucifer as part of the wedding afterparty before things degrade into demon angel monster partying, and there was gonna be a section with Sam dancing to Thriller by Michael Jackson with Jack (and Homewrecker by Marina) with Kelly as a method for coping with how off the rails this was gonna be, and I was gonna have a section where Sam talked to Mary and Dean and Cas and Bobby stuff while other songs were name dropped (Lost on You by LP was gonna be another post-wedding slow song, and the chain by fleetwood mac was gonna have brotherly bonding reassurance dancing moments), before Brady and Gabriel fought over control of the aux cord, then the slow dance song before the ending was gonna be Every Breath You Take before Lucifer whisks Sam away. Basically it was gonna incorporate songs that are chapter titles into actual events of the afterparty but I got hella overwhelmed and I still hope to eventually get steam to make it happen one day despite the fact it's been fighting me since September of 2018.)

The wedding itself goes relatively smoothly after Sam's breakdown... save for the fact that Mary was trapped on the opposite aisle from family and friends to instead have front row seats with Lilith, Azazel, Alastair, Ruby, Brady, Cain, and the princes and Knights of Hell. They were followed by the invitees not from immediate friends and family, which included the entire host of Hell, Heaven, along with every monster the Winchesters had ever encountered, and every hunter or anyone else ever tangentially involved with the Winchesters or their friends or enemies (which made fitting into the pews a bit difficult before the angels did whatever dimensional bull they prided themselves on, until the venue changed to outside, which rendered it all moot).

After the kiss, "Hey Jude" starts blasting out of the surrounding speakers. Brady stares Sam down and pitches in with a guitar, intent on serenading everyone with his very loud acoustic version from the front row seats, while all of the demons pitch in and throw rice at Lucifer and Sam with reckless abandon, and then crowding around Mary and singing louder than their meatsuits could likely handle. Azazel even puts an arm around her shoulder before being shoved off. In the ruckus, Alastair makes eye contact with Dean. He keeps singing, face blank and voice as flat as possible, and Cas has to physically restrain Dean from running down the aisle, stabbing Lucifer in the face, and then coming for the rest of them.

\--

The crowd goes quiet with some very pointed shushes (and intermittent or otherwise implied threats of torture or worse) as a spoon clinks on a glass.

"I don't really know how I got to be the one to do the honors," Balthazar starts in, clearing his throat, and actually appearing a bit nervous instead of disgruntled on autopilot, "But here goes."

Everyone knows that is a bald faced lie, one among many waiting in the wings. Anyone who matters knows exactly how he got saddled with the speech. Chairs were thrown. Property damage escalated into triple digits. Blood ran from fountains. People and demons and angels had been smote and revived and killed and revived again. (Jack managed to watch an entire Pixar movie on his tablet, huddled until the table while said discussions were held, in the interim of Lucifer fixing the wedding venue after rehearsal had gone up in flames and was then resumed with even more sadistic fervor).

Once the collective derail-the-wedding plot failed miserably and traumatized everyone, there had been some last minute reshuffling of responsibilities. Cas and Bobby had been thrown out of the running for... various reasons, attempted smiting and/or bodily harm nonwithstanding.

Dean had been discounted before the wedding plans had even materialized, thanks to Sam not being able to handle the consequences (although it still isn't going to stop him from trying to make this less painful than it already is).

Gabriel was considered, briefly, for being able to stomach the infighting and weather on through, but was discounted for being Gabriel (although, everyone knows that isn't going to stop him, either).

Kelly was also scratched from an attempt, despite never being on the roster, and almost had capitalized on her very meticulous and intense plans to intercede and tell Lucifer exactly where he can shove it before Donna managed to tackle her and talk her down without any more bloodshed.

Absolutely all of the demons wanted to be involved, with Ruby being banned by both Sam and Lucifer, and Lilith trying her best along with Azazel to be a runner-up, only to be also summarily banned for not acting in good faith (which was code for: Lucifer was actually trying to be nice, by his standards, which, while absolutely meaningless due to being a false front for "everyone getting along and having a good time," did mean that he did ban them out of principle and Sam didn't have to fight him for it.)

So in the name of "cooperation" and "not ruining everything" and people not being further tortured or otherwise having a bad day, Balthazar was considered the best candidate for peacemaker.

Which isn't saying much, considering Balthazar is Balthazar, but he did pretend at hating everyone equally enough to be considered close enough to be family but distant enough to be considered a neutral party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Who knew Satan would be such a bridezilla?"  
> Castiel makes a face.  
> "That's insulting to all brides everywhere."  
> "Fair enough."  
> "For shame, Dean-o." Meg commiserates, stealing Gabriel's booze.  
> "No one asked you."


	206. Immortal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by marina and the diamonds

The party keeps going, but when Lucifer makes the alcoholic buzz leave Sam's system and flies them to their honeymoon suite, Sam knows what he's dreading is no longer something he can pretend isn't going to happen.

Lucifer strips.

Sam tries to follow suit, tries not to focus on it because better him than Lucifer doing it for him, but he can't help but freeze and stare, his tongue tasting ozone and his lips too cracked and dry. He keeps staring at the white suit Lucifer discards, watches each piece as it slides off as Lucifer folds one part over the next on the nearest chair, then flinches at the movement when Lucifer plucks out and palms the rose in his lapel walks to place it on the bedside table.

He looks at Sam.

Sam hugs himself and swallows and shivers and can't look Lucifer in the eye. Can only see the curve of Lucifer's calves and the wide-set stance of his feet and Sam does not look higher than that, at the shark-sharp smile on his face or the glint in his eyes or the blond hair over his chest or the ever-so-slight paunch of his stomach or the long lines of lithe, wiry muscles cording Lucifer's legs and his arms, which hang easily at his sides.

Or at his waist, and the set of his hips, and anything else Sam knows is there.

Even only staring at Lucifer's feet, Sam can see the echoes overlaying it all, his true form, his true face Sam can see like a half-developed photograph or badly developed x-ray over the meat Lucifer's housed himself inside, millions of red eyes and sharp teeth and lips and tongues and skull like heads with antlers and horns and empty eye sockets and angular jawbones, and all the rest, all the skeletal and insubstantial wisps of arms and with too-present claws and other hands with soft human fingers... And wings, so many wings, folding and blinking and fluttering against each other, all drinking Sam up and sucking him in. The gold cord leading back to Sam's soul keeps humming, and twangs, bright and cold, it's singular hymnals only Sam and the glories of his name.

Sam doesn't need to look to see any of it. He's long since memorized the sight and the sound and the smell and the feel and the taste of it all for so long now.

_Hey, hey, baby. It's okay, kiddo. It's just me. Me and you._

Sam looks back down to his silken suit. He can't get the buttons undone. His fingers keep slipping.

Sam tries sitting on the bed. It's sheets are very, very white.

Sam's chest rising and falling so fast and hard doesn't help his efforts, and Sam screws up his eyes and bites his lip until it bleeds and there's the cold creeping closer and softness humming over the link and a dip in the mattress next to him as Lucifer sits at his side. Sam almost falls to the side, but Lucifer holds out a hand and rubs Sam's back.

_Sammy. Need some help?_

Sam gives up on the buttons and tries to choke out words. They half-make it.

"Why?" Sam cries. "Why...?"

And then he's inconsolable and Lucifer hugs him close, Sam's head to his chest and his own wings smothering over him like a shock blanket, radiant as the dawn, so much so Sam can see the imprint of their golden light they exude along with their feathers' hazy pink paleness, like a sunrise, like washed out blood, behind even his closed eyelids.

**Why are you doing this to me?**

But Sam already knows the answer.

"Shh, Sam. Shh." Lucifer hums into Sam's hair as he rocks him, keeps his arms around him, and then presses a kiss to his temple.

_Because I love you, and you're mine. Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you. Because you're perfect and beautiful and everything to me._

Like always, everything is falling into place as Lucifer needs it to. Sam has been living in his sandbox for far too long, and there's no running, not really. Hasn't been, even when Sam thought he'd made his escape.

Sam can't move. Only shakes in place and breaths to fast.

All he can hear is the beating of his heart. Whispers, singing to his soul.

Lucifer turns him slightly to the side and starts undoing the buttons of Sam's black suit himself.

Sam wrenches away when he's halfway through, the buttons ripping off in the process from the violence of the movement and clattering on the floor as Sam flings himself down and crawls to the farthest and darkest corner of the room he can.

Lucifer lets him sit there, huddled, knees to his chest, head down, for however long Sam decides.

"We have the room indefinitely." Lucifer says out loud, too conversational. "So take as much time as you need."

Sam keeps his head between his legs and tastes bile, although he doesn't have to worry about keeping anything down. Lucifer made sure he'd have nothing to heave when they walked out to the gardens before they left, and Sam had already choked up his guts more than five times today.

Eventually, Sam looks up, tries to calm his breathing, eyes wet and still brimming.

Lucifer sees the look Sam gives him.

Knows Sam can't quite get up, even though he wants to.

Lucifer crouches in front on Sam, guides his fingers under Sam's fists that come undone as he guides Sam from the floor.

Sam stands in silence as Lucifer undresses him, slow and even paced and gentle. The blazer goes first. Then the tie, and the shirt under it. Then the rest.

That is, until Lucifer sits Sam back on the bed to remove his shoes and socks, kneeling again, and he does, but Sam can't help but crawl backwards before Lucifer's hands rise near his waist.

Sam stares at Lucifer, back to the headboard, a deer frozen in place.

Lucifer just stands there and looks back at him for however long.

Sam eventually breaks eye contact. When he does, Lucifer walks over to the other side of the bed, and helps Sam back up again.

He undoes the fly of Sam's pants quickly in comparison to too many other times, and then Sam's pants are on the floor, and he's stepping of them and his boxers, as naked as the Devil.

Mirrors him properly, this time, since now they both have metal bands on their one finger. One gold and new. One silver and so very old, Nick's old ring, re-purposed and kept for sentimental reasons, since "Nick doesn't need it where he's at," thanks to explanation a few days back. Sam knows why he kept it, the familiar metal something Sam has been hit with and felt up with and choked against and felt all over him and inside him, for years and years and years.

Sam still tastes the blood forced down his throat earlier, so much of it, to keep him from hallucinating. Lucifer's grace sings inside his skin, cold and liquid and wanting, like the feeling of cobwebs you walk through but can quite brush away.

\--

Lucifer doesn't try anything in the shower. He lets Sam break down and cry and rage and hit him and huddle on the floor and pray and distract himself. Lets him do whatever he likes.

Doesn't touch Sam at all, with his hands or any physical appendage, not even to wash his hair. Sam does that on his own, eventually, when he feels too hot but doesn't want to be get closer to Lucifer and makes the water colder after having kept his head pressed against the glass and his back to the Devil and his eyes on the tile designs that all bleed together or the water swirling down the drain for however long. He doesn't look at the water and how it cascades over the Devil, freezing, until Sam steps out from under the showerhead and Lucifer turns the heat higher again, so hot it steams against his skin.

Lucifer does heal Sam's self-inflicted bruises or cuts with a slight caress of his wings. Does the same when Sam tries to bite him and loses two canines and an incisor, or when he tries to rip out Lucifer's throat and his fingertips bleed all over again.

Once in a while, Sam caves and hugs Lucifer close, head buried against his neck. Lucifer can't help but hug him back, because Sam's so out of it, sobbing strings of sentences that almost make sense. He knows Sam's trying to shield himself that way, too. Lucifer knows he'll do anything, as long as it makes the pain die and the fear break and somehow makes Sam's heart stop trying to throb itself right out of Sam's chest.

When Sam screams and holds his head in his hands and shatters the entire glass paneling around them and tries to run to the door, which won't budge, he trips and falls, on the glass.

Lucifer does hold out a hand, an offering for Sam to take. It isn't an order.

Sam doesn't take it. He kneels on the glass for a while. The blood pools around his ankles and knees and palms. He can feel the glass embedded in them. Tries to focus on that and only that. It's too much like another time, but not really. Too much else has happened.

Lucifer just keeps staring at Sam with his tranquil, long-suffering acceptance, the same habitual look that is too knowing, because both of them know Sam is breaking apart all over again, ready to be made anew and molded like clay.

Eventually, Sam lists as he tries to rise on his own two feet, dizzy, and Lucifer helps him up, not vindictive. Just wraps his wings around Sam, gentle, and heals the damage, hand cupped over Sam's forehead, pushing the hair out of the way. He then fixes the shower.

When Lucifer guides Sam to the bed, that's when Sam can't stay still. He wriggles and squirms and tries to slide out of Lucifer's grip.

Lucifer almost lets him.

"We made it, Sam. We crossed the Red Sea and made it to the Promised Land." Lucifer says, and laughs, and for once, he's not angry at all. He's not coiled with violence or hate.

There's just pure joy and reverence and hunger.

And then there's fingers lighting on Sam's chest, splayed hands a and pushing sending them both tumbling down against one another.

Lucifer kisses Sam.

Sam gives in, because fighting this early would only lead to one thing.

And Lucifer is on top of him and there's a knee lightly rubbing between his legs and calloused fingers stroking the insides of Sam's arms and then Sam's nipples before gliding down Sam's sides, circling thumbs massaging Sam's hips and other adjacent places, toes poking at Sam's ankles and the sending shivers and goosebumps prickling on the backs of his calves. There's stubble and a forked a tongue licking up Sam's chest, followed by shallow bites and more sucking kisses on his stomach and ribs and torso and abdomen and wrists and palms and knuckles until Lucifer's once again kissing Sam on the lips. Sam's mouth opens as his head hits the pillow and Lucifer's tongue is seeking out his like it always does, then jams itself above Sam's upper palate past his front teeth when he bites Sam's lips ever-so-softly, then pulls back a little, Sam's lips tingling and wet and barely stretched before he goes in again.

Sam doesn't know how he feels anything anymore. Not the love he still feels in this throat and blooming over his tongue, not the need... The fear and pain, hate and shame and blame is always so constant, a dial turned up past it's maximum capacity, like a fan constantly on high in the background, whirring so loud all the time, it might as well not be there at all.

It still hurts everywhere on the inside, no matter how kind and gentle Lucifer pretends this is. It's like a lump in Sam's chest, a knot in his stomach, a pressure over his eyes and a dull pain in his spine, and Sam wants to asphyxiate on his own saliva, or even Lucifer's, if he would just stop feeling any of it.

Then the knee shifts, and Lucifer's knees are pressing against the inside of Sam's thighs, and then there's a cold hand around him and another hand whose fingers stroke other places before they are up inside him and Sam breaks the kiss to breathe because he can't get enough air.

This time isn't a violent, bloody conquest based on humiliation and as much damage inflicted as possible. It's just Lucifer, at ease, celebrating, and Sam, having a dream he once prayed for stabbing him again and again, having long since curdled and gone sour, a house of mirrors he can't escape.

It tastes like silence and blood and death, sickly sweet, like all the places Lucifer visited when he left no one alive. Like all the quiet ringing in Sam's ears when Lucifer killed a town, or when Lucifer watched Sam after he'd left him broken at his feet, or when he left Sam in the Cage without him.

Only it isn't quiet, because Lucifer won't stop laughing, won't stop whispering, won't stop touching Sam and making Sam sob and beg and wail as the throes of it all are crowned with arousal and need that Sam can't keep himself from feeling because his body is the enemy, because he is Lucifer's, and Lucifer's grip on Sam's soul has him singing and pleading there, too.

Not long into the whole thing, Sam pretends this is happiness. Pretends this is what it used to be, when he felt love and not half-drowned, head always being pulled back underwater by hands that won't let him go.

He can't survive anything else.

Then Lucifer is sucking Sam's earlobe, kissing the skin of his neck, and nuzzles Sam, whispering, "You ready?"

And Sam freezes and chokes down his own screams and sobs and instead of saying yes or no, rolls them over so Sam is on top, and Lucifer allows it, and then Sam is sucking and kissing and biting and licking and going down on the Devil so that he feels wanted, feels almost satisfied, and Sam plays Lucifer like he used to, makes him buck and hold Sam's head as it bobs and Lucifer sighs his name, as long as he can, because he can't bear to have him inside him all over again.

Not yet, anyway. He knows it isn't a choice, that Lucifer is going to give Sam everything, like he always does, because once that used to be everything Sam wanted, once upon a time. All he wanted was Lucifer with him, inside him, just them together, in love, not fighting, not anything except happy to be together.

It hasn't been that way for a long, long time. But Lucifer wants to make Sam love him still, wants to make it as if time doesn't matter and nothing matters and they can just keep acting like this is good. It isn't. But he still might make Sam feel it, and Sam knows he will, and he hates it, but at least if he feels it he can still destroy him, and even if he does feel it, at least it's not the other, worse things Sam knows Lucifer has done because he lived them, the things Sam can't take even more than this, the things Lucifer did to Sam over and over whenever he felt justified, like it was necessary, but really because he wanted to, and that was enough.

Sam refocuses, not wanting to give ground, and Lucifer keeps acting like Sam still wants this as much as he does.

All because Sam does still want that love, wants Lucifer, but not the one he's got. He wants the thing he loved back before it tore him to pieces and before he was devoured by his own pain and fear and fury.

But Sam knows he is never going to get that. He knows that he never had it, not really. Not now. Lucifer had made up his mind a long time ago, long before Sam even met him, and Sam's refusals and the Cage just brought it all out to the surface. Because Sam was his no matter what anyone wanted, and Sam wasn't allowed to be free, and Lucifer would trade Sam's freedom for whatever this is, as long as Sam couldn't leave him forever or be touched by anyone else.

As long as Sam is half-his, right where he wants him, even if Sam's holding back, even if he isn't saying yes...

Lucifer wins.

And Sam keeps fighting.

"You spoil me, you know that?" Lucifer gasps, and Sam tries harder and goes down on Lucifer again so that maybe he'll be forced to shut up. Sam half-succeeds.

Lucifer gets into it all the more Sam pretends, and when Sam finally can't hold on, when he's back under lock and key and praying for what they used to have, Lucifer gives it to him. It's what he's wanted to reclaim this whole time, Sam's love and cooperation and willingness to trust Lucifer even though it's not quite that anymore.

Sam allows it. It's the only decision he can make, the assent, the giving over the wheel the one concession Sam can pretend is his to give freely. He can make up his heart and his mind even if his body is not his to keep hold of. As for trust... Sam trusts Lucifer to be himself. That, at least, is something he knows doesn't change.

Lucifer turns Sam around and waits. Make sure Sam is going to feel all of it, preps him so it doesn't hurt, so this doesn't make Sam bleed or cry out or scream in anything but love and want and need and worship. Like Lucifer taught him, like Sam used to feel all by himself, when he wasn't so keen on fighting Lucifer off because he did love him.

He eases inside, a few fingers digging into Sam's lips as his hand remains half-clamped over Sam's mouth, the other tangled in Sam's hair, to help guide Sam whenever he needs to.

Sam feels Lucifer's ankles and pointed toes press against the back of his bent legs and the soles of his feet as Lucifer's legs curl around him.

He slides in deeper, and Sam keeps his hands digging into the mattress, taking in a shaky breath.

Then the hand leaves Sam's mouth for his neck, tight enough without being the same intensely bruising grip Lucifer so often defaults to, and Sam's head is being pulled back by the roots of his hair, and Lucifer is setting the pace, pumping in and out so carefully Sam has to stop his arms from turning to jelly and sending him flat against the mattress, muscles jumping against their will.

Sam still mirrors Lucifer's movements, spots dancing in his eyes, and Lucifer unwinds his fingers from his hair, starts letting his fingertips brush slightly over Sam's glans without actually committing, and Sam whimpers. Lucifer stops choking him, kisses the inside of his neck as he wraps his fingers around Sam's erection and starts giving Sam what he has been taught to need, but not enough of it.

Sam wants to grab hold of Lucifer's grip himself if it means he'll get release, but he can't with Lucifer inside him this way, and Lucifer keeps up the uneven pace and only barely feels Sam up otherwise, the contact not enough, and he doesn't stop.

Not until Sam rasps, "Lucifer, please."

"You want me, Sam?" Lucifer asks.

"Yes." Sam whispers.

"You love me?" Lucifer mouths against Sam's jaw.

"Yes, I do. I love you. I promise," Sam gasps as Lucifer kisses him and fucks him harder, hands resting in their movements, still touching but barely.

"You going to leave me?" Lucifer hisses in his ear, and Sam feels the depth of his true voice inside it. "Ever?"

"No. Never. Never again, Lucifer. I'm yours. I'm right here." Sam gasps, and then he's sobbing, "I'll always be here."

"I know, Sam. Still. We've got an eternity to figure us out. And I'm going to make you feel so good in the meantime. I promise." Lucifer's voice turns gentle again as he fucks Sam deeper, and Sam's almost there, on the edge.

Now Lucifer's hands are actually making contact, actually trying, are twisting and jerking and curling and Sam almost falls from the strain, from the electric high and lust and too-much-pleasure he has no choice but to feel, because of his chained-up soul and Lucifer and all these years and everything Sam has been made to be from fighting for so long. So many consequences, for fighting the Devil.

_Oh, Sam._

"You make me so happy, you know that?" Lucifer compliments, and he finally fucks Sam faster and rougher and right where he needs to send Sam into blissful unawareness, all except for Lucifer and him. "Especially seeing you like this. Look at you."

Sam screams, and Lucifer pulls out, still hard, and Sam collapses, sticky against the sheets.

Lucifer turns Sam's trembling limbs over so Sam is on his back, then straddles him again.

Lucifer whispers at him, touches Sam's face. "It's been such a long time. But we finally got ourselves everything we really wanted for ourselves, like we said we would, all those years ago. How's it feel, kiddo?"

Lucifer has Sam. Won his war. Has the world. Has everything.

Sam got his wish. The world didn't end. Most people are alive, more than there would be if Lucifer went with Plan A.

Sam's loved ones are alive. He has his family.

And Lucifer and Sam got hitched, like Sam dreamed of, once or twice or many other times before everything went bad.

Sam only had to lose everything and the one thing he wanted most, to pay a price he never wanted to pay hundreds of thousands of times, to have that prayer he wishes he could take back answered.

"Perfect." Sam lies.

Lucifer smiles at him, sees the lie for what it is, and kisses him on the mouth, long and greedy.

Sam reciprocates and keeps on crying.

"Just like you." Lucifer answers after he pulls away, and then he's inside Sam again from this angle, pushing in with all the languid choppiness he knows will send Sam into a screaming, needy whine all over again.

Lucifer hugs Sam closer, feels him up as he fucks him and kisses him until Sam's lips almost sting from the contact. Watching Sam's face might always gets him off faster, but Lucifer forces himself to exercise patience.

He wants to keep Sam here for a while.

It is their honeymoon, after all.

\--

Time ticks on forward for however long. There's no watches or clocks in the building.

The entire time, the only thing Sam keeps a lid on is Sam fucking Lucifer himself, with Sam on top. Sam doesn't want to, and says so, definitive, and Lucifer doesn't make him, since he prefers taking the lead. Sam can accept whatever twisted selfishness counts as mercy.

And Lucifer keeps on fucking Sam like he does when he's in a really good mood and not angry at Sam at all. Gentle, rough in ways Sam would otherwise enjoy if this was consensual, interdispersed with lots of cuddling and snuggling and kissing. The way he did once when Sam and him were not on completely opposite sides, when Sam thought he could win Lucifer over and Lucifer wanted to let him. The way he did when he had Sam all alone, in Georgia, when Sam needed kindness to stay sane enough and because Lucifer wanted to.

His words aren't harsh. He's quieter, actually. Just taking Sam in, appreciating this for what it is.

Savoring his win.

When he does talk, it's all praise and reminiscing, (not names like _bitch_ or _slut_ or _whore_ or anything like that, because those will make Sam freeze over in ways Lucifer doesn't want). That, and Lucifer does see this as their fresh start for real. Doesn't actually intend to change anything, but he's in a more than generous mood. He's almost pacified, even, as much as he can be.

Sam reads all of that on his face easily, and knowing that, forces himself to relax as much as he can. He's as safe as he'll ever be with Lucifer from here on out. Might as well not have a muted panic attack every five seconds if he can help it, because that just makes it easier for Lucifer to fuck him senseless again, with so much feeling and history backing it up.

"We've got it made, Sammy. We have the whole world at our fingertips." And Lucifer's fingers at touching Sam again, tracing his face and his arms and everything else.

Or, "I've got you, baby. I know what you need. Just breathe, I'm right here, just let me in. Like that, Sam." As Lucifer fucks him and whispers and coos and hums and sings whatever he likes.

Sometimes Sam sings with him to drown him out or to shut him up, since Lucifer likes listening.

Or, "You remember that time when we went to New Hampshire, you know, when that snowstorm hit?" Lucifer would sometimes come out with, when Sam was laying on the bed or on the floor or sitting or propped up away from him or on the balcony, and then Sam would be forced to talk to Lucifer about it.

Or that farm in Milwaukee. Or Sedona. Or the Redwood Forests. Or Montana. Or Nevada. Or Antigua. Or any of the other places they've been when Lucifer was Jess and Nick and Lucifer and Sam loved him.

It's not the worst violation Lucifer's ever done to Sam, not by a long shot.

Sam survives it.

His heart might break again and his throat close every time Lucifer says something and Sam sees the gold ring on his own finger, or every time Lucifer's wedding ring digs into Sam's neck or feels cold too against his chest and neck and other places as Lucifer fingers caress or choke or grasp him, but Sam knew what this was going to be the moment they stepped into the damn chapel, and he survives it the only way he knows how.

By reminding himself of all the things that will happen when he finally destroys Lucifer once and for all.

By thinking of seeing his family, seeing Jack and Dean and Cas and everyone else when he comes back.

By thinking of having clothes again. Sam misses those along with dressing himself.

Pretending, dissociation, and reminding himself he'll be fine are decent stopgaps in the meantime, when Lucifer isn't fucking Sam and gives him a break to sleep and eat and shower and grab some air to look outside the balcony and the white french door windows that are open more often than not.

Otherwise, Lucifer allows five to thirty minute breaks from their "marital arrangements." Even when he's not fucking Sam senseless, Lucifer doesn't allow them to wear clothes the entire time, except for some light tan pants and a loose white shirt when Sam begs for anything and wants protection from the elements. When Lucifer decides to get dressed to mirror him, he wears jeans and a red Hawaiian shirt.

Sam doesn't even know where they are. It's green and humid and forested and there's an ocean view and lots of orange terraced roofs and some colorful birds he would ask about but doesn't want to talk to Lucifer if he can avoid it.

The whole town is vacant and silent. Sam is pretty sure he knows that Lucifer cleared it out beforehand the way he usually does, with better cleanup.

Sam is also pretty sure it's been a week now at least. He's been trying to track the sunsets when he can, and Lucifer lets him watch them alone and in peace, or sometimes with company, Lucifer's hands in his.

The first night was red. The second night orange. The third night the window was closed and Sam was only able to get air sometime later, so he watched the stars instead. The fourth night was pinker, like Lucifer's wings. They missed most of it the fifth night, the sky was already dark blue when Sam got out there, with no stars. The sixth night there was a full moon, honey-colored and large as it hung in the sky. The seventh night was red again. The eighth night storms, and the storm lasts for a few days. Sam watches the rain hit the glass and the bolts of lightning as thunder rumbles past, and forces himself to, because it's not like the Cage, it's Earth lightning, and he wants to remember how to like it again, and he'd been making good progress before Lucifer came back...

Anyway. Thanks to that, he's not sure how many days it's been anymore.

When cooped up inside, Sam's isn't too surprised at the suite itself. It's fancy, and there's a decked out gold and crystal chandelier, since Lucifer likes going all out for these sorts of things.

Lucifer sets up a boombox and dances in celebration, hand in hand with Sam like they used to, once, and Sam is forced to hold the damn rose in his teeth, small thorns poking through Sam's lips as they dip and spin and swing. The music changes genres and time and tempo, until Lucifer decides they should be doing something else.

There's lots of striped paint that's gold and white and some blue curtains Sam sees when they spin. The headboard is some coffee-colored wood whose grain Sam has also memorized while being fucked against the bed. Lucifer's added some potted plants to the room that are Sam's, because Sam recognizes the glazed pots Jack picked out with him, including some cacti, succulents, day lilies, and others Sam has been taking care of at the Bunker near the windows. Sam is still allowed to water them. Sometimes doing so steadies his hands.

Lucifer doesn't really give them a routine, but he does do some things around the same time. Makes sure Sam eats after he wakes up if he can stomach it. Decks out the room with candles and rose petals and the bathroom the same way around seven, after dinner, when he drags Sam to the bathtub.

Otherwise, when it's sunny, Sam tends to spend what time he can on the balcony when he can get a chance. Watches the wind in the trees, and those same green and red and other birds he doesn't recognize. They sound happy, for birds. Sam thinks there's a nest jammed up past a light on the roof he can barely see. Sam asks to climb the roof, and Lucifer gives him the option of flying or being helped up.

Sam opts for flying. There is a nest, but Sam only sees three eggs and doesn't disturb the birds. He's just happy he was right. The song is a nice distraction from everything else. That night, Lucifer brings him back up. His feet dangle from the roof when he watches the night sky, a satellite blinking off the rod it's mounted on.

The food just shows up on a platter outside the door, only Sam is only able to peek out the hallway before Lucifer wheels it in and closes the door again.

Anything Sam wants. Sam mostly stomachs light vegetables, cucumbers and steamed squash and zucchini, if he can eat anything. Lucifer eats just to mimic him, although he avoids meat (raw and bloody) for Sam's continued comfort.

He takes Sam to the beach, too, although he forces Sam to strip when they get there and does the same. There's a tide pool that Sam watches for a while, and then Lucifer is calling Sam over, and Sam keeps his feet in the waves until Lucifer drags him out to swim with him, Sam's footprints disappearing soon after. They swim deeper and deeper until Sam can't see the shoreline.

When he goes under at different points, Sam sees a reef and a lot fish and a sharp drop-off and some barracudas and a blue marlin and a couple sharks and a few red jellyfish and some schools of fish not interested in them at all, but they don't come close, thanks to Lucifer and also what amounts to fish apathy.

Lucifer makes a bubble of air and dives down, pulling Sam with him to check out the rest of the reef, and the drop-off, and deeper, until it's almost too dark, and there's an old ship they ghost through, Lucifer's true form lighting the way. Sam knows Lucifer must be something to keep the intense pressure and the cold out (except for the cold Lucifer is) the entire time, but Sam welcomes the distractions. He needs them once in a while.

When Lucifer brings them both back to the surface and stops bringing them farther out, Sam wonders if he's going to be fucked by an Archangel in its true form in the actual ocean.

He's not sure how it would work, but Lucifer definitely looks like he's considering it.

He doesn't, though. He just keeps treading water without actually treading water, because he's an angel, and he can do that, while he holds Sam in his arms, head above water, Sam's lips turning blue as Lucifer feels him up and kisses him.

The sky is blue and sunny and there are no clouds.

When Sam starts to fade out from the cold and the salt and needs water, Lucifer flies them back to shore.

"Remind me to give you a tour of the ocean sometime." Lucifer adds, sitting them both down on a towel on the beach and wrapping Sam up in blankets in the sun, handing him a reusable water bottle that's ice cold.

Sam takes it and chugs.

The next day Lucifer takes Sam hiking in a rainforest somewhere, nowhere near their suite, and Sam suspects Brazil from the lemurs and other sounds he hears. They spot a crocodile and a panther, staying out late into the night. Sam is safe from those, same as everything else.

There's only one thing he can truly fear these days.

A few days after that, Lucifer takes Sam to visits a volcano on some deserted island, close enough to see the smoke billowing out and tar heat pour closer, Lucifer still keeping Sam out of harm's way. Sam is surprised the heat doesn't scare him off, but he feels almost immune to that fear right now. Lucifer's been working on that to deconstruct some of Sam's fear responses to things other than him, because he doesn't need them as much now that he has Sam where he wants him.

Sam thinks about Michael. He wonders if he would do the same things he did, if he knew they ended up here either way. Sam thinks about all the people who have died, and everyone he has saved.

Wonders how many times Lucifer has brought him back now.

He asks, unthinking. He knows Lucifer kept count.

Lucifer tilts his head at Sam, quiet and still... Then gives a number Sam tries to forget as soon as he hears it.

Sam gets flown away and kissed on the mouth against a tree afterwards. It's goes on longer than five minutes. Long enough for Sam to gasp for air.

Lucifer then takes them hiking in the forest near their suite before it's back to the damn room and Sam's living the usual routine again.

Sam gets handed a postcard from the Bunker, from Jack, and then more to follow from everyone else, all stacked on the breakfast trolley Lucifer wheeled in after three weeks, according to the postcard dates. He looks at it when he things start to blur and holds it close to himself during his breaks at night and dawn when he listens to the unknown birds sing.

Before the end of their stay, Lucifer has fucked Sam wearing Jess, Nick, and Sam's own skin, and he finishes it off with his angelic form buried inside all of Sam's soul and body until Sam isn't sure where he ends and Lucifer begins.

And then the honeymoon is over, and they return to the Bunker after a month and three days. Sam thought it was longer.

Jack and almost everyone else are more than overjoyed to see him, though, and Sam lets himself be led away from Lucifer before he lets himself be dragged back to him again that night.

In the interim, Sam wonders if maybe he can find a way to convince Lucifer to let everyone holed up in the Bunker go on vacation together. Jack, Dean, Cas, Rowena, and Mary all look more tired than everyone else put together, and it might put a hold on what Sam knows is coming next. Because Sam knows something is coming, that it's not just business as usual, training Sam and Jack to run Heaven and Hell. No, they're moving on to whatever expansion Lucifer's set his eyes on next.

Because that's what all this is, a transition, a ritual marking the next step for whatever Lucifer is gunning for in the end.

And Sam is going to be offered up, a human sacrifice on Lucifer's altar, one way, or another.


	207. Savages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Marina and the Diamonds

Sam injects the blood inside Lilith's veins. His blood. Human, like everything she's ever hated, with the Grace of an Archangel burning inside it.

He wonders if it will kill her.

Lilith gasps, and stares him down.

Her eyes are afraid.

"Don't. Don't." She hisses, twitching in her restraints.

"Why shouldn't I?" Sam asks.

"You know what he is." Lilith answers, and then she goes still as she stares up at Sam, teeth bared. "He made me everything I am. And he'll... He'll remake me again. There's no point."

Sam stares at her, then sits, watchful.

He shrugs.

"Maybe not." He answers. "But I don't care."

**I can't afford to.**

Sam's thoughts all jumble together.

**My son is on the line. And you've hurt so many people. And I'm not playing his game. And you aren't human enough for me to care.**

**And I need to know what he did to make you this.**

**I need to.**

**So I can stop him from however he's changing me.**


	208. Room of Angel

Lucifer couldn't wait for Sam.

Not after seeing what he was. 

It wasn't fair, that God made him but would only give him to him later.

And all these humans, in the meantime- they couldn't hold a candle to him. Lucifer would not bow to anything that was less than perfection: and these sorry, fetal, malformed parasites were just cluttering the scenery in the meantime. Like algae covering up sea glass, except algae actually had a function.

But maybe he can use them.

After all, they are all so broken...

Maybe he can try to follow Michael's lead, even though Michael's scorn still stung, still ate at the edges of his every wave and note and clogged his song until it wavered and tuned off key.

But he could try, could prove Michael's hypothesis, could prove Father and all his brothers just how wrong they are, using their own methods, just to show them, to make them see-

Guide them. Mold these fleshy, frail half-formed things into the guiding light of his own being.

He looks to the Mark on his arm, and feels the weight of what God asked of him rise up bitterly, lacing through his wings like a physical pain.

Father trusted him. Father favored him, before he found new toys and became distant from his family. Wanted to become more like these shambling, fluid-filled specks of nothing like they were worthy of him, when all they were was lower than a tapeworm, or a mosquito. Lucifer wasn't really sure what the point of those are, but if they bother the new primates, he'll put them higher on his list. And they are nowhere near as useful or fascinating as a toadstool or fungus, seeing as decomposition has a beauty to it, something nuanced and slow and patient in a way humanity overlooks, from what Lucifer has seen so far, with them scurrying around, full of empty heads. With fungus, with plants, with scavengers, here was order there. Reclamation. Efficiency of design, that helped each cycle rise and fall so new growth and disease didn't throw the whole balance off. There was an equity to it. A way of picking off excess and keeping new life poking on through.

In the Garden, Lucifer hears the first prayers from one of the first ones he laid eyes on.

He didn't care to know her name. But her desperation, her disgust...

That was interesting.

She might be worth looking into, if there was a spark of that rebellion, of that self-awareness of her own sorry state, of the pathetic foibles of her fellow species-

It's as kindred a spirit as he's going to get among the apes, for now, before his vessel finally comes into the world.

He's going to have to wait.

Best to find a suitable distraction.

Or a project. Maybe he can whip these humans into something worthy, into something angelic, into something more perfect, so that when Sam comes along, he won't have to be alone.

Because if these state of affairs persist...

He'll just have to crush them, one by one. Like the ants they are, flitting around, but purposeless, bound to their basest, primal desires, but not pure ones, not worthy causes. Just base existence. Not given a purpose- just aimlessly spoiling the place. Not like humans who served as vessels: who had a function, and purpose, and unity to their design, who were meant to be integrated with the host so they could revel in all of creation and rise above their incomplete states. All these other humans- these empty, useless containers, not strong enough to hold his brothers and sisters, to live in harmony with the Host's song. They were premature, best to be thrown back into unbeing and forgotten about like so many other aborted prototypes Father either locked up or destroyed. By Dad, the Leviathans were better than the things, and Lucifer thought those were tacky and oozing and feral, too.

Lucifer will shape these creatures into something useful, or he'll break them. Whichever proves just what they are, when you crack them open and see them tick.

And he'll start with the one with all that need to be greater than herself.

She's at least moderately interesting in her own frantic attempts to try and be beyond herself, albeit as dull as the rest of these exhausting things. But she can't help it.

She's only human. She can't surpass the limits of her design- not without outside help.

Lucifer will just have to give her an extra kick, something primordial and eternal and so bright, a part of him, to elevate these humans above their station, to give them a proper function and purpose...

And if they're too corrupt, too defective, too repulsive, even for him to bring into the Light and transform into something less sickening, less of an eyesore, all their souls so pathetically base...

Then Lucifer will show off his project, and then his brothers... And Father...

They will all see just what these things are, and won't keep ceding the earth to them, when these apes inevitably break.

But Lucifer tries to remain optimistic. If they prove hardier and more malleable than anticipated, surely God will just redesign them with all the improvements Lucifer would make, and then they might be worth something. But you can't find any hidden kernels or a spark of anything worth saving if you don't take them apart from the inside out, and see just how their base components build on one another...

Or maybe God would just pluck Sam out from whatever strand of time he kept him in, and just hand him over early, if Lucifer can prove he's earned him. That he deserves what is his by right.

And maybe he could grow to tolerate the rest of humanity, if he can find a way to improve them. Maybe Lucifer can even carve this desperate, ambitious, wanting human and whip her into shape, so that from her, Lucifer can find a way to call Sam to him without having to ask his family for help. That he can draw him through time all on his own, through the flesh and blood of the other beings that all came before. 

Lilith- that's her name, she whispers it at his feet, dazzled by Lucifer but not wanting to be slave to anything- she can be the first test subject, seeing as she's already volunteered, has earned that right by merit of her own self-awareness of her wretched state, at least before he moves on to the other one, the one who would start the rest of the chain. Eve, who shares such an unfortunate name with the castoff of the Leviathans. Talk about a lack of originality, there, although maybe she was trying to pretend the monsters couldn't take humanity and eat them alive, if she claimed the name for herself.

Humans are confusing, that way, thinking they are more permanent and important and more immediate than they deserve to be.

But these two... They are the progenitors, the forebears of every human. It shouldn't be too hard to unravel them, to carve out their insides and replace it with the essence of perfection, of an archangel, and to have it pump through their veins. And their mitochondrial DNA, the genes kept inside their being- maybe Lucifer can find just the right note, and pull Sam out from the sea of lives waiting to unravel before him, if he just finds the right key to sing, and the proper technique to twist and draw out all that would come after them...

Humanity's prophecized amount of progeny and speedy propagation of their numbers are nothing to scoff at, after all. The animals would be crawling all over this place in no time.

Still. Lucifer does almost respect Lilith for not wanting to start the chain, and to keep all life from bursting forth from her.

He can honor that prayer. Humanity is living on borrowed time, most likely, seeing as Lucifer doesn't think they'll make the cut. It's like expecting a mudfish to fly- unfair, based on it's very biology. They'll most likely have to wipe the slate clean at some point, once he gets his family to come around. They'll see. They can't abandon him like this. He's been with all of them- Michael and Father most of all, forever- ever since the rest of them came into being. They can't just throw him out. He's been true and loyal to them, all his life. He only wants what is best for his family. For his Father's vision.

At least this one sees the majority of their kind should never been born at all, and knows it deep in her bones, even before the mess of their existence has ever stained the very ground Lucifer holds so sacred.

It's only right Lucifer try to get along with this one. 

Michael did say he should give them a chance.

What better way to do that than to give the poor thing what she wants, and break her vile human chains?

Her pride and sense of over-importance would be bloated and revolting, sure, if Lucifer bothered to expand the effort to spare a thought or consider her worthy of any absent attention.

But an Archangel can fix that presumption.

She does realize she needs to be refined, after all, the factory setting just not up to snuff.

Lucifer likes the kneeling and the reverence and primal terror that turns into spitting rebellion as she pretends she isn't cowed or aware of how beneath him she is, though. All of that can stay. It almost makes her endearing.


	209. River (DRAFT)

The plan itself is a longshot, but at this point, Sam will take any win he can get. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as he chants with Rowena, Max, Alicia, Rowena, Lily, and Mia, the seven of them hoping that enough power behind the incantations they've crafted will work with the new-and-improved, laser-focused hyperbolic generator contraption Charlie, Kevin, Ash, and Garth have been working on to disrupt the angelic grace's bonds from their vessels.

It doesn't even have to be a permanent solution. All they have to do is test their hypothesis, to see if it works-

The Enochian tastes like ozone and flowers in Sam's mouth. Like he could choke on it forever.

Whether Castiel's grace will serve enough of an anchor to drag the keyed angels to the Empty is anyone's guess, but they will just have to hope it's good enough.

What matters most is weakening Lucifer anyway they can, and getting him out of range for burning anyone's eyes out while they try to find another way to quarantine him away from the rest of the world.

When the chanting and bursts of colorful light end, Castiel isn't banished from Jimmy's vessel, but they do hear bodies falling in the other room.

Lucifer stands over Sam's hunched form, nails digging into his shoulderblades.

"What," He hisses, "Is this?"

_Sam. You better not be doing what I think you're doing_.


	210. Voodoo In My Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Massive Attack

Jack really doesn't mean to get stuck in the wardrobe. He had meant to fly in and grab some items from his room for Priscilla before meeting back up with Eileen, but then he hears movement and feels grace he never really felt fully head-on, and, on some level, knows he isn't supposed to be home in the Bunker, particularly since everyone (especially Sam) had encouraged him to leave the house, and Jack can sense that everyone else had left the building, except for maybe Cas and Dean, who he can feel close by outside.

So he just keeps hiding and hopes it works. It's not like Jack hasn't been learning how to shield himself from other creatures, angels and humans and otherwise, for hunts, and both his parents had been promoting Jack learning everything he can about his own abilities.

And deep down, Jack has burning desire to know why he is always being given time at other people's houses every week. It's suspicious, and reeks of secrets, and Jack hates secrets, and Cas and Dean always look nervous and angry and tired after the fact, and Dad is always drained and Father always more relaxed and cheerful and energized, with Dad always at Father's side more than usual afterwards whenever Jack comes back, and Jack doesn't trust how much Sam insists he's fine and missed him and flinches when he thinks Jack isn't looking after Jack has come back.

So Jack listens.

"Again." Only it's Sam's voice Jack hears, echoing with an odd undercurrent in a way Sam's voice never does. There's a loud whoosh! And the colliding sound of movement and fighting and Jack tilts his head to catch the words because the movements are louder now, closer, practically on top of him.

It's really cold, and Jack shivers. Jack has never really felt Lucifer's grace with any regularity except for whenever he visits Sam's room in the middle of the night (after which it retreats, because Jack thinks Lucifer shields him from it), and except for that one day when Lucifer stopped Sam from throwing him in the Cage again and Lucifer made Jack and Sam choose to have Lucifer be part of the family. Otherwise, it's the same as it was when they met. A void that Jack can sense but not interact with.

The other difference is now that he isn't shielding, he can feel something bright and cold and singing lighting up the room like electricity, and it feels like Sam and Lucifer and Jack can almost hear something come from it on Sam's end, ringing and intangible and like a fizz of static making his ears pop.

"Come on, Sam, are you even trying?" The same voice, almost-Sam's voice without all his usual warmth and tells, asks, and then there's a snap! Just like Lucifer does, and Jack wonders why he sounds like that. "I've seen you do so much better."

"Maybe," There's a gasp, and a smacking noise, and that voice sounds everything exactly Sam, intonations and depth and tired breathlessness and all, "I would do better," There's a hissing inhale and a pause and another sound of collision, this time of wood on skin, "If you didn't fucking cheat."

Jack startles at the word and peers through the crack in the door of the wardrobe as he tries to see what they are doing, not sure why Lucifer has taken on Sam's face but worried about it anyway. His wings curl closer around him, self-soothing and protective.

Two identical Sam's are fighting each other in the middle of the room, one rolling his shoulders and hopping foot-to-foot with his fists up and an easygoing, curled-up grin Lucifer often wears, while the other Sam ducks down, mouth gritted in frowning concentration, face a bit bloody and bruised. There's a cracked glass table half-shattered off to their right, and both of them keep circling each other, looking for an opening.

"I am not. I am practically giving you the advantage. Unarmed, see?" Lucifer waggles his open hands and then darts forward to strike again. "And if you can't take on someone your own size and weight, then you're out of practice, kiddo. Means I gotta get you back in the swing of things."

The hit lands, and Sam twists, but Lucifer anticipates the dodge and readjusts his weight.

Sam is slammed against the front of the wardrobe, Lucifer's hand around his neck, before Sam twists the sharpened almost-spear in his hands and stabs his mirror-image in the eye, rasping something out in Enochian Jack doesn't understand. Lucifer grunts and keeps applying pressure, but then Sam draws a symbol Jack doesn't recognize and mutters something else, and the symbol flares, and Lucifer hisses and lets Sam go.


	211. Hit the Road, Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some dialogue from let the good times roll is around
> 
> note to self if you ever revisit:
> 
> (more Sam and Jack bonding in a cool fort Jack made in a swamp somewhere whoo)
> 
> \--
> 
> (end of the chapter after Lucifer finds them because this was not a well thought out plan)

\--

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you, Sam. I mean, I could. I could really, really use my imagination. But no." Lucifer points to Jack. "He is."

Both Jack and Sam stare at Lucifer in stunned, horrified silence.

"Hey, our son has to learn that he can't just put you both in harm's way. What better way to make him learn than in a controlled environment where Jack has to observe the consequences of failing you, and me, and himself? He has to face his fears, Sam. And we all know the consequences are not permanent. I'd never do that to you. I'll just bring you back, like always. Then we'll see if our boy learned from this. How's that sound?"

Lucifer tosses the basic angel blade to the floor.

"No." Sam's denial is loud and choking and protective. "No, you aren't doing that to him-"

Lucifer's finger waggles at Sam. "Or you could do that, and I'll be forced to use more direct tactics..."

"You can't make him do this, Lucifer, I won't let you-" Sam's voice gets louder and his expression wild.

Lucifer switches to Enochian temporarily, his expression turning ugly. "Would you rather I punished him with my own two hands, Sam?" Lucifer holds his arms out and hands up for good measure. "Because I could. Don't really want to, since he's still our kid and still learning, but I can't just let him off the hook, now can I?"

Sam's voice shivers with too much knowledge, too much anticipation of where this is going to go as he answers, also in Enochian, "Lucifer, please, do whatever you want to me, but don't hurt him, not like this, you can't-"

"If that's how you want to play, Sam, how about this? I'll kill you right in front of him. Or I won't." Lucifer's words slide off his tongue like knives stabbing Sam straight through the stomach as he continues, "I'll just make him watch as I punish you for his punitive attempts at keeping you from me and running away. Or... What if I made him punish you instead, taught him some of my own tricks, no killing necessary? That sound like a better option?"

Jack doesn't know what they both are saying but can guess enough from Sam's expression, from Lucifer's stance and tone and bared, almost-grinning teeth.

"Father, please don't punish him! I'm the one who ran off!" Jack's rebellious voice quavers, and his foot shakes out from under him a little as he interrupts. "That's why I took us away! Because you hurt him! I won't do it again, just stop it! Stop hurting Sam!"

All of Lucifer's attention focuses on him, and Sam tries to hide Jack but still can't quite shake Lucifer's grip on him.

"That so, my son? You saw something you didn't understand and you thought you had to save him from me?"

Lucifer steps forward, and Sam wrenches out of his shirt sleeve so it rips and Lucifer doesn't have a grip on him and inserts himself between them, shielding Jack, then backs up, arms out, so Jack is forced to retreat behind him.

Jack keeps talking. "You were hurting him! I know you were."

"Jack, wait-" Sam interrupts, fear blooming over his tongue like a wildfire inhales kindling.

Lucifer keeps advancing.

"I wouldn't do anything harmful to Sam, Jack." Lucifer says, rolling each syllable with fluid ease, "Sam's my everything. He's the love of my life."

It's cold, so cold now, as ice starts redecorating the floor. Lucifer's eyes gleam.

Sam switches to Enochian as he begs, "Lucifer, please, just stop this, please, I'll go back, just don't hurt him, just end this, you've made your point, please-"

"Dad was crying and in pain!" Jack keeps going, too angry and scared and tired not to. "I heard him!"

Lucifer's voice is too soft, his expression too gentle as he ignores Sam completely to instead focus on his son. "A little pain never hurt anyone. That doesn't mean I hurt him, Jack, not really. Sometimes, people need pain. Sometimes, they crave it, find it enjoyable. Sometimes, it's necessary. And Sam here, he gave the green light on everything I did to him."

"I don't believe you!" Jack protests, eyes flashing as his wings fan out. "I saw what he looked like after you left. And he's afraid of you. I know he is."

Lucifer's expression turns Sam's stomach as his face closes off and his eyes go dead, until he looks a mix of reverent and hungry at Sam, and Sam stumbles but still keeps shielding Jack as best he is able because he's the only shield Jack has.

"I don't lie, son. And I promise, everything I do is for Sam's own good. Even if he is afraid, it doesn't change all the other things he feels more. The fear is just to protect him." Lucifer's wings unfurl, long enough to almost brush Sam's face as they reach for both of them as he adds, "You can use your powers to check, Jack. It won't change the truth. Just like it doesn't change the fact that you did something bad, and it needs to be dealt with. As your father, I have to make sure you know that. It's part of me looking after you."

Sam babbles a rush of noise, still in Enochian because he's not sure what Lucifer will do otherwise, "Look, I don't care what I have to do, I'll swear an oath, I'll say yes, you can chain me up and leave me somewhere, do whatever you want, I don't care, just don't hurt him, don't ask this of him, please-" Sam's voice cuts out as Lucifer steps closer, and Sam tries to shield Jack with his body.

Lucifer switches languages back to match Sam's as he looks up at him and replies, "I can already do whatever I want to you, so that's not really appealing unless you offer up something more..." There's a pause as Lucifer eyes Sam up and down, pupils dilated, " _Lucrative_. Otherwise, I'll have to pass. And don't think I don't know what this is. You shouldn't spoil our son so much, Sammy. He clearly needs discipline, if he's running away and kidnapping you and trying to help your brother kill me, and that's just... Not something I can just let this go with a slap on the wrist. I mean, I know he's going to be a rebellious teen, that's inevitable with our genetics, but that doesn't mean I can turn a blind eye this early. What's the term? Terrible twos, or in this case, terrible sixes? And a little corporeal punishment never hurt anyone. Better for him to know the lines he's not allowed to cross before we burn that bridge, don't you agree?"

Lucifer is on top of them now, holding Sam's wrists to stop him from retreating further.

Sam throws caution out the window and trades it for the desperate need to protect his son. "I'll throw you back into Hell if you lay a single hand on him, I swear. Don't you dare come closer, or I will send us right back down, I swear I will, whatever it takes to keep him safe from you-"

"Changing your tune out of fatherly concern. That's beautiful. Doesn't really convince me to change my mind, but I will admit you really do go to bat for our son, and that warms me right up, kiddo. Otherwise, been there, done that, all thanks to you. Not too concerned on that front." Lucifer taps his heart, then points at his nonexistent watch before switching back to English. "Speaking of which, little reminder, clock's ticking... So make up your minds, you two. Before I make them up for you."

And Sam knows there's no getting out of this, not with that look, and if they are stuck playing Lucifer's game, there's only one real option.

Sam looks at Jack, leans down, and hands him the blade.

"Kill me." Sam pleads.

"What? No." Jack's inhaled reply is an immediate, shocked stutter.

"Jack, you have to." Sam tries.

"Dad, I can't!" Sam tries not to empathize with Jack's blanket refusal, but he knows more than Jack, knows what will happen, and he can't let it.

"Jack, I'm asking you, begging you, to do it, and I don't want you to do this either, but if you don't, he'll hurt you, he'll do things you can't even imagine, and I can't let him do that to you, Jack, I can't. This is the best way. I can take it. I don't blame you. It won't hurt me. I promise."

"No, I can't, Sam, I love you-" Jack starts sobbing. Sam tries not the mirror his reaction and almost succeeds.

"I love you, too, Jack, more than anything, and that's why you have to do this-"

"No! You're my Dad." And then Jack is clutching Sam in his arms and refusing to let go. "I won't do it. I won't. I love you."

"Jack, it is not your job to protect me, I'm the one who is supposed to be protecting you-" And then Sam's voice fails as he feels the Devil reach out and touch him.

Lucifer keeps one hand on Sam's back, the other rubbing Jack's shoulder as his wings wrap around them both.

"That's right, my son. I knew you'd come through and see sense." Lucifer's breath huffs at the edge of Sam's jaw.

Sam doubles over in fear, and Jack catches him and hugs him tighter, both of them swaying closer to the floor.

Then Lucifer crouches down behind Sam and so he's level and right in front of Jack's line of vision, one hand yanking Sam's head sideways by the roots of his hair.

"I know you love Sam, Jack. And I love him, too, more than anything in all of Creation. And it's clear you don't want Sam to get hurt, Jack, and I know you don't want to hurt him. But taking him from our home? Disowning your family? Plotting to kill me? That will only end with Sam and you in a lot of pain. You know that, now. You just needed to learn the rules, now that you are older and taking on more responsibilities. So next time, I know you'll listen to me and not jump to conclusions. There's no need to be afraid, and this time, I won't make you do anything. I think you and Sam learned your lesson today. Right? We're all one the same page?"

Jack nods and stares at Lucifer, beyond terrified. Sam hugs him closer and Jack hides his head using Sam's chest. Lucifer holds Sam close, hugs him tight from behind, and Sam flinches, inhales, as Lucifer kisses the edge of his throat.

"That a yes from you, Sam?"

Sam answers in the affirmative, the word a raw, strangled sound.

Lucifer waves the angel blade into nonexistence and flies them all back to the Bunker. Then makes them both macaroni and cheese since they never ate dinner, whistling like nothing happened.

Jack doesn't let Sam go and Sam hugs him in his arms, heartbeat thudding against his ribs and every breath a painful wheeze.


	212. Star Wars

"I don't like Anakin." Jack says in a familiar, habitual grumble as they switch from watching a marathon of the Clone Wars to a marathon of the other movies. It's almost New Years, and seeing as there has been an odd lack of cases lately (a suspicious lack of them, in Sam's mind), they've all been reduced to "family bonding" moments that Sam and Jack only pretend to tolerate because Lucifer is at least pretending to be nice while they watch. He hasn't threatened Dean once today or snapped his fingers once, even in jest, and that is something Sam will hold on to.

He isn't even touching Sam as much, which is half the reason why Sam is almost managing to avoid a complete panic attack as Lucifer's arms wrap around him.

He would think he would be used to it.

He never is.

But Sam tries to keep it together. After three weeks of Lucifer keeping Sam from seeing Jack and being worse than usual (far, far worse, with Sam being strung up from the ceiling and Bobby the only human contact he had once every few days to slowly heal the bleeding as the sound of Sam's blood kept dripping against his eardrums, those rare times Lucifer decided he wasn't going to patch Sam up quickly) and then a week of things that were more than tame by comparison, his mind and emotions and exhausted body has been at war with itself to try and not fall apart. 

"I don't, either." Lucifer concedes.

Sam looks at him out of the corner of his eye. There's only an arm around his shoulder for the moment, and if he ignores that enough, he can keep his mind on Jack's head leaning on his arm as he tries to replace one DVD with another using his powers.

"Really?" Sam tries to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "You've always liked Darth Vader-"

"True. But Sam, I might be a sucker for fatherly sacrifices and I still think the whole ruling the galaxy idea had merit, but his methods... He didn't keep sight of his goal. I mean, he had one job. Keep Padme alive. And what does he do.... Oh, right." Lucifer rolls his eyes and makes a sweeping gesture. "Fail to keep her alive. If he wanted the love of his life and his children, he should've made a plan to overthrow Palpatine once the regime changed and run off with Padme at Mustafar, then kept her in a secure location with medical personnel so she could give birth in safety, in a controlled environment where nothing could go wrong-"

And Lucifer shoots Sam a knowing look as Sam hugs himself and tries to extract from Lucifer's grip, which only hugs him tighter, and Sam closes his eyes and counts, slowly, anything to keep the tightness in his throat from making a sound because he really can't handle this right now-

"I mean, really. If you can't use the force to bring people back already, don't test your luck." Lucifer sighs. "And I mean, come on, we all know Padme didn't die of a broken heart."

"You don't know that." Sam mutters.

Lucifer's chin pokes into his shoulder as he nestles closer. "Oh, please, Sam. You were the one who pointed out that Palpatine clearly used some kind of force bond to kill her and bring Darth Vader to life back in 2010."

"People can change their theories." Sam counters with a glare.

"Fine." _Sam, if you want to use this as a soapbox for your hurt feelings, feel free._ "I'm just saying, if Anakin kept his cool and flew off with Padme and either plotted with Obi-Wan to take down Palpatine or left him stranded on Mustafar, he'd avoid so many of his problems." Lucifer finishes.

Sam's eyes blink open as Lucifer's grip digs into his wrist, and Sam bites his lip and draws blood.

**That's real funny, coming from you.**

_Sam. If you are referring to my temper, you can't say you didn't have it coming. You baited me. And I will always bring you back. That's a guarantee._

**So all I have to do to make you stop hurting me is make sure you can't heal me, is that it?**

_There are far easier ways to make that happen, Sammy. You know that._

**Pass.**

_This is your choice, Sammy. You are bringing this on yourself._

"That's not why I don't like Anakin." Jack cuts in. "He's selfish. And if he didn't treat people like they belonged to him, all of his problems wouldn't have happened."

"Okay, that's one way of looking at it." Lucifer argues, "But it's not like the Jedi were squeaky clean, with child soldiers and a Let-Go-Of-All-Emotion mentality. It's not like embracing the other side of the force would help." Lucifer snorts.

"Oh, the Jedi were wrong about a lot, and the clones deserved actual rights." Jack answers, leaning on Sam's shoulder to try and stop him from going all glassy-eyed again. "But it doesn't change Anakin's choices. He chose to murder children and to hurt Padme and to kill a ton of worlds because of his own desires. And Darth Vader's sacrifice doesn't erase everything he did, or the damage he has done. He didn't even try to free slaves!" Jack adds, still bitter.

"Alright, son, but if we're talking about consequences, then keeping in mind what happens afterward the Empire falls, you could argue Luke joining the Empire might have actually led to actual reform and stability through a dictatorship and not an ineffectual democracy." Lucifer challenges.

"Not if he's blinded by the Dark side." Sam answers.

"The Dark side isn't necessarily bad, Sam. It's just individualistic."

"The Sith are, though. When you only care about power, and treating people like they're objects-" Sam growls, and Lucifer's fingers flex...

Jack can see the way this is going to go a second before it does and rapidly changes tactics.

"Maybe everyone should've been more like R2D2." He blurts out. "I mean, everything works out for the robots."

Sam exhales, keeping his head down. He doesn't want Jack to have to make these kinds of plays, he should be better at keeping calm-

He's just so tired, playing this game all the time, and he's so angry-

"And R2 is very loyal and driven. Doesn't let anything stand in his way." Lucifer joins Jack's musing and eases off, happy to pretend at peace again. "You might be on to something, son."


	213. Going to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by the pretty reckless

"Hey! I'm not going to ask again." Sam threatens, leaning forward on the throne.

All the demons in the room shut up, successfully cowed. Sam doesn't make idle threats. He's patient with humans, but when it comes to demons, well...

"Listen up. Lucifer isn't here, and I'm going out. In the meantime, try not to break anything. No making deals with anyone not approved. No starting shit topside. You listen, and you stay under my radar. And you all know how bad Hell can get. I doubt any of us want that. But if anyone tries any kind of bullshit: trust me, I can make it worse. I was in the Cage. With him. And if you don't want to know what kind of torture transcends your own paltry exposure, I'd suggest not trying to fuck our system over. We all clear?"

The demons nod. A few look like they might protest. One or two cross their arms. Abaddon is among them.

"And I get it." Sam adds, shrugging. "You all want to have your power struggles or to vie for the top spot in my absence. Have fun with tearing each other to pieces. But any of your shit spills topside: you get on my shitlist. Or Dean's. Or Castiel's. Or Lucifer's, if I play my cards right. And we all know how that ends. So don't push it."

Then Sam points at Crowley and Meg. 

"You two are in charge while I'm gone." He announces. Then his voice lowers as he rises from the throne. "Don't make me regret it."

"But-" Meg argues, following him.

"Moose, she's a menace-" Crowley protests, crowding closer.

"Uh, Boss Numero Two. I got a formal complaint." Abaddon interjects, raising her hand as she steps closer. "Not about Meg. But that one," She points at Crowley. "Isn't exactly allowed to be in that chair. You know. On principle. And considering seniority, I have more of a claim in your absence-"

Sam glares at her with all the dispassionate hatred he can muster.

"Noted. But as I recall, Lucifer and you both agreed that you're a Knight. Which means you are enforcing the will of the throne, and are not Queen Regent in any capacity. And seeing as I'm still King... Suck it up." Sam answers.

Abaddon bares her teeth, eyes narrowing as she hisses, "If Lucifer hears-"

Sam gives her a smile and interjects, head tilting, "He's not fucking here. But I can take a message."

Then he walks away, Crowley and Meg still following after him, Meg shooting glances at Abaddon before turning back.

"Sam, not that I'm not grateful for the vote of confidence and the reinstatement-" Crowley starts in, wringing his hands as if he knows there's a target on his back.

"Oh, please." Meg interrupts, "I'll eat my own fucking kidney before I willingly work with y-"

"Eat me." Crowley talks over her.

Sam rolls his eyes and turns around, letting all the exhaustion shine through.

"He tortured me," Meg whines, changing tactics. "After I looked after Clarence. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Like I haven't done the Rocky and Bullwinkle duo more favors." Crowley sneers, then adds, more earnest, also the sass never leaves his system. "Moose, after all our time together-" Crowley has the gall to sound betrayed.

"Sam-" Meg cuts over him.

"So get this." Sam puts an arm around both of them and steers them into a corner, not bothering to sound patient at all. "I don't care." Then Sam smiles, but it's not a real smile. Just a terrifying approximation of one as he adds, "I put up with a lot of shit. Doesn't mean I forgive either of you for anything you've pulled. Everyone else might have forgotten, but I remember everything you've done."

Sam's expression turns lethal.

 **You've both assaulted me. You've both threatened and killed my friends. You've both hurt Dean. You've hurt Bobby. And just because others have done worse doesn't mean you get any kind of blind eye or free pass from me. You're just the lesser evil here, and if you want to stay alive, your own self-interest ensures you should stick together,** Sam thinks, projecting without realizing.

"And down in Hell: nothing is sacred. Just because we aren't trying to kill each other doesn't mean we're pals." Sam warns.

Meg and Crowley actually look scared at the expression Sam makes, and step back despite themselves.

Sam doesn't usually bare his fangs.

It's all beneath him.

But down in Hell, before he's gunning for the last desperate plan to take on Lucifer, all his patience has been used up. Everyone can see it: the wild look in Sam's eyes. The look a cornered animal gets before it makes one last desperate bid for escape.

"So: if you both want the throne of Hell? Fine. Take it. I don't care if this place turns into mad-house. I don't care if anyone gets ahead- Abaddon, Azazel, Alastair- who gives a fuck. I don't care if there's a power vacuum. You know why? Because in a few days, none of that matters. And we need distractions. We're on a timetable. Lucifer's going to make his move, and if we don't get a miracle, we're all fucked forever. So you two can either stand for something and believe in a cause. You pick your poison.... Or you don't. And if you don't- then you're both exactly the same, like you've always been, and your life are going to be the same: forever. And I don't have the energy to care. But if cooperate and find a way to keep yourselves in position: you might find a way out. That's on you."

"We're allies-" Crowley tries.

Sam laughs.

"When it's convenient for you, maybe. But if you want to even try to convince me you've changed, that you can be trusted: prove it. And then we might all have a life to get back to after this. Look, it's simple. You two cooperate, or not. But whatever you do- stay the fuck out of my way." Sam promises.

And then Sam leaves, taking the door out of Hell and back into the Bunker.


	214. Heaven Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by the pretty reckless

Magda holds the barrel of the Colt up to Azazel's forehead.

"I don't need powers to end this." She warns.

Azazel smiles backs off. For now, seeing as he was only toying with them. Much more fun to let them think they have a chance. He can let his children handle this. Besides, there are more explosions and surges of power ricocheting all over the place, and he has larger targets to pin down. Mary, Balthazar, and Missouri, for one, seeing as Abaddon and Meg have Jo, Ellen, Bobby, and Kevin pinned down.

Magda heaves out a breath and slumps against the wall, gun shaking in her sweaty palms. They shake less than when she shot Gordon, though, as she helps Marin to her feet.

It's not like she hasn't killed before.

But this time, she can feel the demons when they die. Every twisted bit of sulfur embedded, the writhing remains of the humanity long left to rot in ancient, tortured skin.

Marin takes her hand without comment, both of them grounding each other, with Marin still clutching the second triage of spell components she'd buried under lock and key, the phoenix blood, petrified bark from beneath the Dead Sea, and roots from the Tree of Knowledge for the final part of Rowena's spell and Gabriel's presumed attempt at a coup d'etat.

Patience ushers them to the next checkpoint, biting her lip.

She knows they are being watched.

But they need to get to Kelly and Cas and Rowena. They need to keep moving. If they can make it as far as Lily Sunder, she can hold off their pursuers long enough to make the drop-off point, maybe enough for extraction before they all suffer the smiting or whatever the larger angelic forces have been working on...

Sam is still off the grid, breaking down the last of Lucifer's secrets. No one has heard anything.

Dean, Jack, and Cas are still keeping Lilith, Cain, and Lucifer occupied. Everything is still haywire after Ramiel took Raphael out.

And there's too many futures twisting, confusing everything, too many potentials where everyone gets cornered and dies or worse-

But one thing remains true. If they stay still here, they're dead.

\--

In the alley, Ava and Jake put their heads together. Listening.

Waiting for an opening.

Magda and Patience feel them. Know they are being backed into a corner. Jesse keeps projecting and tag-teaming their immunity to suggestion from afar, grounded with Magda's own powers and help, which keeps their group from falling under the influence and handing everything over on a silver platter before sending themselves down to Hell. 

But they all know the question is: Whose powers will last longer? Who will win out?


	215. Splitting the Atom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Massive Attack
> 
> also as major squick as this section is, I wish the horror vibe was more on point

Flashlight flickering and angel blade in his other hand, Sam sneaks down the dim hallway past broken fluorescent lights and too-clean white walls that Sam can feel brimming with hidden sigils and wards that are suffocating him like Lucifer's grace often does, at least until he reaches the door at the farthest corridor, which is ajar already.

Sam pushes the door open, glancing inside to see any movement.

It's dead silent. The air is too still.

As Sam steps into the room, a light flickers above him, and Sam goes rigid, but the light goes back on and he senses no demons or anything else, and it's not like anything except Lucifer could fly directly in here, not with the warding, and Lucifer isn't here, either, so Sam continues on.

There's nothing here except a swivel chair, a few monitors, a computer and keyboard, a control panel with a few lit buttons, a few unlit TV screens, and a blueprint with notes in Enochian that Sam approaches and thumbs through. He catches some scribbled speculation about wavelengths and rift creation and formulas about fluid density and measurements and blood, but the handwriting is so atrocious Sam can't decipher more at the moment, and he's distracted trying to figure everything else out.

The farthest wall is reinforced glass covered in measurements. It looks down to another lab room whose lights are off, and Sam looks down into it and sees nothing, but it feels like he's being watched...

Sam turns around, but there's nothing there, either.

The doors is still ajar. Exactly as Sam left it. And Sam doesn't want to lock himself in by accident, so he leaves it and turns back to the glass wall and the table with all the electronics and blueprints.

As Sam's hand brushes the glass, the computer monitor turns on, extra bright.

It waits for a password.

Sam types: _Fresh Start_.

Password failed.

Sam tries: _Venus_.

Failed.

Sam types: _Kiddo_.

Failed again.

Knowing Lucifer's ego, Sam tries: _Lucifer_.

Failed.

Sam types: _Morningstar_.

Failed.

Sam types: _Glory_.

Failed.

Sam types in his full name.

Failed.

The computer gives a warning saying only two login attempts left.

Sam rubs his eyes, inhales, then types in: _Sammy_.

The computer grants access.

Behind Sam, the door clicks shut and Sam jumps as it locks.

Looks like he doesn't have a choice in his actions, now. With a sinking feeling, Sam tries not think too hard about what kind of stopgap measures Lucifer has in place for Sam snooping...

However, there's nothing on the desktop except two files, and the computer automatically loads is a video player with a video named "Hi Sam."

Lucifer's face smiles at Sam from the paused frame.

Sam swallows and presses play.

On screen, Lucifer swivels around in a chair behind the monitor of the same screen Sam is looking at.

"Hey, Sammy." He says in Enochian, too cheery, and Sam can immediately see the violent displeasure coiled under the too-saccharine and serene expression, "Figured you'd find all this sooner or later. If you have, congratulations! Means you're finally about to get your answers." Lucifer points at him, other hand poking his lip as he adds, "Won't do you much good, but if I let you get this far, then I'm sure things are just _swell_ between us by now. However, please be sure to keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. Some of this footage _might_ be a little distressing for you. I'd apologize, but as I'm sure you know by now, well... I did what I had to do." Lucifer stretches his arms above his head and winks at Sam as he adds, "And I'm sure you'll understand when the time is right."

Sam doesn't like the sound of that. 

"Happy trails, sweetheart." Lucifer coos and blows him a kiss.

The video ends abruptly. Sam clenches his fists.

Another pops up, named: "August 18, 2016- Day 1"

Sam's stomach has gained a sour pit inside it and Sam's hands are clammy and his throat is too-tight...

He hits play anyway. Not like he has other options at the moment.

\--

"So it's day one of testing. Yay!" Lucifer says from another room that's not the same one Sam is in now. It is completely dark except for the bright light directly trained on the Devil, and it lights up his face with harsh contrast, half of Lucifer's face in shadow. Like in the Cage, or the cave when he brought Sam back.

Lucifer celebrates mutely, fingers wriggling in the air. Then he immediately turns serious as he regains his composure, one leg crossing over the other as he sits farther back in the chair. "I'm not sure if this whole video-evidence is really the best option, but I've always found it easier to think out loud, and I'm a little inspired, I'll admit. We watched a movie like this, once. And it's not like it isn't easy to corrupt video data the angel way, even with so few out there who can speak Enochian and would be able to get into this lab, considering the warding. What are your thoughts, Sammy? Think it's safe enough?"

Lucifer snaps, and the whole room gets flooded with light.

Sam's heart leaps in his throat as he sees himself in his younger female body, naked and passed out on the gurney, still hooked up to IVs and trapped and completely at Lucifer's mercy.

Lucifer turns and looks Sam up and down, gaze lingering a bit too long.

"Ah, right. Almost forgot you were down for the count. Still. I finally got you all fixed up, so we can get this show on the road." As he talks, Lucifer pokes Sam's calf.

On-screen, Sam doesn't stir.

\--

In the present, Sam breaks out in a cold sweat, goosebumps erupting over his skin.

He knows he was out for 3 months with unaccounted for time before his 6 months of captivity. He just didn't know Lucifer had switched Sam's body over for that long...

And doesn't really want to think about the implications.

\--

On the video, Lucifer gets up and pacing around the gurney. He stops just past the edge of the gurney behind Sam's head, hands on either side of Sam's face as the Devil leans over him.

Sam's moves a little in sleep, but he stays under.

"So here's to the first round of testing." Lucifer mock-toasts. "Let's see if you're all healthy and if this whole spell went off without a hitch." Lucifer says, a bit too softly, as his hand strokes Sam's hair.

Then Lucifer heads back to the metal table Sam recognizes farther out in the room and grabs some tools, shiny and glinting sharply in the harsh light.

\--

Sam doesn't really want to watch this any more, but he does in case there is absolutely anything in this that might clue him in to what Lucifer has done.

It doesn't answer much. Only proves Lucifer's as vile as Sam knows him to be as he does routine tests on Sam's body to make sure it's working properly.

Sam hugs himself and jumps and tries to slow his breathing and hesitates as the next video pops up.

Sam clicks it.

\--

This time, Lucifer is wearing a lab coat and is in the same room as Sam is now, and he's pointing at monitors that are lit up. There's something scrabbling behind the glass that Sam can hear but not see, thanks to the camera orientation.

"Hi again, Sammy. Different digs, now. Don't want to leave you all alone," Lucifer adds, frowning playfully, but then he's motioning to another screen that has video footage of Sam in the warehouse, still out cold. Lucifer smiles as he adds, "But we've got some R & D to work out up here. Take a looksie!"

Then he's turning the camera around to face the glass that's in front of Sam now.

And on the screen, Sam's looking at something so twisted he doesn't quite know what he's looking at.

Sam steps back from the monitor on instinct.

He has seen a lot of things. But nothing like that.

It has black eyes, though, and it used to be human. Sam is sure of it.

Behind the window, the thing screams, and Sam covers his ears as something next to it gets torn apart and bloodied. On the video, the window gets covered in gore.

The sound cuts out abruptly as Lucifer mutes whatever speaker lets him listen in on the room, and turns back to the monitor.

"New Croatoan virus is going swimmingly, as you can see. Took so much time to develop, and we're still working out a few kinks, but I think it is really promising. That's not all we're doing here, though. And don't worry, Sammy, I don't intend to unleash Apocalypse part two. 'Silent Hill' there is just insurance if you really force my hand. Otherwise, everything stays sealed safe and sound down here. No need for anything to... escape. Not without my authorization and supervision, anyway."

Lucifer's eyebrows raise, and he clicks on some of the buttons. The TV monitors off to the side switch viewports.

Sam imitates the motion and monitors the same videos now as they flicker to life, but unlike on Lucifer's footage, the rooms are empty.

That's... That's not good.

"Don't go panicking on me now, Bunk Buddy. They're still in storage. Not let loose quite yet. I'm having them moved to another secure location by the time next year rolls around, so I doubt you'll got a sneak peak in person. Still, we've got other strains of the Croat virus with different effects, some modified angels, Shedim, demons, monsters, take your pick. I like that one, personally." Lucifer points at something with feathers and yellow eyes and Sam flinches as Lucifer keeps going, voice a bit too conversational, "And I know what you're thinking: Luci, what gives? All in good time, sweetheart. I bet you're thinking: I thought you were off the Apocalypse-now train? And you'd be right, Sam. These aren't for use on Earth. I mean, really, now. Could you imagine? They would ruin it, and this planet is ours to keep. No... Think of this like, chemical and biological warfare, the new-and-improved archangel kind. Can't go invading other worlds and dimensions without some nifty bioweapons, now can we? I mean, we could, and we'd do great, I'm sure of it, but I personally would rather leave the heavy-lifting of razing other worlds to Frankenstein's monsters here. Then we scrap those in the fire and have time to ourselves for creating new things and remaking those worlds in our image, maybe seeing the sights, taking a vacation, doing the do, you know what I'm saying? Leisure time is highly underrated in this day and age. Everyone is all work-work-work all the time. So very banal and human in that kind of empire-building colonization. I'm not here for it. We should just kick back, take time to smell the flowers and only rip apart things we really want to..."

And then Lucifer is kicking back and inhaling and then he snaps! The camera following him back to the room where Sam is still out cold on the gurney.

"Which moves me to my next point. You've been stable for, oh, about a month now, like this." Lucifer says with a shrug. His eyes are slits, and his face otherwise blank, as he continues, "Which means I can do whatever I want with you." 

Sam inhales and clutches his arm.

From the monitor, Lucifer gives Sam a long-suffering put-upon look, "Oh, don't look at me like that, Sammy. I don't have to look at you in person to know the face you're making at the screen. Trust me, it's no fun fucking you when you're out cold. And I promise you, I haven't and I have no intentions to, scouts honor. Breaks the second unbreakable rule we have."

Sam exhales and tries to keep his legs from shaking.

Lucifer rubs his hands together and gives Sam a wry look as he adds, "That being said, your body is still fair game, and I do need to make sure it can hold a pregnancy before I wake you up. So artificial insemination it is!"

Sam looks away just as Lucifer starts making his preparations, catheter and the rest of the needed materials appearing in his hand. He considers fast-forwarding through the footage, but knowing Lucifer, he's deliberately hiding clues so Sam just has to watch and listen to all of it.

Sam can see Lucifer and all his actions, one after the other, out of the corner of his eye and wishes he couldn't.

"You can look over, again, Sammy. I know you're shy these days. Not a hard guess to make. Worst of it is over." Lucifer assures, and Sam doesn't need to look up to know there's a half-smile waiting there and blue eyes are glittering on the screen.

Sam tries not to listen as Lucifer keeps saying awful things that make Sam's skin crawl, too appreciative and gentle as he discusses the technicalities of speeding up the process of Sam being pregnant all while he talks about Sam's comparative merits, bodily or otherwise.

Sam can't breathe and tries to count his breaths.

Lucifer notes that the pregnancy looks to have worked, so, "So far, so good."

Then he's got an enchanted and warded scalpel in his hand and some other tools and talks about analyzing and scraping the stem cells to see if they have any useful properties.

The entire time Lucifer explains what he's doing and why, Sam doesn't look up once. Not until he hears that video end and another pop up. It's labelled a few days later.

Sam doesn't want to watch it, but knows if he wants answers... This was clearly how Lucifer was giving them.

The video starts with the sound of Lucifer snapping on gloves and metal scraping on metal.

"Look at you, sleeping beauty," Lucifer's voice is a bit too loud, but on the screen, Sam is still motionless on the gurney, breathing deeply in sleep. "Not a care in the world. And I intend to keep it that way. No use making you feel all uncomfortable before surgery, am I right?" Lucifer trails off and stops looking at the Sam in the room with him and focuses on the Sam watching him through the screen.

"So here's the thing." Lucifer starts in again, "As I'm sure you know by now, nephilim kids tend to make waves on angel radio. And I couldn't have you lighting up the map like a Christmas-tree leading everyone to our location. I made stop-gaps in place to prevent that. But before all this," Lucifer gestures with the scalpel at Sam's prone body and continues, "could go down, I had to wait until I knew security was handled and you could hold a pregnancy. So I sped things up a little. Once everything was all set, I didn't need to see if the pregnancy would hold for the full term. I just needed to see that it took. And it did, as you observed earlier on, Sammy. Now that that's handled, we can get the little nipper out of you, and I'll put it in away to see what happens to our test-tube baby. There's no precedent for knowing what happens when you separate nephilim from the physical host, and we're trail-blazing here, seeing as it's the first Archangel embryo to exist. I'm not too sure what will happen, either, if we're being honest. The soul and body anchors grace to it so well, and if the stem cells in the baby don't keep it viable, then I'll have to stretch this out even longer. But let's see what happens!"

And then Lucifer is cutting Sam open to take the uterus out, and Sam looks away again.

On the gurney, Sam still doesn't move much, drugged out beyond belief.

Lucifer's voice carries, a bit too pointed. "We're gonna do this a few times, see what differences happen in development from zygote to fetus. Otherwise, I'm not having you take any of the babies to six-months yet. You have to be awake for that so I can monitor you more effectively. In the meantime, I gotta check your vital signs, make sure nothing goes amiss. Sam, I promise you, we're not gonna go through with any of it if it might cause you complications. Sound good, baby? I mean, you must be fine if you're watching this, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say we have an understanding."

After that, Sam struggles through that and more videos, one every two weeks, and if it's not about Sam's pregnancies in different stages, it's detailing whatever new monstrosity or some discussion of creating inter-dimensional rifts and the differences between types of rifts and comparing it to time-travel and all the various hurdles Lucifer's dealt with along the way. And Sam watches as Lucifer keeps toying with him and develops awful things before the Devil is back in the room with Sam from the preview.

The next video is labelled "May 17th, 2016."

Sam clicks it even though he'd rather puke his guts out.

\--

Lucifer claps his hands together and stands by younger-Sam's shoulder.

"So this is the last gasp. Luckily, everything has gone to plan so far. Better, even. My decoys worked to throw everyone off of tracking us, you're healthier than you've ever been, and I'm on top of the world. Test-tube babies helped the research process immensely. Not that I'm letting them live. No, we've gotta stick to one kid for now. Don't think we could handle more than that with everything else we need to work on." Lucifer's left hand rubs the inside of Sam's arm as he looks down and continues, wistful, "I can't wait until you're conscious again, Sammy. It's lonely, just talking to myself and my demons. They're so short-sighted and boring compared to you. Not conversational at all. And you come with some many other neat perks..."

Sam bites his lip hard without meaning to as Lucifer's hand traces Sam's cheek on the footage, and younger-out-cold-Sam mumbles something incoherent in their drug-induced coma.

Lucifer smiles at them, then raises their head to look back into in-the-now-Sam's eyes, even though he can't see him.

Then he shifts into Jessica, still in the lab coat.

"Can't wait until you wake up tomorrow, honey. Gonna wake you up with a kiss."

The video ends.

\--

Sam shivers and his teeth chatter and his head won't stop pounding.

The next one is labelled for the next day. It previews a white-walled room bathed in a blue glow without Sam in the frame.

Sam clicks play.

\--

"So in the here-and-now, you're going to wake up soon, but before you do... I know your future self watching this must have more questions about how I even pulled this off. I mean, getting this facility on lockdown was one thing. Keeping it hidden from you while I vessel-hopped and did my rituals to make sure this place would keep you alive, that was another step, and you came close to finding me a bit too often when I was painting the world red. Yeah, see, this has been in the works for a while. Dad never picked up on it, he was a bit distracted by the Darkness. Gave me the perfect cover. Not that it matters now. Way I see it, I'm God's heir. Only fair I get to follow in his footsteps once he gave over the mantle, just as you're gonna be my consort, and our kid the new-God-in-training. You've probably heard it all by now, though. What you haven't heard, Sammy, is just how I got powerful enough to keep you here and fight off the angels and all the other nifty tricks that make me miles above the rest these days. Any educated guesses? I mean, it's fair to guess you've tried to off me by now and failed. I wouldn't show you this footage if you didn't, not unless you flipped early and finally came to see things my way. That I'm doing this for us. But you're so stubborn, Sammy, so I don't think you'll come around before another millennia. What do you think, that a good enough extrapolation?"

Lucifer crosses his arms and gives Sam a look, like he's going to respond to the recording. Then Lucifer unwinds and walks with the camera to the other side of the room. He sits down in the chair next to a centrifuge and a storage container decked out in Enochian Sam doesn't recognize. The footage is grainy and blurs out every once in a while, like it can't hold up from all the warding.

"Moving on to the important bits." Lucifer adds, waving a hand as his voice grows softer. "How do I keep everyone from finding you pregnant, how do I open up new worlds and keep them open without overwriting our reality, and how do I make myself powerful enough so that nothing, yourself included, can kill me? And therefore, nothing can kill you, or our child, by proxy." Lucifer gives a dramatic sigh and places his chin in his hands. "Well, first I extracted my own grace and hid it at different locations. You might know about that already. Had to amplify the signal to confuse anyone looking for my location. Then, it was a question of power sources to get the job done. Now, human souls, those are usable, but vastly unstable, and the sentience factor means they tend to not want to cooperate. And I'm sure you know about how angels can absorb each other's grace? Well, that would work in theory, but consuming angels alone, that still keeps me an Archangel. Doesn't really fix the whole Archangel-blade weakness or vulnerabilities to Michael's Lance and the like, and it doesn't fix the fact there's a cutoff point for absorption unless you find ways around it. It's kind of like dissolving sugar in water. Heating up the water means you can dissolve more, but you get precipitates otherwise and there's still a lock on the amount you can put in. Obviously, I had to fix that on a molecular and particle level. And there's only one surefire way to make sustainable rifts in dimensions, so... Enter, this one." Lucifer pops open the container and holds up a vial of something that glows. "Turns out, stem cells from nephilim are really useful. And even when not taken fully to term, their components? Perfect batteries. Using their grace signatures when you inject them into other people in other locations? Perfect for throwing off the signal to track you down while carrying junior."

Sam's mouth goes dry and he can't tear his eyes from the screen as Lucifer unstops the vial.

"And after all that, consuming nephilim grace? Well, doable. Not the tastiest, if I'm being honest." Then Lucifer downs the stuff inside, sniffing like a fucking heroin addict. 

Sam's hands clap over his mouth involuntarily.

Lucifer cricks his neck and sighs, adding, "But even a non-fully fledged nephilim gives one Hell of a kick, and overwhelms the systems in place cutting off more power. Based on the tests I've done, injections work better for reinforcing the physical vessel itself, but consuming it alters the actual attributes of one's grace. And I mean, there's a reason God didn't want nephilim in the world. It's like True Vessels and their Archangels, Sam. Together, the power between intertwined human souls and their host angel are just so powerful, and nephilim re-create that with their own selves on a higher scale. It's like splitting the atom, or fusing them. The power of a nuclear bomb all folded up in their little DNA. And if you get a surrogate to carry them to term and inject them into a body so they start to form actual organs, then eat that? You can combine its physical biological values and ties to the material world by bonding it to an angelic vessel. Then you get the perfect container without it becoming unstable or driving you mad."

Sam tastes bile and can't stop himself from shaking and he backs away from the monitor to try the door. It won't open.

"Now, you've read mythology, Sammy. Remember Kronos and Tantalus? Pretty gruesome, right? Dicing up their own kids and serving on a platter. Now, Tantalus, he spit in the Gods faces, stole their secrets and gave them to the world, then offered up his own kid as a sacrifice. Me, I'm more a fan of Kronos' style. He had the right idea. Eat the kids, make sure they don't overthrow you. Didn't work, but that's because it's a cute story. Pagans, am I right? Luckily, with my methods, we don't have any kids to rescue. See, fetuses, zygotes, and stem cells together? They aren't sentient yet. Don't fully possess souls. Kind of like animals, or plants. They have something there, but they can't fight you. Have no will of their own. And like stem cells, they just get used up and become whatever you need them to be, like converting energy in mitochondria. Incredibly pliable. Neat, right?"

It's so cold and his breath heaves out, visible, and he can feel grace surrounding him like water filling his lungs.

"I know what you're thinking. 'But Luci, how could you?' C'mon, baby. It's not like I can't make more kids. I have you. And I'll bet by the time you watch this, our first proper child will have already been born and we'd have raised the little tyke 'til he's all big and grown. Maybe he'll even have siblings, although I don't know how I feel about that, truth be told. Didn't really work out for me, or you, Sammy, if we're being completely honest. But I'm sure we'll get it figured out. We have time. And you don't have to worry about our firstborn getting the short end of the stick. I'm not going to hurt him, or eat him, or kill him, or anything like that. Not sure if he's able to be resurrected- seems to be the one weakness of nephilim, and I'm not chancing it. No. He's going to be a person, the perfect mix of human and Archangel, no more and no less. And you're going to come into your own, kiddo, because you're perfect, so perfect that death itself will never touch you. That's why I had to do this, Sammy. Can't have the kid being stronger than me or you. I've lived that song and dance with my own Dad. And I know, deep in my heart, that it's inevitable the both of you will rebel. It's just who we all are. No judgement. But I, for one, don't intend to die when our kid hits puberty or when we experience growing pains as a family. Sound fair? Because we've got our whole future ahead of us-"

Sam backs into something- someone- cold and familiar. An arm curls around him.

The Lucifer on the screen finishes, "-And I know I'm so looking forward to it."

The video ends.

"Seen everything you came to see?" Lucifer, the here and now one, asks softly, and Sam tries to tear him apart and struggles out of his grip, unable to speak.

Lucifer lets him go after he wrenches the angel blade from Sam's grip.

Sam crashes to the floor. He crawls backwards, his breathing rough and shallow.

**You ate them. You ate our children...**

_Yes, Sam, I did. Not like they were alive yet. Well, most of them weren't. Some were close, but not quite. Didn't carry them to term fully._

**You impregnated me while I was unconscious and you ATE them.**

_Believe we just covered that. You need a cold compress? Want to sit down in an actual chair? Hysteria affecting your delicate humors?_

Sam struggles to his feet.

**How... How did I not know? You possessed me afterwards, I would have known...**

"After a point, I wiped my own memory." Lucifer's blank, flat voice answers with a shrug. "Didn't want to chance you finding out at a bad time."

The whole world spins, and Sam can feel Lucifer's whole being pressing in around him, suffocating and too-close and freezing and so many wings and eyes and claws and hands and fingers holding him against the glass as Lucifer steps closer.

So many phantom limbs made up of gobbled up angels and almost-angels, of Jack's almost-siblings, holding every part of Sam hostage...

Lucifer reaches Sam, and presses the side of the angel blade against Sam's lips, not hard enough to make Sam bleed, but enough to make Sam's eyes water.

Sam sees Lucifer's true face staring back at him, both furious and pleased, like Sam was doing something equal parts predictable and exhausting.

"Your plan isn't going to work, Sammy. This is our life now. But I'll give you some time for it all to sink in. And when the dust clears on your little rebellion, I'll let the rest of your friends and family live. I'll resurrect whoever dies in this pathetic, futile excuse for a war that you're trying to win. But you will get on board and you will stop fighting so hard once it is over. I promise you that, Sammy. And if you don't, well... There's a lot more than just the things I showed you in storage. Wouldn't want to wake them up, now, would we?"

Sam punches and scratches and bites and kicks out as the blade gets tossed to the floor, and Lucifer presses against him and kisses him on the mouth, one hand wrapped around Sam's throat.

_We're going to be proper Gods, Sammy. You, me, and Jack. And you can fight it all you like. But it won't change a thing. You aren't going to leave me. You're going to love and worship and be with my until the end of time and beyond, and I'm going to make sure of it. And all the universes out there will be ours. Nothing will keep us apart again._

Wings crush around Sam and his ears pop and stars burst over his vision as Lucifer's tongue presses against the roof of Sam's mouth and Sam tastes blood as a thousands of glories sing and hum around him.

The Archangel's song is like actual chains pulling Sam down, a physical pressure, just like it is forcing Sam deeper and deeper underwater as he drowns.

_Mine._

It's so cold and Sam's mouth opens wider in a wordless, breathless scream, because all he tastes is Lucifer, is the mouth that would eat everything, his own flesh and blood and everything, provided he kept hold of what he considered his.


	216. King and Lionheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song from monsters and men

Jack makes his way down to the basement, past the room where he first grew aware of the world. 

He knows Sam is down here, and he's going to rescue him before Lucifer can do anything else to hurt either of them ever again.

\--

Jack takes Sam's hand- and while they can't fly out of this place, they run as far as they can, getting lost in a labyrinth of glowing blue wards and dead ends they can't break, until they make it to a door that Jack actually manages to force open with the barely hanging on vestiges of his grace.

The sight before them stops them in their tracks.

Beeping EKGs answer each other in the faint darkness, with the outline of mouths hooked up to breathing apparatus, and a faint glow of gold lighting up the dimness from the curve of their throats and through the rest of the uncovered limbs, hands to ankles and back to mouths again, rows and rows of them all covered in white, sterile blankets, rows of them covered like they are already shrouded and dead and buried, so many Sam can't keep count-

Kidnapped victims, Sam realizes, the women Lucifer must've targeted in his government infiltration, the reason for all those bills he and Kelly couldn't explain, all to get a pool of volunteers ripe for the taking-

But what catches Sam's eye first are the slight outline of their abdomens, the way the glows pulse like the ones growing inside their human hosts are communicating, like they can tell that they are here, and Jack stumbles, holding his head, eyes glowing gold and veins glowing, too, just like it always does when angel radio gets overwhelming-

That is, until Lucifer stops the door from swinging closed, cold chill following him with the ice crackling over the door.

 _Here's Johnny_ , his grace laughs.

Sam pulls Jack backwards, both of them tripping when they back too far into a table with an unconscious abductees eyelids not ever flickering from the contact.

_Oh come on, Sammy. Learn to take a joke. I know the coma patients aren't much of an audience, nor are the little ones, but you two could try to make an effort. But I'll deal with Jack in a minute. You have a tendency to get too invested when other people's lives are on the line, and while you didn't like being an incubator yourself, I'm not quite sure what you'll do with the kiddies in the picture. They are yours after all, thanks to your little donation of genetic material. Wouldn't settle for anything less, seeing as this is you we're talking about, not the scum of the earth that still had to be an unfortunate addition to the process-_

Lucifer waves a hand to separate them, advancing on Sam alone.

Sam trips and tries to wriggle out of Lucifer grip, even if he knows it's a losing battle before it even starts.


	217. CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some repurposed s13e23
> 
> chapter title from kansas

"Let Sam go!"

And Lucifer turns, oh-so-slowly, because he knows he has time. Is too full of the broken fury too much like the Cage, never fully exorcised and always swimming below the surface. Has found the end of his rope in Sam's final bid for redemption, for freedom. Knows it won't be long before everything falls into line.

"Why should I listen to you?" Lucifer asks. Puts his hands in his pockets, gives his undeserving spawn a crooked, slanted smile.

"Because I'm your son!" Jack pleads. Stares into empty blue eyes. Doesn't flinch from the grace screaming and crowing with firmament of creation: _Be afraid, for I am not a kind God. And you are only instruments in my design. All mine._

Doesn't balk or waver as the keening weight of it surrounds Sam, a blizzard of ice and fury that has all but turned on him.

Lucifer walks forward until he's inches from Jack's face.

"Hmm, too little, too late, don't you think?" He argues, then rams his elbow across Jack's face.

Jack plummets into the floor.

"No," Sam chokes, "No, Lucifer."

"Sam, you know I **_hate_** that word."

Kicks Jack for good measure. Hears the bones crack and splinter. Lets them heal, lets Jack heal himself, a false show of mercy meant to prove the one point Lucifer knows how to drive on home.

Jack doesn't stir from the floor, covers his face, because he knows fighting back will only make this worse for Sam. And he can take it, he can.

Because he has to save him. Jack has to save his Dad from his Father, the curse neither of them deserved.

But by now, Lucifer's attention has been re-focused back on his original target. The author of all his assumed woes.

"Kids, am I right, Sammy? They're better off seen and not heard."

There's another sickening crack! As Lucifer breaks Sam's kneecap into pieces. Sam yells but still struggles to get up, he has to, he has to protect his son, he has to stop Lucifer before there is no more going back-

"Sam doesn't deserve this." Jack coughs from the floor, blood sticky as it pours down from his broken nose. Tries to distract the Devil even though he knows he'll lose.

"Oh, but doesn't he, Jack? Your Dad has so much blood on his hands. So many sins to wipe clean. I'm absolving him, see?"

"The only one who's sins deserve punishment are yours." Sam snarls, tries to tear Lucifer's grip off him.

_Wrong, so very wrong, Sammy. But I'll correct you, don't worry._

Lucifer chokes Sam with one hand, holds him high up off the ground.

"Why are you doing this?" Jack demands as grapples Lucifer and tries to pull his Father off of Sam. Lucifer backhands Jack into the ground. A pointed stab of grace pins Jack's hand to the floor.

"Because Sam deserves it." Lucifer shrugs, and then one human arm is inside Sam again, the vestiges and appendages of Lucifer's being happily shredding apart Sam's soul. He screams and screams and screams until he barely can make noise.

Lucifer lets up, kisses Sam in promise, a long, angry attack. Sends another threat as he stares and stares at his handiwork.

_Be grateful I am punishing you for your transgressions. I know it never sticks, because you don't give one single fuck about yourself. But it would be so, so easy for me to make you wish I was hurting you. Don't make me go there, Sam. Don't let others pay for your crimes. Learn your lesson for once._

**Lucifer, I'll give up, I promise. Just let Jack go, please. Please.**

_Oh, Sam, what have I told you? Jack will be fine. He may be a colossal disappointment, but nevertheless, he's still our son. And for all the headaches the both of you give me, well, I'm not giving up. I guess just have to be a little more blunt in my delivery._

Sam screams again as the sheer cold stabs into him once more.

And Lucifer has found his linchpin, finds an opening. Knows what leverage he has to apply. Can feel Jack crawling towards him but doesn't really care.

Until Jack musters all his strength and rises from the floor.

“Tell me the truth.” Jack compels, and Lucifer slips under his thrall.

“Sam betrayed me. And I was so, so angry, still am, because he never listens. Never. Always has to stop me from having any sort of win. So I taught him a lesson. I tore him apart, piece by piece, in every way he destroyed me. Some days I would burn him alive, some days I would freeze him out. But I taught him, oh yes. And some days I crushed his skull with my bare hands and it was warm, and wet, and I liked it." Lucifer says, dream-like, and Sam flinches, then gulps, because he’s lived those deaths before, every single time when Lucifer was having a bad day. Rinse and repeat. Doesn't know if he can live through it again, not after everything else. But Lucifer isn't finished. "And I'd do it again. However long it takes to make an impression, I'll do it all over again. But you see, it just. Never. _Sticks_." And Sam screams as Lucifer's grip tightens and then he's being torn open again, ligaments and nerve endings contorting as his mortal body is ripped to piecemeal shreds until he's remade, reforms like air fills a vacuum. As the compulsion tapers off, Lucifer concludes, "So I had to resort to extreme measures. And the rest, they say, is history.”

_Oh Sam, sometimes you just bring out the worst in me._

And Lucifer smiles, Sam's blood staining his teeth red.

Jack can’t hold in the crying anymore.

“You’re not my father,” Jack says, backing away. “You’re a monster.”

Lucifer sighs, steps closer and closer, and Sam tries to get up and shield Jack, he does. But Sam’s leg is still broken and Lucifer just pulls him up by the roots of his hair, slowly drags Sam’s collapsed form across the floor on his knees. A line of red trails behind him.

“You know, Jack. I think Sam would be the first to tell you that doesn’t really change anything.”

Lucifer throws Sam at his feet.

“And Jack, I tried with you. I really, really tried. But I should have seen the warning signs. So what? So I killed them. Big deal! Kelly was a human, she didn't matter.”

“So is Sam. And so am I!” Jack yells. Tears are streaming down his face, combining with the caked on blood a like runny counterfeit Jackson Pollock mixture.

And Sam flinches again, tries to get up, to fight the fogginess threatening to pull him under, because he has to, **he has to,** because he knows what’s coming. But Lucifer can feel his mind, and Sam is once again trapped, windpipe crushed beneath Lucifer’s heel.

Lucifer towers over Jack, pointing. His eyes are total slits. 

“And that’s your problem, Jack. You are too much like them. You have too much of Sam in you, all the parts that are a thorn in my side.” Lucifer hisses. “We could have remade the universe, better than God ever could. And I wanted that, wanted that for all three of us. But you two never stop living in the past. So I’m starting to think my father had the right idea.”

A foot crunches down on Sam’s ribcage, shattering it. Sam chokes out a gargling scream.

“I think it’s time I trained all that out of you. Time I taught you just how I taught Sam here that this is only going to go one way. It’s time for you to learn there are consequences for your decisions.”

And the Cage yawns at the edge of the church. Its gates open wide.

**NO, NO, NO DON’T PLEASE PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING-**

_You can’t protect him forever, Sam. And kids need to learn to grow up._

Lucifer points downwards.

“You’re grounded.”

And he drags Jack to the edge of the Cage’s mouth, the Archangel blade to his throat.

“No, NO! Lucifer, please-” Sam screams.

Lucifer pauses, blue eyes glittering.

“You want me to stop? Then no more fighting me, Sam. No more games. For once in your life, think about someone other than yourself, really try, and just say-”

Sam knows what comes next.

“Yes.”


	218. Many Moons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Janelle Monae
> 
> also just so ppl know what's going on because the lead up to the ending is a fractured mess, while the crew is fighting demons and angels and basically being a big distraction, Dean and Cass go into Hell to get Michael, and while Sam is turned an archangel temporarily due to Lucifer stuff before changing back to human due to shenanigans with Joshua and some vessel stuff that was supposed to also cover some cain and abel stuff in the past, basically sam goes back in time to divert the timeline while future-Lucifer is in pursuit, and Sam talks to Lucifer pre-humanity and try to make him see there's another way (which leads to some unfortunate infatuation and misunderstandings from Lucifer pre-fall/pre-family issues and also is partially the reason Michael doesn't like Sam later because he kinda blames Sam for Lucifer's later decisions even though he chose to hurt humanity of his own free will), and even though it's kinda a mixed bag (and doesn't totally work), what ends up happening is Sam stops Lucifer from possessing Jess via the time travel by intercepting Azazel back when Sam was a kid and then goes and stops Lucifer rising in S5 via stopping himself and resealing that Lucifer in the Cage, while present Lucifer gets trapped afterwards by Sam and Jack, and while in the present everyone else is making a leap into the alternate timeline while they try to close off this dimension and stop Lucifer from destroying every other dimension instead, and this dimension shuts in on itself and implodes (and demons found a way to keep their vessels which liquify into bad times and turn into smoke due to the implosion, except for Meg and Crowley, who escape- Jake gets redeemed and human after almost turning into a demon and switching sides, while Ava escapes as a human-bordering a demon and is still evil). Eventually the crew gets spat out in 1980 ish right around when Mary was gonna die originally when making the great escape, but everyone is alive and Jess gets rescued and Nick never gets possessed, but everyone has double memories of the alternate timeline they came from despite being in a new reality, which will lead into the crossover sequel if I ever get that far. Poor Isaac goes after those events but everything in between is before the sequel was supposed to go.
> 
> I just never got to writing those parts... so... yeah.

Cas carries Dean down to the Cage, to the deepest depths of the pit, an inverted mirror of the last time Cas retrieved Dean from this place. Once, Cas believed in Heaven, listened to orders, did his part to make Dean ready for Michael's designs after the Righteous Man broke the First Seal. Until Cas broke the script, and Dean showed him the way, and Dean was spared that awful fate. And Dean never said yes, not until he had to take on God himself, to say yes the way Sam did so Sam didn't have to take that awful burden on alone.

Once, Castiel raised Dean from Perdition. 

Now, they descend together, back into the fires of Hell.

Dean meets with Michael, and that meeting is inverted too, the opposite of the first time when Michael was proud and convinced and so sure of everything, fate and destiny and God's designs, and Dean was everything the opposite, eaten alive with fear and despair with his younger brother dead at his feet. 

Castiel remains immobile, vigilant, as the fires around them keep burning and Hell screams with all distorted, far away noise, more bright and glowing and effervescent than the Archangel himself.

Dean stands tall, while Michael remains a crumpled heap who dares not meet his gaze. Both of them are on fire. Michael constantly burns on the fringes of extinction, like a few dead embers, and Dean shivering with fever from the inside out.

But Dean is not one for giving up. Sam needs him, and if he doesn't do this, it all ends.

Castiel and Dean will end this for him, because this is the only chance they are going to get to fix what they broke in the first place, even if there was nothing to be done to stop the action in the first place.

Dean, for breaking the first seal, before Cas carried him out of Hell, and Cas for letting Lucifer out the second time when Sam wanted anything else.

They were his friends, his family. They would not let Sam face this alone.

"Can you help us?" Dean asks.

Michael looks at him, silent.

Castiel holds up the two broken halves of Michael's lance, the same two Lucifer snapped in twine, and embraces his eldest brother with his wings.

_Please, brother. Please._

"He murdered God, Michael. If nothing else... Help us kill him for that."

"Because if you don't, he's not just going to take my brother and use him forever. He's going to keep my brother while he destroys everything God ever made."


	219. Some Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by flume
> 
> i feel like there were three chapters between this i never finished... so where did they go?

And Lucifer is inside Sam again, both of them consumed in the push-pull-current of Me-You-Us together, both passengers fighting the current of divine ecstasy which keeps toppling soul and grace and heart in an attempt to tumble and fuse them both together, conjoined, ripped in two as they inhabit in two points of space simultaneously, two jailbirds wrestling each other in a last stand for complete and total domination-

White teeth ring in his skull as Sam is shoved down face-first, jaw clenched, as Sam keeps tripping over his own two legs, kneecaps jarred and body aching, one nose bleeding drops of red upon the tile of the chapel while Sam's soul kneels, is sent sprawling, prostrate against the dirt floor of the Garden-

Lucifer coils tighter inside him, suffocating, a plastic bag tamped and held taut across Sam's mouth and throat, his grace all tundra, a fluid so cold it might as well be flash-frozen liquid glass, an empty, entropic cast off of the dead snakeskin of a star long after it has burned out, acidic and atomic and nuclear as all of Lucifer supernovas, the opposite of corroding as he thrusts and pumps against Sam's insides, and Lucifer starts fucking every corner of Sam until his soul blisters, legion of wings pulsating a reverb of electrical and tidal waves and thunderclaps of sound to send Sam staggering, innumerable tongues and fingertips stroking and licking and caressing and kneading into Sam's soul like its syrup, until Sam's unmade, play-dough, putty, made molten plasma in Lucifer's grip-

One last gasp, and Sam casts out an arm, his fingernails barely grazing the circumference of the apple before it rolls, close, closer, ever so close enough...

Lucifer knows the apple, knows the fruit from the Tree of Life, and knows what will happen if Sam takes a bite. He redoubles his efforts.

Sam's teeth form a semicircle of ridges against the waxy skin of the red fruit, its gossamer skin peeling, dry and papery-

Sam's other arm lashes out and wraps a hanging vine riddled with thorns twice around Sam's neck, keeps Sam a hostage in his own body, choking in a stranglehold against the roots of the Tree of Life, Sam hanging two inches off the ground in a noose made and maintained by his own fingertips. Sam's closed fists turn white-knuckled as Lucifer pulls tighter, the curve of Sam's throat bobbing, pricked and pierced by thorns as he remains gripped in a hangman's noose as Sam tries to suck down air, to halt the bleeding, stabbing pain constricting into his trachea and epiglottis and larynx-

_You want me to change the future, Sam? Here you go. Last chance to change your mind._

Blurry spots dance over Sam's eyelids as he asphyxiates, back arching, as Sam's vision starts to grow dim-

Inside, Lucifer rises up, a viper ready to strike, to penetrate, to subjugate, to numb and consume and fuck deeper and deeper until he has Sam caught, has him contained in his glacial clutches forever-

Sam's soul buckles, a candleflame trapped-and-almost-doused under a glass cup as Lucifer's own form smothers around him, trawls Sam closer, his grace like woven fingertips trapping a half-squished moth, and Sam seizes, a kept animal, as he's herded into the empty vacated space of the Devil's ribcage, bound and chained to a hollow where no heart resides-

Lucifer chimes, grace keening, exuding light and polar combustion, so cold and bright and victorious-

Sam bites the apple, tastes sawdust, and sets himself aflame.

Lucifer thaws, is cast ashore, a gnat dashed on a windowpane of a highway siphoning out bruisingly fast from the whorls and vessels and capillaries and filaments of Sam's glowing, bruised, scar-tissue ridden firefly-magma bright soul, all of Lucifer collapsing against itself as the Archangel is commanded outwards, screeching as it streams away, all solid and fluid and mist and smoke and dry ice, his grace and bright-too-cold-star-core sublimating out of Sam like a volcano vents smoke and ash and flame, or an iceberg breaks against a wave, or how lightning flees from its skyline, banished, because Sam is not a vessel, not now. Not anymore.

Sam- no, Samael, but not completely, still just Sam- ascends, now immune to the distilled pathogens of the virus Lucifer whispers in his ears, to the venom injected by the nematocysts of icy claws and fingers and teeth, no longer drowning in the flood and the ingested poison, licked and lapped up and dripping from artic lips and mouths and tongues and saliva because all of it, every frozen icicle and drop and speck and vector of Lucifer's infection drained and suctioned out by a void.

Sam grows his own set of wings. 

They are red, crowned with white downy plumes and dripping tar and burning with fire, fissures and lattices of gold and silver veins shining out in a network webbing through Sam's every particulate and wave and the firmament of the atoms and empty space between corporeality and intangibility. Sam's whole being is an ocean stretching out beyond time and space and the nexus of a fleshy body, his wingspan unfurling tip to tip, shining with shadow, an eclipse of light intercepted by space and fire and infrared redshift waves that clashes with Lucifer's own energetic blue frenzied vibrations of viscous, ravenous potency.

Sam's own grace crashes like cymbals, like drums, a one word army of: No.

No more.

A warcry ready to meet the Devil and throw him down and unseat him from inside the same quarks and neutrons and bosons of the space the other Archangel occupies.

And Sam can feel his heart, still solid, still beating, aorta and ventricles and alveoli and lungs pumping iron through his veins, even if his body isn't quite with him anymore.

It waits for him to come back, his marrow and skin and bones, heavy and still, all gravity, until Sam finally back crashes down to earth.

But first, he has a fight to win.


	220. Homewrecker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by marina and the diamonds

The earth is old and dying and they've been spit out on the timeline when the sun is a burning giant, Sam's planet dead of all life, practically toast circling around inside the interlocking, concentric orbits of the solar system.

Samael grapples the Devil in the vacuum of space, mouth spitting fire, lava pouring from his lips and eyes and sizzling against the Devil, warding Lucifer's many clawed hands and soft-sharp wings off as he tries to freeze Sam into submission.

Sam screams, and the force of it shakes the firmament of Heaven.

He dropkicks Lucifer past earth, into Venus, making the planet veer off course into the sun, the same sun the Darkness almost flushed out like a broken lightbulb.

Lucifer helped make the both, sure.

But Sam flings him into it.

That has to hurt. Sam knows it hurts.

The sun explodes, and Lucifer screams, and he isn't dead, just nursing fourth-degree burns on his angelic wavelengths because the closest thing to angel grace is the filaments of stars the Devil once helped hang in the sky.

Sam prays he heals so he can punt him into the sun again.


	221. The Truth Behind the Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is part of the old ending stuff that i wasn't cutting but wasn't sure how to re-implement after pruning the fic partially, so it's just kinda here for now, there was some time travel and other stuff supposed to happen before this...
> 
> chapter title a song by Within Temptation.

Sam picks up Abel's body, his limbs heavy in comparison to Sam's own, but Sam hardly feels it, because he's lighter, lighter than air-

And Sam keeps burning, a living pyre, wings out, endless and aflame. Blinding, the light sucked out from behind the shadow of the sun, as he flies the long road up to Heaven, where Joshua is waiting.

Sam- Samael, the glowing shadow out of the light, the one who leeches poison from the wound- is more stubborn, more kind, more ruthless.

And he will get what is his due, be it one way, or another.

He will not settle for anything less, because his heart has never ceased being human. Not once.

Meteors blink and fall, trailing in the wake of Sam's soul.

Hurtling back down to earth, where Sam truly belongs.

Coming home.


	222. Icarus

Azazel is trapped in a circle of joined hands and of black and golden eyes, held fast by the minds of the children he once stolen from their beds and mothers who have risen from their graves to defend them. It is an appointment long since overdue, after so many lies on a silver tongue, broken necks, and deals that would never be honest with blood forced down throats too small to know better.

The Colt holds steady in Kelly's palms.

And while Mary holds Azazel fast, Jack's wings press into her shoulders and keep her from burning alive all over again, Kelly aims true-

She doesn't miss.

For all the ways this gun has failed to leave a lasting mark or to keep the dead down completely, for all the ways it could never bring down the true orchestrator of their sorrows, and for all the ways it has eluded capture by the hunters who kept it's memory alive from century to century, now it rushes to meet its target with one purpose and one alone, bleeding with all the phoenix ash and Hellfire and tears long since shed and dried up for years flooding through it's shell casing.

The Colt was born in the barren womb of a desert, and it remembers it's roots.

For this is a hunter's weapon, always is and always was, reforged by the blood of Nephilim and all his fallen half-siblings, and it is a weapon steeped in the legacy of it's own shadow, made to burn away the monsters that would raze the world and the human life that would build it's precarious kingdom on half-promises and hopes and dreams and rage and love. Samuel Colt may have forged it from the heart of a meteor with the watching eyes of the comet chained above the earth, but the nicks and carvings it sports like old scars- ones made by the Winchesters and the Campbells- and it's broken halves were fashioned with shaking hands and sigils and bullets stained with blood cursed by Cain's own line, every one of its owners singed with the light of Heaven only to then be cast down into Hell.

And sure as the Impala remembers every whispered secret and hidden gash left time after time, as sure the metal frame was a home to two brothers and their secrets, as sure as a an amulet kept them together and stayed to keep the faith even when thought abandoned-

This gun, too, is loyal to the hands it finds itself a home in, and it knows how their family marks the world it wants to leave behind.

And it strikes true the last time, just as it did the first.

For even before it was reborn, the Colt has belonged to the bloodline stretching back to the Apocalypse, and while it would not halt destiny, it's bullets rattle with conviction, with all the surefire will of the family it has found it's way back to. 

The Colt was made to cast enemies out and to banish those not of this earth, and while it is only an instrument, nothing more, in the hands of the mothers and the fathers and the children and the brothers and sisters who lived the life of watching it pass from hand to hand, death to life and death again-

Mary keeps staring into the shadows of Kelly's face, the other woman's wide eyes still glimmering with Jack's gold as they glow, with her burnt hands still holding the death throes of a misshapen thing that has long since had all humanity scrubbed out from every dredge of soul it once pretended to possess.

Undone by the mother of the one child he'd never had the chance to steal, Azazel burns and burns and burns...

The echoes of the sulfur and the flames and screams are cut short all too quick, but before they do, for the second time after her resurrection, Mary feels truly alive again.

In some ways, it is like coming home.


	223. Corridors of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note to self figure out where this goes
> 
> also originally while sam was time traveling before going back to being his usual self due to things i never wrote, he was gonna head to the garden of eden and joshua was gonna have stuff to do and there was gonna be some cain and abel stuff but that never happened, either.

"So I can just... rewrite reality?" Sam asks, stepping backwards and digging his fingers into the soft skin of the palm of his other hand.

The thought isn't particularly comforting.

Not when he never asked for this power to begin with, and not since Lucifer's the one who tried to groom them and use them for himself... Or when Sam can hardly control what things get changed on a whim- not with the intrusive thoughts and everything else coming to drown him.

Billie nods.

"To a degree. Your influence is generally limited to the universe you make your home in, just as any other universe plays by its own self-contained rules... With some additional sway and leeway, thanks to the realities you've already bent to put things to rights." Billie says, almost allowing a smile. Sam finds it neither joyful nor sarcastic. It just is- just like the rest of the tattered remains of this one remaining, unspoiled corner of The Empty, with very little else to give emotion or name or constancy to the place. At Sam's continued silence digesting this, she adds, more gently, "You need not fear yourself, Sam Winchester. It can be controlled. And it can be limited, if you wish. Your humanity is much a part of you as your own hard-won grace. And you've always had some measure of control over things, thanks to Azazel's meddling and Lucifer's actions, and your actions both perpetuating and necessitating the past. It's all just... amplified. Pre-ordained through the choices you decided to make this reality possible." She explains. "Think of it as a counterweight you can use to balance what Lucifer has already destabilized- a way to fix what would otherwise eat other worlds and leave them barren. You get the creative power to manifest what could be so long as the worlds are not in balance, in order to put them to rights, if you find yourself trapped or lost or stuck in some undesirable situation."

Sam latches on to last ditch theories, and asks, "Is that all there is to it? It's not the pearl, or the wish, or the time travel-"

"You have always been Samael, just as you have always been Sam." Billie cuts in. "No magical trinket or reality-bending wish can triumph over the power of Archangels or their children or Gods and Reapers. There are internal ways of setting things right. Just as it is will balance within you- all these parts together which make you... yourself, keeping homeostasis. With you being who you are, psychic and human and angel, mundane and not... It is all an expression of what could be and translated into material certainty, provided you put your mind to it. Think of it like the boundless potential of free will mixed with the inevitability of that which is neither alive nor dead, ageless or eternal. It is yours to do with as you will. Because you made your choices, and you chose for yourself. And that is what will protect you and your family and all those you take under your wing, if you choose."


	224. Feral Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for ppl who are lost, there was gonna be all the hunters and pals of the winchesters fighting monsters and angels and ppl trapping demons in physical forms in the empty, and a giant battle thing going on while sam was time traveling trying to alter reality via heaven/garden stuff to redo and redirect stuff so friends can escape before they trap enemies in this failing dimension that if left unchecked will wipe out all the other dimensions so lucifer can redecorate as god (and the wishing pearl squared stuff was supposed to connect to the cage and how realities interconnect with dimensional stuff and then there were gonna be moments where sam has to fight lucifer in different dimensions with that altered reality uncertainty/psychic stuff/angel stuff), but idk what i wrote and what i didn't anymore
> 
> (for ppl invested in the later crossovers the shadow thing from stranger things was gonna be all the demons trapped in the empty as a giant mass of suffering/hive mind stuff except for the demons who escaped, with yellow eyes and lilith front and center trying to break out and possess people, and that was gonna be spoiled in the first chapter, but i never got that far either)

The sky breaks apart, and a leeching miasma of Darkness opens like a tarry, bloody wound.

Lucifer has infiltrated everything, not. Shattered their universe and used the shards to break through the other side.

And the Empty looms before them all.

Waiting.


	225. Mariner's Revenge Song

Rowena sends a bolt through Lilith's entire frame, her white eyes as bright and burning as the light emanating out of the rest of her. The first demon is not an easy foe to end, but Rowena is not one lacking patience.

Across the room, Crowley engages Abaddon with his carefully choreographed traps and tools he's stolen from the secret whispers of angels older than either of them, because he knows that's the only way he's getting out of this alive. Brute force was never his speciality...

Meg though.

Meg is in her element. Having finally, finally, haven chosen a side that suits her purposes best, Meg keeps her black eyes on the prize as she shrieks and bounds and claws her way through the worst Hell has to offer, and she beholds her chance, the new end of the last of the old guard, in this family but not quite a family when it counts-

Fast and brutal and young, Meg soon finds herself up to her elbows in Cain's ribcage, a blood-smeared smile on her face.

The old makes way for the new, and the arrogant makes way for the jaded, bitter hopes of a more ruthless generation.


	226. White Flag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Bishop Briggs

Sam spits blood, trapped beneath Lucifer's clawed hands and hissing reverb of wings, his true form towering, brighter and more incomprehensible than the very pinnacle of Babel, every golden fringe of icy tendrils bleeding Sam's human body dry.

There's a sharp pain radiating from Sam's eyes down his throat, speared straight through his chest by every bit of possessive wanting and pain the Devil has prepared to let loose on everything.

Jack huddles behind his Dad, safe, untouched, and that's all that matters, in the end-

Only where Lucifer holds his heart, it burns, so cold Sam isn't sure he'll feel anything else ever again.

"Sam!" Dean and Castiel speak with one voice as they flank the Devil, having reached Sam, springing forward with mutual purpose, only armed with the fire of the burning bush from behind.

Only Lucifer is a juggernaut, an agonized, joyous laugh tearing through flesh and wings and heartbeats as he turns and intercepts, fist-deep in the combination of Dean's soul and Castiel grace as they approach, their one body dangling off of Lucifer's bloodied hands and artic, razor-sharp needles for wings.

It barely smolders against the Devil's many eyes watching them from the back as the incendiary branch falls from their open palms, forgotten as they try to keep, to hold, to glue themselves together, to hold each other close, as Castiel tries to hold Dean's essence and stop them both from scattering into formless atoms and fumes as Lucifer prepares to tear them apart, the last blackmail, for only he can put them back together, and Sam won't let them die like this-

Before he can, Sam lurches and rips himself free, not caring about the blood or the long, mutilated gash on his soul because he will breathe life where the Devil sings death.

And Sam takes the tip of Michael's lance in one hand and Jack the archangel blade opposite, Sam's other hand curled around his own, the gold still dripping with Sam's own grace where Lucifer took the knife and turned it on him-

They carve the Devil's largest, oldest wings out from his back, the first ones he ever had when God beheld and cradled his second creation.

Lucifer screams, so cold, so sharp, but it's a wet sound, an anguished, burning sound-

Sam cuts four off in one long line, unstoppable even with Lucifer and Jack shears off three others, only he misses the last, when Lucifer writhes and a ripple of chalkdust-sulfur-sweet grace throws everyone except Sam off of him, throws them back, the very core of himself a nuclear blast melting the very molecules of the air into radiation and tar and rust-

And the Devil screams, louder, higher, the vibrations ringing, shrill and long, all glacial static. Jack and Dean and Castiel clutch their eyes as their eardrums shatter and their noses bleed and they fall to their knees and bite their tongues halfway through.

The Archangel blade clatters to the ground, noiseless as vacuum against the Devil and the sounds of Being and Unbeing. And with it, in harmony, every demon within a thousand miles turns to dust, and every angel screams with the Brightest of the Host, and every human and monster and moth and firefly within range hits the ground, dead on arrival, all save those protected by Rowena's curse. All the fallen, all the wounded, are united by the sanctified calamity of Lucifer's Voice, their minds tearing into endless noise, of endless, anguished nothing-

All, that is, to say-

Except for Sam.

Sam stands there, stuck to the Devil, all the air sucked from his lungs, one arm wrapped around the Devil's abdomen, fingers clutching around his ribcage, and he pulls himself closer, deeper, half-climbing, half-crawling further into this beast of feathers and ice and flesh and liquid want that once caged him and held him there against his will.

Sam cups his head to Lucifer's True Face, the main one, vessel and angel, no, human and colossus cheek to cheek, Lucifer's sharp teeth and open, ungasping lips level with Sam's own-

Sam breaks the tip of Michael's lance off, ignoring the cut that blooms over his skin as his clammy human hands grasp around it, slipping-

Sam stabs it deep into Lucifer's jaw. The blade squelches in, jagged and off-center, slides-

It hits home.

And Sam cuts the silver, forked tongue from Lucifer's mouth until the screams peal away and the whispers from his most beautiful nightmares and horrifying dreams can't speak or hum or sing, for the moment, for one long blissful moment-

And Sam feels deliverance in his chest, eternal, having waited so long to burst free.


	227. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by tribe society

Lucifer's strike arcs too wide, off balance from the mutilations he'd suffered earlier, ones that were a long time coming.

And Sam, human and relentless and ready for all of this to end, closes his fist around the waves energy he's felt for so long, so cold, lurking and eternal and infinite, always beneath his bloodstream and eyelids and deep in his marrow, and rips Lucifer grace completely out of him, containing it and readying it for the spell that would go off just long enough to seal it in the great emptiness beyond even Lucifer's reach, trapped by Sam's own grace he'd purged from beneath his own skin.

Lucifer falls to the floor, trapped in his flesh and human enough, barely any vestiges of grace inside him save for what would keep him alive.

Jack is still unconscious on the floor, and Dean and Cas and everyone else are still trapped in the home dimension, the Empty and the collapsed vortex of the worlds Lucifer had ravaged and sucked dry all collapsing in on themselves, and the earth shakes beneath Sam's feet in warning...

They didn't have much time before the last rift closed and sealed Lucifer off forever.

Sam wasn't going to give him a quick death.

No, not at all.

Lucifer wasn't going to get off the hook easy, and this time, he wouldn't be able to lure Sam back to get him out.


	228. You Don't Get Me High Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by phantogram

"You think that's going to save you, Sam? Don't be stupid. You aren't enough for this one. I made sure. You know why? Because you're the only one trying to fight the good fight. You're the only one I'm after. And you think I'm just going to let you slip through my fingers?"

"I think you need to learn to Shut. UP!"

Sam wishes as hard as he can and smashes the pearl on the floor.

It is only one against the many others. So many potential futures trying to erase what was and remake what will be.

And it's not going to save anyone on it's own.

But that's not what Sam is after.

If his powers are worth anything at all, then he's going to see this through. See every possible future, see every angle of what can go wrong, and break every single wish someone could make to alter this timeline.

Because he's going to get them out of this on his terms. With his mind. With his powers. With his hope and belief to see this through.

He's going to erase every backdoor Lucifer can use to backtrack and rewrite reality and undo the efforts Sam has made to make this showdown final.

And if his hallucinations and mindgames and powers manifesting and erasing every inch of privacy and feelings of control he's had have taught him anything, it's that his mind can bend the world to his will.

And he's going to find the will to win, and end this, and make it stick.

No matter what.

No matter how many other horrors he has to endure.

This ends tonight.

And it ends with him taking back his mind and home and family and ripping out every suffocating chokehold and grasping hands that have tried to stake a claim on his soul.

The best revenge may be living well, but what is better is making your choices and having them matter and no one being able to take them away from you.


	229. Running Up That Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by kate bush

"I am going to take this, because it is the one good thing you ever gave me, and you don't get to keep it. It doesn't belong to you anymore." Sam vows as he wrenches the heart of Lucifer's grace away with bloody fingers, takes the part of it that Sam knows still loves him clear as day, and keeps it for himself. "You forfeited it the moment you ever hurt me."

Sam bends down to face Lucifer at eye level, the spell and the Cage and everything keeping him locked in place as Sam sets the wards of Enochian off, setting the domino effect off that will bring Lucifer and his empire tumbling down until all of it unravels at Sam's feet.

"And you know what, Lucifer? You are going to feel every single ounce of pain you have ever inflicted on me, on Jack, and everyone else, a hundredfold. And then you are going to feel it again, a thousandfold, and it will build and build and build... And you are going to live that pain, live every single moment and every single day of everything you ever did to everyone, over and over and over again. And maybe... Maybe if you ever feel one shred of remorse for hurting me, for hurting them, for hurting Jack, for everything you've done, I might let you out. I wouldn't hold your breath. But if you do, if there's ever a chance in Hell that you can ever try to build something and bring some good into the world proportionate to all the suffering you've caused, then I will let you go. But there's no getting out of this, no way to cheat the spell. It won't end until you really feel it, until you really feel empathy and remorse for the right reasons, because you realize what you did, not just because you paid the price and are suffering consequences for your actions. And something tells me that that isn't something you'll ever aspire to, because I know you better than anyone. You are selfish and pathetic and cruel, Lucifer, and you enjoy hurting the people who love you most. And no matter how much I've ever loved you, no matter what you say to the contrary, that is who you are. And you brought this on yourself, because there's no other way to stop you." Sam breaks off, and crouches down as he hisses in his face, "How did you think this was going to end?"

And Sam sings out, clear and ringing and free, in a language the Devil taught him, as he binds Lucifer to his own undoing.


	230. Black Dahlia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title both a song from angel haze and hollywood undead

"There is no point to suffering. You just wanted to hurt me. Because it felt good, because it made you feel right, because it gave you control. But suffering doesn't fix anyone. Suffering doesn't make you stronger. It just is something that happens to you. And you survive it, as much as you can. But I'm tired of surviving. I just want to move on, and to thrive, and to learn how to live again. But if you want it to go that way? To follow the script like you wanted, for me to listen and believe things are the way you see them? Well, then, Lucifer, no one can say you never taught me anything." Sam answers. "You chose this path, just as much as you made me choose and called it freedom, called it love."

\--

There is no true lesson in pain, or anything to earn from suffering.

All you can do is learn how to weather it, and how to fight it, and how to escape.

All you can do is figure out what you can do to survive the storm, and to come out the other side, however injured.

Sometimes, things break you. But it's okay to be broken, and to let yourself learn how to heal the scar tissue and the fractures and fill them up with everything you love. That's the only way you know something is wrong. That's the only way you know you are unhappy and want to put yourself back together. Because sometimes you break. But nothing can break you forever. And being broken doesn't mean you are damaged, or ashamed, or wrong. It just means exactly that- something got ripped apart, and now you have to stitch yourself back together again.

It takes time.

But it is possible.

All you need is hope, and love, and the ability to trust in yourself.

But Sam will still admit, that having actual leverage helps.


	231. House of the Rising Son

Sam holds Jack close to his chest.

It is over.

They are finally, finally free.


	232. I Was Born For This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song from Journey

It's been a long time coming, but Sam finally feels like he found true freedom.

It tastes like every inhale of a coming storm and burns like sunbeams on the back of his neck, warm and close and gentle. Like a candleflame cupped in the palm of your hand.

It feels like palms dangling at his sides without fear and sounds like the crinkle of a turned page of a journal and is as fragrant as the crackle of autumn leaves under his feet.

It blinks against Sam's eyelids as absence. No frozen breaths or spit or fond sighs too close. Only quiet and the empty nothing of air as he holds on to those who don't take, only keep holding his hand when Sam squeezes tighter...

Freedom was only ever sharp like teeth when Sam needed to fight for it.

But now, after everything...

Freedom is as soft and as diaphanous the membrane of a flower petal. 

It's been a year since Sam has handled Lucifer, has carved his path back out from the grave he was thrown down into and buried alive under mounds of dirt, so bloody, so crushing, with Lucifer only adding more and more shovel-fulls over Sam's choking mouth as he suffocated on every drop of poison the Devil ever forced him to take in.

One year.

A perfect year where Sam has had nothing and no one inside him except his own heartbeats, the airy feeling of hope burning inside his ribcage like a miniature sun, the joyful laughter and marveling curiosity of his son, and the quiet of Sam's own thoughts, no longer invaded, only interrupted with the noisy companionship of people Sam chooses to let into his life.

Perfect because no one can control anything Sam does without his say.

He may not be whole, may not be healed, not fully.

But there is no link clawing and frozen against his ribcage, no fingertips grasping against his heart, and no grace sloshing and swooping inside Sam as it hollows him out.

There's no blood, no rustle of wings, no too-heavy footsteps, no unwanted kisses on his lips or eyelids or jaw or neck or chin. No red eyes watching him, unblinking. No sound of humming noise or reverberating D-minor undertone of Lucifer's grace, always singing, so low.

No knowing smile or too sharp glances that make Sam feel exposed.

No whispered, gentle words reminding Sam of all the things he used to pray for and all the prices he paid trying to earn his freedom, freedom that was stolen from him, freedom that was taken the moment he was offered up, that Lucifer co-opted the moment he wormed his way inside Sam's heart...

The same freedom that Sam earned back every second of every day just existing and doing as he pleased. No deals. No threats. No compromises.

Just being Sam and only Sam.

And Sam does.

It prickles against his skin, and makes his aching feet finally feel like they are lighter than a dandelion on the breeze, and makes his heart beat, so slow, as Sam finally can take in lungfuls of air again without feeling the need to flinch or swallow.

Sam looks out to the ocean, hears the waves, crashing and uneven. Smells and tastes the salt.

He breathes in deep as he sits on the sand. He doesn't feel too hot, or too cold.

He feels human, completely human.

He feels alive.

Because freedom is alive; it is the dreamless sleep ending in the motionless fuzziness of waking where nothing ever made his bones ache. It is more than that, too. Sam knows the truth. There is nothing to be learned from suffering except empathy, and how to find the strength to keep going and find something inside you to hold on to for dear life.

Freedom is surviving and coming out the other side.

A single crow calls against an uneven dune, past green shoots of seagrass. The sound fills Sam with a feeling of not waiting for anything, not anticipating his next move, no storm brewing on the horizon filled with things Sam must do.

And Sam Winchester, alive and human, lays his head down and rests.


	233. Dancing in the Moonlight

"Look what I found!" Jack immediately holds up a sea turtle the size of a dinner plate above his head, surrounded in a bubble of water so it can swim even in Jack's hand. "I freed it from some plastic and then incinerated the plastic." He adds, scritching the turtle's shell. The turtle flaps it's flippers lightly and looks around, but doesn't nip at Jack's fingers or look like it's in a hurry to get away.

"That's pretty awesome. But you should probably put the turtle back in the ocean, kid." Dean suggests, patting Jack's shoulder.

"But it likes me!" Jack insists, practically, letting the turtle go so it can swim freely. The turtle swims in circles before it rolls the bubble of water over Jack's head, and starts chewing his windswept and soaked hair. "See?" And before anyone else gets a word in, he's grabbing the turtle's microbiome and flying over to Cas and Gabriel asking, rapid-fire, "Can angels speak turtle?"

"Not exactly-" Cas starts in with a smile.

"Well, kid-" Gabriel snickers, but then he stops when Castiel more than just nudges his arm, making a face, and amends whatever he was going to say, "None of the words I know are polite, so I'm afraid I'm of little help."

Jack looks at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Can I learn how?"

"We can try." Cas answers, and smiles at Jack and shakes his head. "But it's probably better you don't. Full blown exposure to angelic grace is usually too vibrant and loud for animals with acute hearing or senses, particularly when related to pressure changes and vibrations, seeing as they are more susceptible to damage and their higher-level hearing is so fragile already..."

"And there's an Inuit spell to let you speak animal, but then you might be too much like a sea turtle and unable to walk on land without tripping, so I wouldn't recommend that, either." Dean answers. "You've given us enough scares already. I don't think Sam could take much more."

Jack nods, solemn, and then they turn to look at Sam and sees him blinking, arms stretching as he wakes from his nap.

Jack flies over, showing off his new turtle friend with not-so-reckless abandon.

"Dad, help me welcome this turtle back home to the ocean!" He whoops, and then he's helping Sam up and they both jog to the shoreline to gently guide the turtle back to sea, calling back to Cas and Dean and Kelly and Gabe to come watch the turtle go home. Kelly swims over, treading water and blowing bubbles for the freedom of it, her hair billowing around her head like grasping seaweed as she ducks under to watch the turtle swim away, and Jack pulls her and Sam underwater, his own recharging grace just enough to let them see clearly without salt obstructing the view. Cas, Dean, Gabriel, and Mary follow farther behind and keep their head's above water. Mary tucks the runaway volleyball under her arm, having retrieved it after Balthazar hit it too hard and Rowena, Charlie, Balthazar, and her raced to chase after it. Beyond them, Charlie tackles Rowena into the ocean and everything turns into a splash fight, officially ending the game.

Jack stops short as they all resurface for air, staring at sea turtle swimming on it's merry way, and then the glittering waves and the bright skyline.

Kelly sings some half-formed ditty about a mermaid and, finding out Jack never learned proper diving technique, promptly dives from the sandbar they swam out to into the waves to demonstrate.

Jack watches the arc of her dive, her arms and hands clasped together, as does Sam, shielding his eyes from the sun, before Jack turns around to face him, asking, very seriously, "Are mermaids real?" Jack is still bursting with energy and his wings flare out, vibrating a bit too excitedly. 

At Jack's rapt expression, Sam laughs and gives a smile out of the side of his mouth. "Yeah... And I hate to break it you, Jack, but they're native to Avalon."

Jack makes a face at that, nose scrunching like he's inhaled a lemon. Sam boops him on the nose, still laughing.

"Yeah, I'm right there with you. Not worth it."

"Nope." Jack insists.

Kelly bobs up a second later. Jack's hand still clutches Sam's, and he tugs them both further in the water. Kelly swims out further, beckoning them to follow, but Jack does so with little force if Sam wants to remain standing. Sam lets the waves wash over as he hops back in, following his son.

"Logistically speaking," Cas interrupts from the sandbar, "they'd be an ecological menace, being carnivorous and-"

"Cas, the last thing I need to hear about is some creepy beautiful siren that has like an evil fish mouth and tentacles hiding in the depths of the ocean." Dean groans, dipping his feet in but remaining on land.

Gabriel makes some snide comment about tentacles off to the side, but before he can go further, Castiel elbows at him, glaring, and Gabe instead coughs very, very loudly, instead trailing off to say mermaids are more like jellyfish and scavengers like ghouls than siren, but whatever 'floats Dean's boat.'

By this point, Sam and Jack and Kelly aren't even listening, instead opting to dive down and search for the whale shark Kelly swore she saw earlier by swimming farther out past the reef. They swim back having caught a glimpse, but don't want to travel too far out past the drop-off, seeing as they're still recovering.

The six of them instead swim back over to the sandbar, where Cas crosses his arms, and then reconsiders, wrapping his wings around Dean in a hug only to push him off the sandbar and into the deeper water in almost-revenge, Dean's head ducking under the waves until Cas helps fish him out again, having not let go once.

"You should be worried about more immediate threats, Dean." Cas counters seriously, cupping his face as he helps him back up.

Dean sputters and blinks at him, then challenges, eyebrows quirked, "Like what?"

"Like the creature of the deep that intends to suck on your face!" Cas deadpans, and then he jumps and pulls Dean in after him, pulls Dean's head down close, and kisses him on the lips.

They pull back and smile, absorbed in their own world, and Jack, Sam, Kelly, and Gabe look at each other, dive in (or in Gabriel's case, belly-flops), and then Dean and Cas immediately get swarmed by an attack from the side, all four of them splashing them in the face.

Dean and Cas hold their own, and no prisoners are taken, and they almost win by pushing Jack and Sam back, at least until Jack uses his own abilities to counter Castiel's grace that sends over more waves, and then Kelly distracts with another splash from the side so Jack can hop on Sam's shoulders. It escalates with Cas climbing on Dean's and turns into a game of splash chicken, with Kelly serving as wholly biased referee until she gets too cold and Gabriel flies her back to shore, after which he replaces her position to judge the splashing and level of drama, using a conch shell as a megaphone.

"I'd give that an 8 out of 10." Gabe snorts as Dean gets swamped by a giant wave, courtesy of Jack's fluffed wings, and Castiel hops off and lifts Dean on his shoulders instead, on account of the fact that even with his face underwater, Cas doesn't have to breathe.

Then Sam can't keep a straight face at the sight of Dean half-dangling off Castiel's shoulders and he topples over, Jack falling into the waves right next to him, hysterically laughing until seawater shoots up his nose, with Jack, Dean, and Cas all cracking up and following suit for the next eight minutes.

Gabriel shakes his head and tells them they're all not cut out for the big leagues of Splash WWE, and then Mary decks the volleyball at his head, shouting, "Think fast!" Blonde hair plastered to her face, white smile of teeth glinting in the sunlight.

Gabriel ducks and catches the ball, but immediately after Mary, Cas, Sam, Dean, and Jack all eye each other it's not long before they all gang up on Gabriel and dunk him underwater.

\--

After a few games of underwater tag, undersea exploration, and the most competitive ocean dodgeball in the history of all the angels once everyone else joins them in the water (with Jo, Max, and Garth crowned the victors, although Adam, Kevin, and Ash gave them a run for their money), and some free swimming punctuated by Dean cracking jokes about walking on water thanks to Castiel's dubious help (which usually results in betrayal and Dean landing ass-first in the water again, although Castiel catches him before his pride is too wounded). Then Sam and Jack head back to shore with Kelly, Eileen, and Mia to check out a nearby tide pool. Sam wraps the towel around himself and makes sure Jack is swaddled in extra layers the moment he starts shivering, the nephil not used to feeling the change in temperature so drastically while the rest of his grace replenishes.

Crowley remains onshore in the same spot he's been all day, sunglasses settled over his eyes while he sips a Pina Colada. He's soon joined by Balthazar, who nicks his alcohol despite his protests, and the angel lights a cigarette and offers it as a peace offering, which is accepted, and then they are both helping rotate sausages to help Bobby with his ongoing barbecuing once in a while, with Amy, Ellen, Clea, Patience, and Alicia cutting up some watermelon and setting up the telescope, star charts, boombox, pillows, blankets, and flashlights for later than night. Gabriel flies in and steals both Crowley and Balthazar's alcohol and cigarettes before they play a round of cards to get them back. Patience and Alicia find a horseshoe crab and draw some wards around a patch of sand for it to make home base, with Patience making sure their newly adopted mascot isn't suffering any ill-effects from being in the vicinity of the makeshift camp or in danger of drying out, and Alicia gifting it some clams she had dug up earlier with Ash, Garth, Kevin, Eileen, and Dean earlier so it can snack. The wards will keep it safe until it decides to leave the area, but the horseshoe-crab sticks around, with both Anna and Balthazar mocking Gabriel over which of his brother's helped think of it's creation. Cas thinks it is still cute and vital proof that life finds a way sans evolution, much like crocodiles, or chickens, with Balthazar deconstructing his points until Dean criticizes Gabriel for the starfish and platypus, which sets off a whole other round of angelic debates about octopi and their cognitive capabilities in comparison to humans. Crowley laughs at everyone's arguments under his breath and secretly names the horshoe-crab Spike, and eventually gets into a discussion about the applications of deep sea creatures in spells and the Loch Ness monster with Rowena and whether it's actually useful or not.

Owen and Madga keep digging their sandcastle city trenches and declaring war on Meg's own sandcastle fortress, with Jody and Donna's and Kaia and Claire's other sandcastles opposite, with Ms. Tran and Alex overseeing the whole affair and serving as the neutral sandcastle city between the two warring sand continents, both selling seashells and secrets to both sides to bolster their own sand economy. They keep it dead serious for the kids, and also because they want to help them take Meg's city down, and Jody, Ms. Tran, Alex, and Donna are are dead set on making a marvelous sandcastle that is supported by the power of physics and higher level calculus ever since she tried to douse it with a bucket of water and a shit-eating grin. Claire and Meg make a deal to try and topple Jody and Donna's sandcastle provided Meg plays truth or dare (and only accepts dare as the options later). They shake and bind the makeshift deal with traded glowsticks and Kaia serving as witness, although it turns out it was a ploy just to set free the crabs Meg was secretly stockpiling inside her moat. Meg gets revenge by throwing french fries at Claire and trying to get seagulls to wreck their castle and her hair.

Jess and Nick keep setting up tents and sitting off the to the side in the sun, talking in low voices before Sam approaches them and asks if they want to join. After a rushed discussion, they agree, and end up following Sam, Jack, Eileen, and Mia for a hike over to the bluff on some dunes. Cas and Dean fly over to join them, beer, soda, lobster rolls, and s'mores in hand, and they all watch the sunset before heading back to the fire pit with all it's amenities and the rest of their vacationing company.

They share not-so-scary stories and pranks over the fire, and solemn stories, and hilarious ones, and Sam thinks that maybe, if they all work together, they can all make it through the rest of their lives comparatively unscathed from the damage Lucifer had permanently carve into their very bones and being.

Sam stares at the fire, but this time, it just feels warm, and the ghosts of Hell don't send him reeling back, and he feels Jack's wings around his shoulder, and hums under his breath with Castiel, and meets his brother's gaze, eyes crinkled around the edges from the easy smile. Then he looks up at the North Star and the cloudless night.

He breathes in smoke, and still feels as light as the day he set himself free.


	234. Nina Cried Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by hozier

Sam inhales and exhales, doubled over as he catches his ragged breath. He had started running in the dark, and by now, his watch lights up, thin red letters proclaiming a time Sam's already long since sleuthed out. It's been over an hour. Sam doesn't mind. He's been running as long as he needs to. Until he can't feel his feet and his chest burns and his tendons quake and his calves feel like jello.

Until every gasp of air feels like sweet, sweet relief.

The cold morning air still feels warm inside his lungs, a welcome relief from all the uphill jogging he's done so far. The pine trees behind him have cleared out for the view of the forest in front of him, rocky dropoff and thin horizon line still a deep blue before the sun rises.

The air smells like dew and wet grass and birdsong hasn't quite risen out of the woods yet. The undersides of Sam's arms are damp, and he shucks off the flannel shirt for nothing underneath, just for the sharp morning air to breeze over his skin. He ties the shirt around his waist and centers himself, feeling the dirt on his knuckles as he crouches down and sits cross-legged in the grass just before it gives way to rock and the dropoff below.

Sam sits there, watching the clouds skirt by and the sun rise through the trees, for a while.

Eventually, Cas walks from behind him, hands in his pockets before he crouches down beside Sam, knees in the dirt as well. Sam still feels him before he gets close, grace warm but distant, and his wings lurch out, a shadow over the earth, like the shadow of the sky where all the stars are sucked out and unlit, no longer blinding, miniature suns. The trenchcoat flutters behind Cas and flaps in the breeze as the wind kicks up, and pushes Sam's hair out of his face.

"Sam, are you okay?" Cas finally asks.

Sam takes a deep breath, blinks, and looks over at him and clasps his hand in the dirt next to him.

"Not yet. But I will be." Sam promises. He means every word. Like a fire that won't go out, it lights up his heart, warm and sure and roaring, no matter what gets thrown at him.

**I will be.**


	235. Poor Isaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this 200 chapter longfic had a sequel, and this was gonna come after that, but I put it in here so people had closure, and since I'm not doing anything with this anymore, I'm just keeping it here at the end like it's supposed to go.
> 
> chapter title a song by airborne toxic event

Lucifer is falling apart, wings wilting like dead petals, fleshy body bursting with fissures of light as they break around him, millions of red eyes straining and mouths screaming and teeth gnashing as the last of nephilim grace is ripped out, and he's remade back into what he always was, an Archangel and nothing more-

Sam steps forward, and Lucifer catches and clutches his wrist tight enough to break skin and bone, but Sam doesn't flinch or waver.

No. Sam only flexes his hand. The pale gold of Sam's wedding ring- the only remnant of the melted down Archangel blade, a trophy that once signified Lucifer's triumph for so long- glints as Sam's hand drives through Lucifer's chest cavity, a gesture familiar as Sam breathing, and rips Lucifer's heart out past his spine and out the other side.

Lucifer's true form glows out of his skin like a lantern lighting it from the inside out, cracking skin and ribs apart, mouth agape with as blood vessels of muscles and tendon starts to burn, and Sam feels the weight of Lucifer toppling under his own weight as the Archangel is set alight and burns.

Sam never looks away, not once. Needs to know he's gone, gone forever, gone for good, and with every writhing throes of mass and light and sound and screams, Sam feels something unraveling inside him, setting him free-

Nick's half-immolated likeness of a body collapses in Sam's arms, Lucifer's head propped against Sam's neck.

Lucifer dies with Sam's gasped name on his lips.

His body smacks to the ground, a burnt husk, until only the imprint of wings smolders in the dirt.

Sam walks away with Lucifer's blood on his hands and doesn't wipe any of it away.


	236. The End Is the Beginning

Sam is right. He is okay.

And it wasn't time that healed all wounds.

It was distance. It was getting as far away as possible and never looking back. It was looking at the agony and realizing he never had to shoulder the burden in the first place.

That he never had to take it in again.

And after three years of freedom, he can finally say he's not looking over his shoulder waiting for everything to crash and burn. And while the pain sometimes comes back in waves, he knows it's just the last of the scar tissue healing over.

Sam keeps walking through the woods, sun peering through the trees, and sits in his usual spot.

He never thought having the space to just sit and breathe would feel so real.

Like it could never be taken away.


	237. A/N Anything Past This Point is New If I Decide to Revisit This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the gist: I'm done uploading this monster for now so your inboxes are safe now if you are a subscriber

Anything past this point will be a 2020 post if I don't move it to chronology, because it's easier to not have to make an entirely new fic if I do decide to add in missing sections or not

Also, please don't ask me to update this one. This is either gonna get updated on it's own time or never touched again.

\--

Old not really in order outline so I don't have to go digging into my notes to jog my memory on what didn't get done if I do decide to keep working on this:

-Putting in Bobby babysitting Jack post Laughing with a Mouth of Blood

-Putting in 'Cruel' = Kelly centric chapter, and fleshing out her plot stuff I've been neglecting earlier on

-Putting in 'The Suburbs' = Lucifer getting yeeted out of S12 before Jack is introduced, and then him getting yeeted back in another chapter

-Putting in 'Psyche' = the camping chapter that has plot, this bullet is just for me to remember to add it in, it won't make much sense for you guys

-Double checking all of S5's relevant stuff is in here because I know there's holes that I thought I wrote and did not. Same goes for S13 bridging into the more original content along with the non-canon interlude between S12 and S13, and the demon dean bridge section things because that's a hot mess. So's the Cage that section is also bad rn.

-Finishing unfinished chapters and side plots (esp. Jody and Donna stuff)

-Figuring out the best way to bridge the end to where I left off since that part is really sparse right now and not coherent yet.

-Lilith being a bad influence more often

I may give up on non-Sam centric stuff or trying to write casefic, as I am spread really thin with this monster and that's the first stuff that's gonna get cut if I run out of steam.

NOTE TO SELF:

COLD OAK- Sam goes down, and it all feels like the world is bleeding away all over again.  
Like there was never a chance to be saved.

ALSO YOU FORGOT WRITTEN IN THE WATER GETTING SAM'S SOUL BACK???? Maybe? Gotta check that I feel like something is missing there if I remember right. Same goes for Sam Dean Charlie angst- you know the one. Also remember Sam Lighthouse scene My Boy post La La La, that's not in here yet either. Same goes for the Mark discussion and the middle of Mouth Full of Blood. That's been unfinished like Cats in the Cradle for ages and you should really patch that up already.

\--

ALSO FIGURE out if you are still doing this around the Magda sections:

Hunger (draft)

Summary:

Sam and Lucifer in a church when Sam isn't expecting Lucifer to be around. Chapter title a song by Florence + the Machine.

TW: Crucifixion, Lucifer impersonating a priest, torture, probably sexual assault.

(Sam goes to investigate a case)  
(Goes into the church)  
(lucifer is sneaky and pretending to be a priest)  
(Sam goes to talk to the priest to interrogate for case)  
(realizes its Lucifer)  
(Lucifer stops Sam from running)  
(blindfolds and touch sensitivity)  
(dead people)  
(crucifixion)  
(Lucifer wants Sam to tell him where Jack is if this is a later chapter)  
(if not, it's just lucifer doing his thing.)

also figure out in the recovery sections if you are adding this in:

\- the Kelly video in here, aftermath of Jack's self-esteem issues, and Sam making Jack feel like a good person and being an a-plus parent

-also figure out if you are adding a Mary POV chapter arguing with John involving Azazel stuff before Cemeteries of London at some point.

\--

This old outline is for my benefit to jog my memory. It's not up to date, but bolded was supposed to mean it ain't in here yet, italics meant it was started but not finished:

  1. A Glimpse Into the Future
  2. The Past, But Not That Far
  3. Interlude
  4. In the Beginning, There was Light
  5. Mouth of the Devil
  6. _Buzzcut Season_
  7. _Arsonist’s Lullaby_
  8. _Amelia_
  9. This Year
  10. _Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time_
  11. **Wouldn't It Be Nice**
  12. **Brown Eyed Girl**
  13. No One's Gonna Hurt You Baby
  14. _They Always Fly Away_
  15. Don't Play
  16. _Run_
  17. **Rebel Yell**
  18. Dead Girl Walking
  19. **Sky Full of Song**
  20. **The Doomed**
  21. _Adrenalize Me_
  22. Saturn Barz
  23. **Bubblegum Bitch**
  24. **No Maker Made Me**
  25. Hey Jude
  26. Small Bill$
  27. Eleanor Rigby
  28. Whisper
  29. Lazarus
  30. Calling All
  31. Matches to Paper Dolls
  32. Rickrolled By the Devil and All I Got Was This Awful T-Shirt
  33. **Paint It Black**
  34. Strangers
  35. Pretty Little Head
  36. Wild Horses
  37. Many Lives -> 49 MP
  38. Castle
  39. Our Love is God
  40. **Watch You Sleeping**
  41. **Summertime Sadness**
  42. If I Had A Tail
  43. _Swallow_
  44. Undisclosed Desires
  45. Oh Lord
  46. Stardust
  47. Ghosts of Utopia
  48. **Seventeen**
  49. _Kingdom of Welcome Addiction_
  50. **Love Drought**
  51. Bonfires
  52. _Tear Garden_
  53. _I Hate Everything About You_
  54. **_Breath_**
  55. _Hellfire_
  56. **Equilibrium**
  57. **Talk to Me**
  58. _Gasoline_
  59. **Watch You Sleeping**
  60. _Kings_
  61. Control
  62. **Howl**
  63. A Fiddle of Gold Against Your Soul
  64. Sali's Song
  65. Wolves Without Teeth
  66. **Stranger Than Kindness**
  67. _Past the Point of No Return_
  68. **Fire and Whispers**
  69. _Black Widow_
  70. Rose-Tinted Suicide
  71. _Sellers of Flowers_
  72. **Song of Imaginary Beings**
  73. **Whore**
  74. **Written in the Water**
  75. Silent Shout
  76. Hard Times
  77. Killing Type
  78. Bad Habit
  79. **Hurts Like Hell**
  80. Runs In The Family
  81. **Muddy Waters**
  82. **Alive**
  83. _God From the Machine_
  84. **Breaking The Habit**
  85. Hello Darkness My Old Friend
  86. **Flag of Fate**
  87. Gods Gonna Cut You Down
  88. **Blood of Angels**
  89. Baby Come Back, You Can Blame It All On Me
  90. **Rumor Has It**
  91. When In Rome
  92. **Sucker for Pain**
  93. Old Tricks, New Tricks, Same Old Game
  94. Mercy Street
  95. Elastic Heart
  96. **Get Out Alive**
  97. If I Had a Heart
  98. American Pie
  99. Hourglass
  100. Half God Half Devil
  101. Die Another Day
  102. Girl With One Eye
  103. **_Mama_**
  104. Come Home
  105. **You’ll Be Back**
  106. **In The End**
  107. _Lights Out_
  108. **Twice**
  109. **Hunger**
  110. **I Have Questions**
  111. **Rolling in the Deep**
  112. _Blue Monday_
  113. _Hellbent_
  114. The Devil Went Down to Georgia
  115. **Tag You're It**
  116. Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene
  117. **Heavy in Your Arms**
  118. Take A Byte
  119. **Noose and Nail**
  120. Joan of Arc
  121. Opera House
  122. Neverland
  123. I'm A Firefighter
  124. Moonrise Kingdom
  125. **The Sharpest Lives**
  126. **Misery Business**
  127. **Ghostflowers**
  128. _Come on Eileen_
  129. **Breathe of Life**
  130. Houses of the Holy
  131. **_The Suburbs_**
  132. Enemy
  133. _Hot Damn_
  134. **Anthem of the Angels**
  135. **Don't Mess with Me**
  136. _Mouthful of Diamonds_
  137. Detox
  138. _Wrong_
  139. **Misguided Ghosts**
  140. **Human**
  141. Teenagers
  142. **Jolene**
  143. **Satin In A Coffin**
  144. **Lost on You**
  145. **Big Houses**
  146. **So Sorry**
  147. **Turn Into Earth**
  148. **Delilah**
  149. Wolf
  150. **Blink**
  151. **Teen Idle**
  152. **Moonshine**
  153. **Gods and Monsters**
  154. **When I Grow Up**
  155. **Sober**
  156. **Adore, Adore**
  157. _Blackout Days_
  158. **Hold Me Down**
  159. **Undone, Undress**
  160. **The Devil Wears A Suit and Tie**
  161. **_This Is America_**
  162. **Seven Devils**
  163. **How Dare You**
  164. **Bottom of the River**
  165. **What Lies Beneath**
  166. No Children
  167. Seamstress
  168. Bad Blood
  169. SAIL
  170. _Cat's In The Cradle_
  171. Black Wedding
  172. Two Against One
  173. Say Hello Melancholia
  174. _Blood in the Cut_
  175. _Gods_
  176. **Los Ageless**
  177. **100 Letters**
  178. When I'm Small
  179. **Animals**
  180. Papaoutai
  181. _Deep Sea Diver_
  182. You're Mine
  183. _Make It With Chu_
  184. Same Old Blues
  185. _Hard Feelings/Loveless_
  186. **Sandman**
  187. _A Penny for Your Thoughts_
  188. **Exile Vilify**
  189. Time is Running Out
  190. **Big Bad Wolf**
  191. **Yo Girl**
  192. _BRN_
  193. **Build God, Then We'll Talk**
  194. **Bernadette**
  195. **Are You Satisfied?**
  196. _Dog Days Are Over_
  197. **Afraid**
  198. **Black Synagogue**
  199. **Pynk**
  200. **Money**
  201. **Carousel**
  202. _A Stab of Happiness_
  203. _Mutant Brain_
  204. _Wake the White Queen_
  205. _I Follow Rivers_
  206. _Down Under_
  207. _Run Through The Jungle_
  208. _Stuck in a Hard Place_
  209. _Paper Love_
  210. _Feel It Still_
  211. **Behind the Sea**
  212. **Closer**
  213. In Pieces
  214. _She Wants Me Dead_
  215. _Bellyache_
  216. The Way You Used to Do
  217. **Blank Space**
  218. These Boots Are Made for Walking
  219. La La La
  220. **My Boy**
  221. **Starring Role**
  222. **The Chain**
  223. **Happy Birthday**
  224. _White Lilies, White Lies_
  225. **Hit and Run**
  226. **Power and Control**
  227. I Put A Spell on You
  228. Hardest of Hearts
  229. Say Amen
  230. **Opheliac**
  231. _Soap_
  232. **Bad, Bad Leroy Brown**
  233. _Marble House_
  234. **Heaven in Hiding**
  235. Pain
  236. **Rhiannon**
  237. **Caught Like A Fly**
  238. **Counting Bodies Like Sheep**
  239. **Cruel**
  240. **Raise Hell**
  241. **Dollhouse**
  242. **Killer Queen**
  243. **Tainted Love**
  244. **Woman**
  245. **Heaven On Their Minds**
  246. **Distant Dreams**
  247. **Paper Moon**
  248. **Thriller**
  249. **Chantaje**
  250. **Devil in Me**
  251. Hold Up
  252. **Seasoned Eyes Were Beaming**
  253. **Happy**
  254. **Disparate Youth**
  255. **Bittersweet**
  256. Hotel California
  257. Playing with Fire
  258. **Screwed**
  259. **FRIENDS**
  260. **Ich Will Deine Seele**
  261. Candy Store
  262. **Money**
  263. _Chandelier_
  264. **Womanizer**
  265. _Laughing with a Mouth of Blood_
  266. **Psyche**
  267. **The Only Exception**
  268. **Brick By Boring Brick**
  269. **A Thousand Bees**
  270. **Love is a Battlefield**
  271. _Paradise Circus_
  272. **Sippy Cup**
  273. **Come Near Me**
  274. **Lifeboat**
  275. **Invisible**
  276. **Voodoo in My Blood**
  277. **Riptide**
  278. _Hit The Road, Jack_
  279. Make Me Wanna Die
  280. **Oh Ana**
  281. **Tightrope**
  282. **We Didn't Start the Fire**
  283. **A Little Wicked**
  284. **Wires**
  285. **Eyes on Fire**
  286. **Room of Angel**
  287. **Shalott**
  288. **Meant To Be Yours**
  289. **Bird Set Free**
  290. **Gold**
  291. Viva La Vida
  292. **M.E.**
  293. **Goodbye, Stranger**
  294. _Cemeteries of London_
  295. **_Victorious_**
  296. Immortal
  297. _Savages_
  298. **Wolf In Sheep's Clothing**
  299. **Look What You Made Me Do**
  300. **Apres Moi**
  301. **Hushh**
  302. **You Don't Get Me High Anymore**
  303. **Yellow Flicker Beat**
  304. **Volatile Times**
  305. **Run, Boy, Run**
  306. **Labyrinth**
  307. **Cold War**
  308. **Heaven Knows**
  309. **Atlas Air**
  310. **Kveikur**
  311. **The Bends**
  312. Splitting the Atom
  313. **King and Lionheart**
  314. **Paris is Burning**
  315. CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON
  316. _Feral Love_
  317. **Shine a Light Reprise**
  318. _Many Moons_
  319. Some Minds
  320. **Blinding**
  321. _The Truth Behind the Rose_
  322. **Don't Stop Me Now**
  323. **Black Dahlia**
  324. **Through The Fire and The Flames**
  325. Homewrecker
  326. **Dead Man's Arms**
  327. **Promised Land**
  328. **Black Wave**
  329. **River**
  330. **Titanium**
  331. **Little Talks**
  332. _Secrets_
  333. _Running Up That Hill_
  334. _House of the Rising Sun_
  335. **Poor Isaac**
  336. **Wake Up**
  337. **Land of Broken Promises**
  338. **Abraham's Daughter**
  339. **Black Rose**
  340. **Glitter and Gold**
  341. **Dirty Paws**
  342. **Praying**
  343. **Home**
  344. **Despacito**
  345. **Arise**
  346. **The Fire**
  347. **As I Moved On**
  348. **Little Black Star**
  349. **Sandcastles**
  350. I Was Born For This
  351. Dancing in the Moonlight
  352. \--
  353. Non-Sam POV:
  354. Jack POV (A LOT OF CHAPTERS eventually)
  355. Claire- Make Me Wanna Die (& Multiple other chapters)
  356. Max- This is America (& more)
  357. Bela - Money
  358. Adam- Afraid
  359. Castiel (Undone Undress, Bellyache, & multiple chapters)
  360. Dean (Old Number Seven, Moonshine, Heaven on Their Minds & more)
  361. Rowena - Jolene
  362. Mary - Are You Satisfied?
  363. Ellen and Jo - Zombie
  364. Bobby - Have You Ever Seen Rain?
  365. Donna and Jody - (Lights Out, Pynk, Multiple chapters)
  366. Gabriel - Thrift Shop
  367. Eileen - Come On Eileen, Songs for the Deaf (& more)
  368. Ramiel
  369. Crowley- GRRRLS
  370. Joshua - Exodus
  371. Missouri - Three Little Birds
  372. Balthazar - Womanizer
  373. Angel On Fire (Michael POV)
  374. Death POV (2018-07-03)
  375. Hallelujah (Chuck/God POV)
  376. Destiel to be done at the end probaby:
  377. When The Levee Breaks
  378. Another One Bites the Dust
  379. Bohemian Rhapsody
  380. Immigrant Song
  381. Rock and Roll
  382. Hells Bells
  383. The Song Remains The Same
  384. Crazy Train
  385. Fool In The Rain
  386. Still Into You
  387. Hurt
  388. Various Donna and Jody and Charlie and Rowena stuff that isn't gonna be tackled yet




	238. Howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm not abandoning this, yay
> 
> however, i commit to no timeframe and i'm very slow and short with things
> 
> chapter title a song by Florence and the Machine
> 
> this is gonna come after into Cas failing to fish Sam's soul out of the Cage and ideally lead into Death retrieving Sam's soul if I can get my mojo back, so between Silent Shout and Written in the Water and Hard Times... since I'm pretty sure one of them never got written...
> 
> this got hella angsty but i'll ease off eventually, it's the cage so it's allowed to be bleak.
> 
> Also, shoutout to InHisImage, because they got me back into SPN and I love their stuff and I am super grateful and without that, this chapter and my intentions to post more of this fic probably wouldn't have materialized. Cheers!
> 
> And a huge thank you to all the readers who keep on reading and who still put up with my habits and who keep checking out my stuff- love y'all!

Love shouldn't be something that has to be endured.

Sam tries to remember that fact. Tries to hold on to it when it's the only certainty he knows is a real metric to measure by, despite everything, as Sam clutches the only memory of a life that too often felt distant and remote-

But when Lucifer holds his soul close, both of twined too-tight together as he straddles Sam, chest to chest, hands cupping Sam's face until he can't look any more and Lucifer deigns to let him go-

All his words are whispers in Jessica's voice, lips grazing his neck with every promise of, "Don't worry, I've got you, you're not going anywhere, it's okay-"

Sam buries it. The truth.

The only thing that's really real, the only thing he's ever known since long before he ever met Lucifer because he knew what it was like for love to be conditional and to have to hide knowing it, from the ways he was made into a thing and not a person, but not having anywhere else to go...

Because the alternative, being cast into the worst of what Hell has to offer, to lose any veneer of kindness at all, when he has nothing else left-

It feels impossible to survive.

Sam only wants to be loved.

And part of him, the part of himself that knows he does not deserve this but still loves this thing that hurt him so intimately, but by that same metric makes Sam feel recognized, and not alone, clings to the contradiction even as it rends him into a broken husk of what once was a man with dignity, the one thing he'd held on to when left with nothing else.

Maybe Sam could be all alone, could stomach not being loved, so long as he had a higher purpose to drive him, however lonely and excruciating. But there is no purpose to be found any more, no altruism save for the singular whims of cruel, eternal beings Sam still can see through too clearly.

There is only Lucifer, and Hell, and the choices Sam made between himself and everything else, as he figures out what constitutes endurance or if it's all the mere act of his own unmaking. (Or if it can be called that- if the delineation is one of choice, and Sam choosing, or if he's never had a chance for it to stick, and the act is a facade, pointing out how he is being unmade by everything shaping him, everything making the choices for him ever when he'd tried to choose every option otherwise.)

And yet...

Sam doesn't know how he can love something that only knows him to unmake him and unspool everything he is in the name of blind devotion, in the name of a raw love not quite that under the surface, and yet, Sam doesn't know why it remains, and he feels all the more lost for it. If it were mere survival, it shouldn't hurt so much, the betrayal of his own self, the willingness to cast himself to pieces for the sake of someone else-

But he swallows down any of the fear and the hate and the exhausted, constant hum of pain and consequence and endless uncertainty that accompanies the Devil's presence.

Because it's all he knows how to do, and part of him aches with the part that just wants the veneer of kindness, however calculated, to be real, because it's the only reprieve, the only thing that reminds Sam what love is supposed to be even when he knows he might never get it and he may have never had it in the first place.

Sam is forgotten save for Lucifer and Michael. Why wouldn't he be? His body is gone. They think he's free, and even if they don't, Lucifer isn't letting him go. Not ever.

Hope is only something that breaks you, if you let it in.

Sam thinks, maybe surviving and enduring are just the steps to transforming into something entirely recognizable, and he wonders if he'll remember who he used to be when enduring for all of forever, when it is all that's left.


	239. Heavy In Your Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by Florence and the Machine
> 
> one day I'll add plot to this but for now I'm just putting this here to make writer's block go away and to also get more of the gradual gradation of how your mindset shifts when continually exposed to the same abuser and knowing it's abuse and being able to do fuck all about it. so that's what this is atm and it might be retreading old ground but the intention is to get to new ground eventually.

Sam doesn't want to hate Lucifer. Hatred would imply he still cares, when all he wants to do is wash his hands of him, when he isn't sure he'll ever be free.

It's hard, to hate someone you loved and to still feel something, even the opposite, when all you want is for them to never be able to hurt you again. When you want them to be something gone and in the past and no longer able to hurt you, and yet it comes back, like a wave, because you never got away in any way that sticks.

It hurts, the reminder- when they could have been kind. Could have been different, and chose destruction and chose to make whatever kindness that could've been just another weapon to hurt you more later.

It hurts, with every denial of ill-will, with every, "I am doing this for you," with every minimization and every denial of ever doing anything to hurt you, when all it is is deflection from the true goal, which is to break you, and claim it is everything but that.

To claim it as love when all it is is taking everything Sam could give and making it a path towards self destruction.

But Sam, finding what choice he can salvage from the wreckage, finds he can't blame Lucifer entirely for that. He can blame Lucifer for every cruel word and thought and action and every ounce of vengeance he's seen fit as punishment for a crime that is not one and never will be to Sam.

Sam can blame himself for caring. And maybe he doesn't deserve to blame himself, but it makes him feel like he will remember how to walk away and make it feel like it matters, because if it is out of his hands then all that's left is despair and the scrabbling of a caged thing left with no way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even though things aren't even bad for me right now I'm really stressed out because idk what things are gonna be like in a few months and I hate it because so many other good things are happening in my life and I'm actually safe and well off right now, and I have a lease for a year so like, if I can make enough money then I'll be fine, but if I wasn't always having to plan for homelessness every couple months because of money issues that haven't materialized yet but covid isn't making any easier to deal with, my life would be so much happier. And it feels weird to say that because logistically, so many other good things are going on for me right now, and I want to be able to focus on that.


	240. Come Near Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER THIS IS A WIP CHAPTER because I can't focus for anything and i'm venting so it'll be worked on whenever I feel like it, right now it's 3 sentences but im posting per my sanity- y'all probably know the drill.
> 
> but I hate spn's ending so much I'm resurrecting this fic good and proper but also incredibly slowly so I don't bite off more than I can chew, and also it's tentative crossover sequel, although im collapsing that into another fic. (It's Finale now, I'm taking some points from Stranger and Stranger that I didn't abandon and throwing them in there instead, but neither fic needs to be read together for it to make sense, they're still gonna be standalone.)
> 
> bonus points is most of you already know my ending but this means I'm getting the setup for the climax better because I'm pretty sure I missed some parts I thought I wrote. least i promised you guys catharsis and delivered that if nothing else. and im not writing in order but when have I ever???
> 
> and no i don't know where this falls on the timeline yet i am still on step one which is SPITE and INCANDESCANT RAGE
> 
> this will probably be after Say Amen if I get my brain to focus
> 
> chapter title a song by Massive Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note this features me venting about the spn finale for anyone who doesn't want spoilers:
> 
> i am filled with spite and it will not be assuaged by anything less than Sam getting to live his life in the face of monumental hardship and still being himself without having to give up anyone he loves and the people in his life putting in the fucking effort to be better because sam deserves to break free and live but also not having to give anyone up if he doesn't fucking want to. and he gets FUCKING dialogue because god forbid they give Sam more than five lines even when they make him a focal point of the ending.
> 
> death and absolution through death is the worst thing in the fucking planet in a story and im gonna rub my queer trans jewish hands over that radical rapture bullshit of an ending that wants to claim you can only get peace and happiness in death
> 
> why does every show I watch have shitty endings? I can't get a break can someone recommend a show with an actual good ending that feels like it actually has payoff?
> 
> but for real like if Sam won so much in that finale why didn't he get to actually say anything??? why didn't we get to learn how much he moved on with a son and family? why did he have to lose his other child and friends and didn't get proper scene with anyone? why didn't they elaborate on anything at all instead of making it feel like you have to live life in this shitty blurred out box with no detail for any happy ending to be allowed??? like... I want Sam to break free but that was insulting.

"Had enough?"

Sam spits blood in Lucifer's face.

"Guess not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah unless I lose all motivation due to stress or life or lack of being able to write, except the dropped/barely fleshed out plot threads to be back, which includes:
> 
> more time travel  
> side Destiel that still isn't the focus but will be better than what the fans who wanted it got probably (which is so weird because... i don't even care and I still did it better when half-assing it????)  
> platonic Cas Sam moments  
> Jody/Donna  
> Crowley and Meg hating each other and being forced to work with each other and Claire and Sam and Jack  
> Garth/Kevin  
> Jack having friends his age who are also supernatural in some way  
> A redone Amara arc because of how the finale treated her  
> Gabriel having some stuff to do along with Balthazar and Rowena  
> Rowena and Max having stuff to do  
> Archangel angst  
> Lucifer being properly menacing and horrific and in character albeit over the top  
> Sam kicking his ass even more  
> Demons and Abaddon and Lilith and Cain talking to Dean about stuff  
> Azazel and Brady stuff  
> figuring out how to edit this to give Michael and Adam more focus along with Jo and revising the plot holes I wasn't sure how to fix
> 
> and of course, HEAVY SAMIFER ANGST BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW THAT I WILL BEAT THAT DEAD HORSE TO DEATH UNTIL IT'S UNDEAD AND PUT BACK IN THE GROUND
> 
> anyway
> 
> if anyone says I'm not a real fan after writing over a million words about Sam Winchester doing his best and fucking evil people up they can buzz right off
> 
> I'm allowed to hate the finale and so can everyone else and hating it doesn't mean I'm not a fan or able to understand a compelling story by the terms I lay out. Someone else might have different criteria but that's their prerogative. 
> 
> I'm gonna chill over here with the people who hate it and I'm not less of a Sam centric fan for it.


	241. Invisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title a song by otep, yes this is a wip im gonna try to work on whenever because my computer is very broken
> 
> have some side character plot i never got around to around Screwed chronologically or Laughing With a Mouth of Blood or something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone can thank The Man Who Would Be King for this I forgot how much I loved Balthazar and wanted him and Bela and Gabriel to interact. And Garth. And Ash. Tbh Balthazar needs to interact with everyone including Meg and Jack but i don't know how im gonna pull this off but that's why im winging it

"Yes, because setting off another chain of soul bombs isn't detrimental to the fabric of reality. My mistake." Balthazar interjects snidely.

Lilith, Raphael, Gabriel, Cain, Azazel and Lucifer all turn towards him.

"What? You're the one who is trying to make this a team effort." Balthazar motions at Lucifer, trying to avoid the obvious swallow or shifting from foot to foot, although out of all the people staring at him, Lucifer's expression is the only one that remains blank and not openly hostile, which is novel if not terrifying for altogether different reasons. "And I am nothing if not self-involved and pragmatic, and this going up a creek and threatening my new lease on life? Well, sorry to put a bee in all your bonnets but that just won't fly."

"You seem awfully sure of yourself."

"My job is to look out for logistics. And logistically speaking, this is, in non-layman's terms, a total crapshoot. Why would we shoot ourselves in the foot by not exercising caution and coming up with a plan less likely to turn into primordial soup? That's not even my department, you'd know all about that."

"He makes a decent point." Dagon contributes.

"Thank you."

"That being said, you're being awfully bold-" Lilith hedges.

Balthazar levels a look at her.

"When you can stabilize your portal, then we can talk. Otherwise, you can stay in your lane, and I'll stay in mine."

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in other news I think Balthazar and Benny having a fling would be hilarious but also interesting from a side plot perspective
> 
> that and I need Bela and Balthazar to be cynical co-conspirators but also roasting each other, I just haven't figured out how yet  
> \--
> 
> "Why on earth would I date that? What do you take me for?" Balthazar rolls his eyes. "As if that one knows how to be the life of the party. I didn't spend millennia taking a page out of your book just to hook up with that-" Balthazar gesticulates to Benny, who takes the dismissal in stride insofar that he gives a very unimpressed eyebrow-raise.
> 
> Bela watches the two of them in silence and clinks her drink against Balthazar's in silent support, eyeing Benny up and down.
> 
> "Don't knock what you haven't tried." Gabriel counters with a shrug.
> 
> "Why would I go for that when that one's right there?"
> 
> "Buy a man a drink first." Ash slings back.


End file.
